Page 38 of Fallen Hearts

Oh boy.

“He had a list of renovations too, including the foyer and reception area’s flooring, with a star next to it. Apparently having a more updated and appealing entrance was top on his list.”

Now I felt like a shit for making such a big deal. “So you wanted to honor his wishes?”

He shrugged off my tone, acting like it wasn’t a thing. But I’d begun to know Mason a bit, and it was. His tone had gotten gruffer, if such a thing were possible, when he talked about his dad.

“I mentioned it to Parker, and he was like, ‘Let’s do it.’ Since we didn’t have guests today, and it’s Parker’s day off, he thought it would be a good time to get it done. I was going to mention it to you last night before we left but didn’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

I nearly tripped on the sidewalk at that one. Moving on…

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“No?”

He said it with just enough innuendo in his tone that it was difficult to ignore. But I did, of course. Though my imagination would probably not stop racing when I was home tonight in bed.

Like last night, touching myself, thinking of him.

Focus, Pia.

“No. This isn’t a typical job, and I know that.” We stepped onto the inn’s property. “I’m invested in making Heritage Hill a success, whatever it takes. That’s why I’m here today. On a Sunday.”

We could still hear Parker’s grout saw from the walkway since the inn’s front door was open. As we made our way into the kitchen, Mason put his bags on the island, just as Beck stumbled in looking like death warmed over.

We both stopped to stare. He wore only a pair of boxers, and there was a lot to look at. Beck clearly worked out regularly. But mostly I wondered what Mason would look like in a pair of boxers too.

Pouring himself a coffee, Beck leaned against the kitchen counter. “When does Esther start back? I could really use some scrambled eggs with cheese.”

I stifled a laugh.

“Tomorrow,” Mason said dryly. “You could actually make them yourself, you know?”

Beck didn’t answer.

“Rough night?” I asked.

“Late night.” His smile told me I didn’t want to know any more. Bottom on my list of morning topics were Beck’s hookup stories, and I could guarantee that was what he meant.

“Are you still up for the floor project? We got most of the materials last night and Parker’s already ripping up the tile.”

“I hear that.” Beck walked to the fridge, opened it, looked inside and closed it.

He was a real piece of work. “Get upstairs,” I ordered him. “Get some clothes on, and I’ll make you eggs with freaking cheese.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Now go. I need this project wrapped up today. We’re not getting bad reviews the first day on my watch.” I shooed him out of the kitchen. “Go.”

Surprisingly, he listened, but not before refilling his coffee mug.

“You don’t need to do that,” Mason said. “It’s not part of the job description.”

“Making eggs and cheese for your hungover friend? Are you sure? I swear I saw that somewhere in the original posting.”

“Funny,” he shot back in the same exact tone I’d used back at the wine store. “So how do you know so much Italian if you’ve never been there?”

“My grandparents and some of my aunts and uncles speak it. They and their friends are in the restaurant enough that I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”

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