Page 14 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

1. He’s the only person I know in Port Benedict. And he works in the property industry, so he must have connections that could help turn this place into a functional, tasteful, state-of-the-art bakery (200 points).

1. We have history. Bad, unpleasant history. He shattered my heart into pieces, then nearly committed homicide, and he is the world’s most annoying man (minus 500 points).

2. He is probably the only person Eric would trust with his life, which was why my brother had called him for help. Ergo, I should be able to trust him with mine (501 points).Theoretically.

3. I’d rather deal with him than going back home to my parents (10,000 points).

It was crystal-clear. Asking my sworn enemy for helpandsharing the same city with him wasn’t in my bingo card for the year—or ever—but I had no other choice. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was. Living in the same city as Alec Mackenzie? No problem, because after almost three decades of parental oppression, I’d take that as a win any day.

“I accept.”

Alec looked up from his phone. “Accept what?”

Was he making me beg? I swallowed my pride and ignored the way hisdeep, smoothvoice sent waves rippling through my stomach, and employed my most professional, businesslike tone. “I accept your offer of help.” Then I forced a polite smile on my face. “Thank you.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’ll make some phone calls and let you know.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to get everything fixed?”

Alec pocketed his phone and stood next to me. “A few weeks, depending on how busy the tradesmen are. But from the looks of things, you won’t need any other major repairs.” He gestured to the massive hole in the ceiling, his arm brushing mine. It sent a tiny electric zing jolting through me, traveling from my fingertips to my toes. “Apart from the collapsed roof, the structural foundation is solid. There’s no rotting, no cracks anywhere, no significant damage to the beams and the walls. All you need to do is replace the roof tiles, the floor tiles, and fix the plumbing. Then a thorough clean and a fresh coat of paint, and it’ll be good as new.” At my doubtful look, he added, “Trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time. It might look bad now, but you’re pretty lucky to have snagged this gem, because the location is golden.”

He might be right, but my entire existence had been reduced to this sorry excuse of a shop, an old car, and the suitcases and boxesinside said car. Asking me to be positive right now was akin to buying a one-way ticket to Byron Bay and hoping to score a date with one of the Hemsworths.

“By the way, who was the Realtor that handled the lease?”

“A guy called Phil Anderson,” I said. “From Anderson Real Estate.”

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