Her smile flickers, and I’m worried it might go out. But then a grin flashes wide, and her gorgeous face threatens to burn my retinas. Reflexively, I reach for my sunglasses, but just keep myself from putting them on.

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.” I smooth my hands over the front of my T-shirt. “When are you free for our first friend date?”

The fact that Juliet laughs rather than cringes from me is the last bit of proof I need.

She’s my kind of person.

13

ZOEY

There’s no harm in using a man for his tool.

His electric jigsaw, that is.

Some pieces of furniture I’m refurbishing require more than a simple sand and stain. I need to make precise cuts, which means I need a jigsaw. Briefly, I considered buying one. But I already have one back in Denver, and I simply forgot to pack it.

Way too much of my truck space was allotted to crafting supplies.

Why did I think I needed a gallon of glitter?

To keep my wallet happy, I opt for borrowing from Warner.

And that’s the only reason I called Sawdust and Supplies, asking after him.

My visit to his place is definitely not inspired by the steamy sex scenes in the romance novel I checked out earlier this week.

Not at all.

A man by the name of Mason answered the phone when I called last evening. A minute later, he passed the receiver off to Warner, who immediately agreed to help me out.

I park in front of the hardware store. Turns out, Warner lives in the apartment above his family’s shop.

Small-town life. It’s kind of sweet.

Walking around to the side alley, I spot the door he told me to knock on.

Just as I’m raising my fist, a voice sounds from behind me. “Who are you?”

I turn, meeting the amber eyes of a beautiful young woman. She’s wearing torn jeans and a general air that asks, Why should I give a fuck about you? Her tangle of dark hair frames a pale face that could belong to a sixteen-year-old or just as easily a twenty-six-year-old.

“I’m Zoey Gunner.” I hold out my hand. “And you?”

The girl glances from my hand to my face and back to my hand before finally accepting it in a surprisingly firm grip. “Tanya.” Then, she steps in closer, her nostrils flaring slightly as her head cocks. “You’re not from around here.”

Not a question, but I answer anyway. “My grandmother was Minnie Gunner. I’m fixing up her cabin to sell.”

Tanya finally lets go of my hand, but continues to watch me with a certain amount of intensity. “No one was invited to your grandma’s funeral.”

“There wasn’t one.”

The woman was cremated, and Dad drove down to collect the ashes. I have zero knowledge of what my mom did with them.