Page 18 of The Contractor's Rose
It’s beena week of long days and longer nights. Of tearing down drywall and soaked shelving units and assessing damages with insurance adjusters. Of holding back the urge to reach for her every single time I saw her standing in that broken space, shoulders squared like she could bear the weight of it all alone.
She never let herself fall apart. Not fully, at least.
I noticed the way she’d pause like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. The way her fingers lingered too long over ruined spines and soggy covers, like she was saying goodbye to something she wasn’t ready to lose. The way she smiled—tight, thin, a little too polished—when someone else was around.
She pushed through the wreckage like her whole damn heart wasn’t shattered across the floorboards of that bookstore.
And me? I was barely keeping it together.
The damage to the building was worse than we’d expected. Water had seeped through the walls, buckling thewood beneath the flooring in places. Most of the inventory was ruined. Mold was already blooming behind the walls.
It would take weeks before it was safe again—before it could feel like hers. Before she could walk barefoot through the aisles, humming to herself like she used to.
But not once did she ask me to stop coming by.
Every night, I’d walk her upstairs to her apartment and wait while she locked the door behind us. Sometimes I’d stay to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate, if she wasn’t too tired. Then I’d stand in her doorway for a few seconds too long, just to see the smile she gave me when I said good night.
However, last night, I’d damn near lost my mind.
We’d been standing too close. Closer than we should’ve been. That wasn’t new. Whatwasnew was the look she gave me—soft and uncertain and daring. She turned to walk those last few steps, her hair falling over her shoulder in a slow, unintentional sweep that made my hands itch. And I snapped.
I placed my booted foot in front of the door as it tried to close and wrapped my arm around her middle. The gasp that escaped her was silenced as I kicked the door shut, turned us around, and pressed her up against the wood. Then I kissed her like I was a goddamn horny college kid again.
Mouths crashing, breath tangled, hands pulling, grabbing, wanting. She melted under me like she’d been waiting for it—like maybe she was just as close to the edge as I was.
But even with her in my arms, even with the taste of her on my tongue and her fingers fisting the front of my shirt, I pulled back.
Always pulled back.
Because this wasn’t just about want.
It was about the fact that she was younger. That she was trusting. That she still looked at me like I was safe.
And I wasn’t.
Because I wasn’t just older, I was part of their circle—working inside their family business, trusted, welcomed.
That last thought—about being close with her parents—snapped me back to the present. I was sitting in Harry and Stella Carter’s office, doing my best to not let my cards show. Pretending I wasn’t spending my nights wishing I was tangled up in their daughter’s sheets. Pretending I hadn’t already memorized the sound of her breath catching beneath my mouth.
I cleared my throat and leaned forward, laying out the folder with the updated estimate. “Unfortunately, the damage was due to corrosion within the aging pipes that led to multiple places weakening over the years. A real recipe for disaster. So, once my guys tear out the damaged flooring and reframe that eastern wall, we’ll need to let it sit for at least a week with the commercial dehumidifiers. After that, we can start running new electrical and plumbing.”
Stella nodded, her brow pinched as she looked at the numbers. “I hate this for her. That store is her heart.”
“She’s hanging in there,” I said. “Strong as hell, that girl.”
“She always is,” Harry replied, his voice softer than usual. “How’s she really doing, Gav? We haven’t seen much of her the last few days. She looked … devastated last time we dropped in.”
I paused. My jaw ticked. My hand curled into a fist on my knee to keep from showing more.
Because I’d seen it. The way Rose crumbled when no one else was watching. The moments she let herself cry against my chest, only to apologize for being “too emotional” seconds later. The way she smiled through it when her parents called, so they wouldn’t worry.
“She’s handling it,” I said carefully. “She’s tired. But she’s fighting.”
Stella’s expression softened. “Thank you for being there for her.”
“Yeah,” Harry added, offering a faint grin. “You’ve always looked out for Rosie. Even when she was little, always asking for you to fix the shelf in her room or carry some insane thrifted piece of furniture upstairs.”
I gave a half-hearted smile.
