Page 51 of Your Place or Mine

I’d only met that determination once, and my heart was ripped out of my chest the moment I let myself fall.

“Look,” she said, voice calmer now but still tight. “I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. I didn’t come here to braid your beard and swap life stories. But youdolive in the same building I own, and this isn’t a turf war. It’s maintenance.”

“Wait. Braid my beard?” My brow lifted.

She didn’t respond.

I stared at her for a long beat, doing my level best to focus on herwordsand not her mouth, which—infuriatingly—looked even better when she was trying not to yell at me.

Finally, I moved. Not because I was ready to be helpful, but because I couldn’t keep standing this close to her without doing something stupid, like leaning in, smiling… or kissing her.

Where I’d surely get slugged in the mouth and come out with a black eye.

I turned, rummaged under the register, and found the old key ring. It held a dozen unlabeled keys, including one that looked like it might open a cursed treasure chest.

“This one,” I said, holding it up. “Bottom left hallway door. Don’t lose it.”

She reached out and took the key, her fingers brushing mine for half a second too long.

Electricity thrummed through me, and I swallowed back the surprise that followed it.

She yanked her hand back like it burned.

Good. That made two of us.

“Thanks,” she said, jaw still tight. “I’ll return it when the job’s done.”

“Be careful back there,” I said, leaning back against the bar. “It’s dusty. Full of old wires and the occasional bad decision.”

“Perfect. I’ll feel right at home.”

She turned on her heel and strode out of the bar without another word, the door swinging shut behind her with the same energy she came in with.

I stared after her, chest tight and jaw clenched.

God help me, I had no idea what the hell was happening.

But I knew two things for certain:

One…Lydia wasn’t going anywhere.

Two…neither was the fact that she had completely taken over the part of my brain that used to be dedicated to common sense and self-preservation.

I turned back to the bar, grabbed a rag, and started wiping down the counter like it had personally offended me.

Because if I didn’t, I would start imagining what it might feel like to pull her back into this room and kiss that smug, stubborn look right off her face.

And that?

That would be a problem.

A big, sexy, maddening problem with perfect hair and too much fire for someone who claimed she wasn’t here to make waves.

She was a damn tsunami.

And I was already half-drowning.

I had my business to focus on.

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