Page 5 of The Contractor's Rose
Gavin had always been in the background. Safe. A permanent fixture in my life. Tall and steady and gruff in a way that made you feel protected. My dad’s best friend. A widower. A man I’d grown up callingMr. Millerbefore he finally told me to knock it off.
Now?
Now, he was the man who’d held me while I cried. The man who’d made me grilled cheese and hot chocolate and told me my bookstore mattered. The man who’d called meRoselike he was daring me to bloom. The man whose hands I kept imagining on me.
I groaned into the pillow, letting out a muffled whimper, and kicked the covers off like they were to blame. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’tme.
I was the responsible one. The planner. The rule-follower. The kind of woman who read smutty books in secret but never acted on any of the fantasies. The kind who blushed when characters said filthy things, then reread the passage three more times before dog-earing the page.
I was not the kind of woman who wanted to crawl into her dad’s best friend’s lap and whisperDaddylike she meant it.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Maybe it was the stress. The grief. The sheer mass destruction downstairs bleeding into everything else. Or maybe it was something deeper. Something I’d never dared to name out loud.
That quiet, aching part of me that had always wanted someone to take care of me. Not in a sweet way. Not in the flowers-and-dinner-dates kind of way, either. Not with words or gifts or even soft affection—but with presence. Withhands.With control.
The way that steadied you with strong hands and didn’t ask for permission to take the weight off your shoulders.
Someone who could see past the sundresses and polite smiles and know that, underneath it all, I wanted to be unraveled.
I’d never told anyone that. I barely admitted it to myself. But Gavin … He was suddenly making it hard to ignore.
When he looked at me last night, I didn’t feel like a kid or someone in need of rescuing … minus yesterday—that didn’t count. I felt like a woman.
A woman who wanted things. Big, scary, adult things.
I sat up abruptly, heart still racing, the covers tangled around my legs and my heart in my throat.
I reached for my phone out of habit and blinked against the bright screen. Two texts stared back at me.
MOM
Hi, hun. Just checking in. Your dad and I are going to be out of the office the next few days. Heading a few towns over to look at some properties for a client. We’ll keep you posted. Love you.
ELODIE
Hey babe. Girls night still happening this weekend? I’ve got wine, snacks, and two new face masks. Tell Morgan to hold down the fort. XO
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips at the thought of girls’ night. The one night, every few weeks, where I let myself be more than the tired shop owner with stress on her shoulders. Elodie was the one friend I had who never let me flake. And Morgan, bless her weekend shifts, made it possible to pretend like I still had some version of a social life—family brunches, the occasional night out, breathing room.
I stared at their texts for a minute longer, sending a quick update to Elodie about the shop and my need to reschedule, just so I could get the shop cleaned up.
I needed a shower. I needed coffee. I certainly needed to remember how to function before Gavin came back.
Because hewascoming back. With fans. With tools. With those forearms I kept picturing braced on either side of my head.
I was so screwed.
But a secret part of me, beneath all the panic and guilt and confusion—the one that liked my books with bodice ripper covers and possessive men—taunted:
Maybe it’s time you stopped playing it so safe.
I dressed like it mattered.Which was stupid. But I did it anyway.
Nothing too dramatic—just a simple sundress with tinyblue flowers and a neckline that dippedjust enoughto make me blush at myself in the mirror. The skirt hit mid-thigh and fluttered when I walked.
I told myself it was because I was behind on laundry. But deep down, I knew better. The dress was a little nicer than some of my usual picks and definitely not what I should be wearing to clean the mess downstairs.
