“I’m sorry y’all are going through that,” Brady tacked on, slightly pissed he’d added another few “maybe”s to his list of self-doubts and then gone right back to thinking about Sloane again. “You still okay with me doing the second coat of paint on the nursery and grabbing the boat this week?”

Roger was adamant with his nodding. “Oh yeah, of course. A deal’s a deal. In fact, since I’ll be out of town for a few days, I’ll be living at work until the festival when I get back. So you don’t even have to call when you want to head that way, just go to the house whenever.”

“That’s pretty trusting of you,” Brady had to say.

Roger finally smiled. “Sloane has good instincts about people. If she trusts you, I do, too.” He clapped Brady on the shoulder and made his tired exit. Sloane’s name hung in the air between them.

Why was that woman so damn hard to ignore?

Brady made another decision right there. What he needed was a distraction.

Why not finish painting the nursery now?

Anything was better than grumbling over a woman who would be out of his life soon anyway.

…

It was dark outside when Sloane woke up from her nap. She rolled over on the couch and looked down at the clock on her phone.

7:05 p.m.

Yikes.

The quick nap she’d attempted to take had somehow turned into a three-hour monstrosity. Her sunburn plus a mood that had gone bad like a potato salad sandwich left out in the heat hadn’t helped her energy levels one bit. Now she felt hungover.

Sloane dragged a hand down her face and tried to fight out of the fog of unconsciousness faster. It wasn’t until the doorbell went off again that she realized that must have been what had woken her in the first place.

“Coming!”

She flopped onto the floor without an ounce of grace and tried to flatten down her nap hair. All the lights were off except in the foyer. Callum must still be out—his bedroom door was closed, and no light was coming out from beneath it. Sloane wondered if maybe it was him ringing the bell, having forgotten his keys, as she opened the door wide.

Nope.

No dice.

Two seconds too late, she realized she should have firmly held on to her horses.

Brady Knox was smoldering sexy standing on the welcome mat. He was in a paint-splattered T-shirt with jeans that hugged him tighter than tight.

Sloane went from a college-educated woman to drooling in the span of two seconds. She forgot the lie she’d told him about hanging out with Emma, and then, when he asked where Emma was with a hint of a smirk, she answered him with something as ill-advised as honesty.