Page 5 of Tempting Me

Everywhere but my head, maybe.

How am I going to fix this?

I perk up. Refusing to wallow, I grab my laptop that’s folded up behind the bar’s cash register. I don't have time to waste. I need to find a new contractor.

“Are you going to hire out of state again?” Grace asks.

“Maybe, or maybe just from somewhere else in Wyoming. Wind Valley is only a couple of hours away. They have two construction companies. Fingers crossed that one of them has immediate availability.”

“I think you need to consider hiring Luca.” Grace didn’t waste any time sharing her opinion.

“I can’t.”

“He’s right here, and he?—”

“You know I can’t.” I pin Grace with a glare. She’s been in my life just as long as Luca and knows our history down to the smallest detail of how once, when I was six, I married two of my stuffed animals, announcing them Luca and Shay Asher after they said I do.

Blah. I was a delusional kid.

“You don’t think your family has moved on by now?”

I tilt my head and recall the conversation I had with dear old Mom and Dad last spring.

“You get two summers to turn this place around or we sellit, and do not under any circumstances hire that Asher boy. Understood?”

Grace grins at my impression of my mother.

“She didn’t say that.”

“She did. My brother even added that he’d die before he’d trust Luca to help us.”

“To be fair, The Marina is like the middle man on why you all hate him.”

“He did it to himself.”

She holds her hand up.

“You don't have to tell me. I know what happened. I just … has anyone ever asked him about it?”

“My parents did, and he denied everything. Even did this whole act of "I'll help you find who did it,” but my parents didn't fall for it.”

“Yeah, but what if he actually?—”

“He did it, Grace. He’s the only other person who knew the passcode.”

She nods. “All right, so tell me about your new options for a contractor.”

I spin the computer to face her and for the next two hours, we weigh the pros and cons on who I should hire next.

My cell is ringingthe moment I walk through my front door at dinnertime.

I pull it from my back pocket and groan. It’s my brother's name on the screen.

He’s in France with his wife and her family for two moremonths, so why does he feel the need to call me every single day? Especially when he’s six hours ahead of me and it’s nearing ten at night for him. He should be sleeping or something.

I flop back onto my couch, grabbing a magazine to fan my face as I answer the call. The heat of this day never let up.

“Hello, Leo. Let me guess, baby girl isn’t sleeping again.”

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