Page 11 of The Best Laid Plans

If I were nicer, I would’ve told her that I’d never used handcuffs either. I would’ve done something to make her feel at ease. But I was feeling cranky. And tired. And wanted to be anywhere but in this dark entryway with a pretty red-haired woman whom I was stuck with for the duration of a long renovation.

I wanted to be on a beach. Wanted sun on my face and a cold beer in my hand. A book on my lap that I’d read if I felt like it. I wanted to play with my niece and nephew.

My knee ached the longer I crouched there, cataloging the way she smelled and the color of her hair.

It was the ache in my knee that had me gripping the post of the railing just underneath the banister. There was a slight give to the wood that was encouraging. Her gaze snapped between my hands around the post, back to my face. Then her eyebrows bent in a V.

“Close your eyes,” I warned her.

She didn’t. They narrowed in on where I tightened my hands around the wood. “Don’t you dare—”

I snapped the post away from the banister, and right along with the satisfying crack of wood breaking, Charlotte gasped. “That’s original woodwork!”

“And now you’re not chained to the steps.” I stood. “Maybe you should’ve thought about the original woodwork before you did that.”

Her eyes flashed. “It was hand milled by Mr.Campbell. You can’t find spindles like this anywhere.”

My jaw ticced. “I don’t give a shit if it was carved by tree fairies using their gold-coated wings,” I told her. “You didn’t have a key, and I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re locked to the fucking staircase.”

The boom of my voice echoed through the entryway. Not because I was yelling, but it was loud enough that I dropped my gaze and swore under my breath.

Charlotte watched me carefully, cradling her still-cuffed hands to her chest now that she was free of the railing.

“Thank you for getting me loose,” she said quietly.

I nodded.

She sighed, steadying herself on the railing as she stood.

I backed up as she did.

Charlotte Cunningham was tall, all legs and hair, and when she was at her full height, the top of her head was above my chin.

“You’re tall,” I said. Like an asshole.

Her smile was tight. “And you’re very observant.”

If I made it out of this first meeting without grinding my molars to dust, it would be nothing short of a miracle. “Can we continue this outside?”

She nodded.

I gestured for her to go first, and it was amazing how she managed a regal lift of her chin and a gliding walk out, like she wasn’t wearing handcuffs. When she kept her weight to the left side of the front steps, I followed her lead.

In front of the carriage house was a small patio set, and she took one of the chairs. Her hands settled into her lap, and she pinned me with a direct gaze once I’d sat down.

“Why were you handcuffed to the stairs?” I asked.

She licked her lips. When she rolled them together, I caught a glimpse of a dimple in her right cheek.

I hated that I noticed any of it.

“My aunt was at the café earlier when you stopped for lunch,” she said. “And she’s ... well, she’s a bit of a hippie who loves to relive her war-protesting days. She thought it was better than showing you a PowerPoint.”

I swiped across my mouth before I trusted myself to answer without yelling. “Long gray hair? Wears a shit ton of bracelets and asks a lot of intrusive questions?”

“That would be Daphne.”

Instead of asking anything else, I held her stare until she fidgeted uncomfortably. “I wish you hadn’t lost your phone. It would make this a lot easier.”

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