Page 46 of Your Place or Mine

I’d barely finished my first cup of coffee before I was elbow-deep in a utility closet near the espresso machine.

Riley crouched beside me, flashlight in hand, shining it at a tangle of wires and a rusted-out pipe that looked like it had survived at least two minor apocalypses. The hum of the old refrigerator buzzed steadily behind us like it knew we were plotting its demise.

“So,” Riley said, cheerful as ever, “how much of this do you think is a safety hazard?”

“Depends,” I muttered. “Do you consider a mildly sparking outlet next to a leaky pipe charming or concerning?”

“I’ve called it charming for two years. That feels like denial.”

“You’re not wrong.” I shook my head. “We’ll get the electrician and plumber out stat.”

It was Monday morning, and I was already sweating. I’d told myself I’d ease into the week, maybe make a to-do list, grab a latte, pretend to be a carefree small-town businesswoman. Instead, I was learning how to reset a breaker and subtly suggest to Riley that her fridge sounded like it had unresolved trauma.

Still, it felt good to bedoingsomething. I’d spent too long waiting around in my old life, waiting for someone to fix things, waiting for signs, waiting for my grief to stop sitting on my chest like a soggy blanket soaked in misery.

But this? Working side-by-side with a woman who’d built her business from the ground up? Planning how to restore the bones of a building instead of bulldozing it? This felt right.

“I made a list of what’s personally urgent,” Riley said, tapping a sticky note on her tablet screen. “Outlet near the sink, fridge replacement, maybe some new ceiling tiles so customers don’t get so nervous that something might fall on them.”

“Perfect,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag. “We’ll prioritize and pace ourselves.”

“You’re a dream,” she said.

At that exact moment, the front door chimed.

And in walked a cloud of flannel, frown lines, and brooding energy.

Callum Benedict.

Ofcourse.

His hair was messy in a way that looked infuriatingly good for seven-something in the morning, and his jacket was halfway shrugged off like he’d stormed in on the tail of a gust of wind and sheer irritation.

“Do you not own a coffeemaker at your house or bar?” My brow lifted triumphantly.

He saw me and immediately growled.

Not like a full-on monster movie growl. More like a human version of it. A low, frustrated rumble that vibrated in the air between us.

“Seriously?” he muttered. “You again?”

“Good morning to you, too,” I said, plastering on my most saccharine smile.

He didn’t bother responding; he just stalked toward the counter like the espresso machine owed him money.

Riley popped up from behind the counter, still holding her tablet. “Callum! Just the man wedon’tneed for heavy lifting!”

He grunted.

“Lydia and I are going over some maintenance stuff. You should see the inside of that closet. I think the pipe hisses when it’s offended, kind of like you.”

Callum glared at me like I’d insulted him, but I was proud of Riley for doing it on my behalf.

“I knew this was coming,” he muttered. “Soon it’ll be a neon sign and metallic wallpaper.”

I stepped out from behind the counter, crossing my arms. “Yes, because God forbid your neighbors want their wiring to meet basic fire codes.”

He gave me a once-over, clearly annoyed that I was still breathing in his vicinity. “Don’t act like you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

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