Page 70 of Of Heather and Thistle
Her heart did a ridiculous little flip, a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time. She shook her head, willing it away.
This wasn’t the time for… whatever that was.
She had a house to restore. A life to figure out.
Flynn was just someone who knew what he was doing—someone helping her through the chaos.
And yet, as he bent to pick up another tool, sunlight catching the dark strands of his hair, she couldn’t quite convince herself that was all there was to it.
Flynn didn’t look up, but his grin was unmistakable.
Her stomach dropped straight to the floor.
“If you keep looking at me like that, Campbell, I might start thinking you like what you see.”
Heather choked. Actually choked.
She barely covered it with a scoff, shifting her weight and desperately trying to mask the heat crawling up her neck. “Oh, please,” she shot back, folding her arms across her chest. “I was just wondering how many more things you plan to mansplain today.”
Flynn chuckled, clearly amused. Clearly not fooled.
“Och, you wound me,” he said, pressing a hand over his chest in mock injury. “But dinnae fash, lass… I’ll let you take the lead next time. Wouldnae want to bruise your pride.”
Heather needed a new planet to live on immediately.
She mustered an indignant, “Are you actually suggesting that I help?”
“Only if you dinnae mind getting your hands dirty,” Flynn said, nodding toward a loose piece of molding. “I could use a second pair of hands to hold that in place while I secure it. Unless, of course, ye’d rather stick to ‘observing.’”
Heather hesitated, but the glint of challenge in his eyes made her straighten her shoulders.
“Fine,” she said, stepping into the room. “But don’t blame me if I break something.”
Flynn smirked, handing her a mallet. Their fingers brushed, just a quick, fleeting touch, but Heather felt the heat of it like a spark jumping from skin to skin.
Flynn didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just nodded toward the wooden molding, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just sent a jolt up her arm that made her grip tighten around the handle.
Heather swallowed.Focus. She was holding a tool, not his hand. Get a grip.
“Here, hold this steady while I nail it back in,” he said, voice easy, professional.
”Right,” Heather murmured, positioning the board. She could do this. She wasn’t thinking about his hands. She wasn’t thinking about how solid his grip looked as he steadied the hammer.
But as they worked side by side, the air between them felt… different. Warmer. Charged.
Flynn caught himself glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She was concentrating, brows knitted in determination, biting her lip as she steadied the board.
He smirked. Cute. Too damn cute.
She wasn’t like his usual clients—older couples restoring vacation homes, business owners flipping properties. Heather cared about this place. And, if he was being honest, she was also dangerously adorable when she pretended to know what she was doing.
He cleared his throat and smirked. “Careful now, Campbell. If you get too good at this, I might have to put you on payroll.”
Heather raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get used to this. I’m not planning on becoming your full time assistant.”
Flynn chuckled. “Too bad. You’re better company than most of the lads on my crew.”
Heather laughed, the tension in her chest easing. “Glad I could meet your high standards.”
