When he stood on the ladder to nail them in, his T-shirt pulled out of his jeans, exposing a strip of his lean belly, a trail of hair running from his navel into his waistband. I swallowed.

He knew what he was doing, this guy. Nail gun, drill, a few swear words, big, thick, strong arms, that beautiful head of hair . . . everything you’d want in a carpenter.

“You can’t sleep here tonight,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow and put in a permanent beam, but this should hold it for now. Can you stop watching HGTV?”

“That’s exactly what Jules said.”

“She might know something, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’m . . . I . . . thank you, Noah. You saved me. And Pepper.” At the sound of her name, my dog collapsed on his work boots, rolling over to expose her belly should he be so moved as to rub it.

He obeyed her silent command. “Just leave the carpentry to the carpenters.”

“Yes, Mr. Pelletier.”

He almost smiled at that. “You know,” he said, jerking his chin at the front of my house, “I’d get rid of this picture window here and put in three floor-to-ceiling windows. The view is the only thing this house has going for it. Might as well make the most of it.”

“Do you know any carpenters who might be available?”

“Finlay Construction. They’re the best.”

“I was broadly hinting that you might do this for me, Noah. I’ll pay you, of course.”

“I don’t really do construction. I’m a finish carpenter. I work for Finlay on a lot of jobs. Furniture, doorframes, trim work.”

“But you could do it. You are capable of doing it.”

He looked at me assessingly. “I’m expensive.”

“I just won Powerball. I can afford you.”

“Good, because I’ll charge you an irritation fee.” He folded up the stepladder and grabbed his nail gun or screw gun or whatever the yellow thingy was called. “Don’t go upstairs for anything. Your mom or Juliet will have a toothbrush and clothes you can borrow.”

True enough. “Want a beer?” I asked. “We can drink it on the porch. Or in the back of your pickup.” Well, didn’t that sound like a proposition. “Or on the porch. If it’s safe.”

He hesitated before answering. “Sure.”

As Noah put his stuff back in the truck, I got two IPAs from my fridge, uncapped them (gently, in case the noise caused my bedroom to fall on me), and went out to the porch. Noah came and sat next to me, keeping a couple of feet between us. From somewhere behind us, the peepers were singing. It was full dark now, but the moon was rising.

“Full moon,” I said.

Pepper lay down between us, and Noah petted her idly.

“Almost full. Tomorrow. The pink moon.” He took a swig of beer.

“How do you know it’ll be pink?”