Page 13 of The Misfits of Copper County
“Great. Or you can find me at Delaney’s place.”
“Yeah?” Gideon’s eyebrows rose slightly as he glanced between us. “You’re staying there?”
I shrugged. “Delaney’s idea.”
Gideon nodded in approval as his eyes met Delaney’s. “Nice of you to offer.”
“Oh. Well. That’s not… You see…” Delaney waved his hands aimlessly, then stopped. He swallowed audibly, panic dawning on his face like he was only belatedly processing what was happening.
I felt my smile fall.
Was he regretting his impulsive offer already? I probably should have jumped in to provide him with an out, but something in me—maybe exhaustion, maybe pettiness—decided to wait and see how he’d handle it.
After all, he’d said he didn’t want my help or my expertise, right? He’d said he was the boss? He could figure it out.
“It’s no problem,” he finally said in a small voice. “It’ll be great.”
I wasn’t sure which of us he was trying to convince.
I packed up the few possessions I’d managed to salvage, loaded Teeny into my truck, and followed Delaney’s Audi back toward town.
The reality of the situation slowly sank in as we drove. My home was gone. Most of my possessions were gone. And I was about to move in temporarily with the prickliest, most difficult client I’d ever had. A man who seemed to view me as his personal nemesis. A man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
This was either going to be a complete disaster or…
No, who was I kidding. It was definitely going to be a disaster.
Possibly the biggest one of my life.
CHAPTERTHREE
DELANEY
KAK-WEEEEE!
I was sleep-working at my desk the following morning when a sound like a deranged cuckoo clock and an air-raid siren ripped through the house.
For a single, startled moment, I sat bolt upright in my chair and looked around in a panic, thinking it was a fire alarm and there’d been a second Delaney-involved blaze in twenty-four hours.
Then I remembered the hasty plan I’d concocted—thedeliveryI’d scheduled—and realized it was the doorbell. I jumped to my feet and hurried out into the hall before it could shriek again.
The man on my front stoop wore a purple baja hoodie, a green Kitchen Couriers cap, a pair of Birkenstocks over fuzzy socks, and a name tag that read KEL in block letters. More importantly, he carried a large, white bakery box that contained strawberry croissants from Fanaille—aka the single best food in New York or, possibly, the world.
“Good morning,” I said politely, reaching for the box. “Thanks for the?—”
Kel took a step back, taking my croissants with him. “Dude.You’reDelaney Monroe?”
I frowned. “Doesn’t it say my name on the order?”
“As in… Tam Monroe’s brother?”
This again?I blew out a breath. I was running on zero sleep—a side effect, it turned out, of being jumped at by a flyer-bearing Coppertian, crotch-sniffed by a canine with dubious intentions, intimately involved in a home burning, and then saddled with the world’s sexiest, bossiest contractorand his dogas houseguests.
I had no patience for this game.
“Yes,” I said shortly, reaching for the box again.
Again, he kept it just out of reach. “The one who?—?”
