Brady might have been a grouch, but free sounded good even to the grumps of the world.

“And exactly what are we talking?”

Ms. Peggy grinned.

Two hours later and Sloane was finishing off her second glass of sweet tea, vibrating from all the sugar in it, and completely satisfied with the collection of plastic bins she’d organized in the middle of Ms. Peggy’s living room.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she told the older woman, meaning it. “I can pay you back as soon as—”

“Oh hush,” Ms. Peggy interrupted with a wave of her free hand. The other had a half-eaten sugar cookie in it. She’d been taking a while to finish it, distracted by the sight taking place out of the window that showed the front yard. The sound of a lawn mower had become like a white-noise machine while they’d worked. “You know your money is no good with me.”

Sloane stood, smiled, and walked up to Ms. Peggy. There at the window, she finally understood the concentration the older woman had been giving outside.

Brady had agreed to help out with Ms. Peggy’s yard work, since her grandson was away. At first he’d grumbled but still gotten to pulling the weeds in the back, clearing some sticks, and even situating some pine straw. He’d been okay while filling in a few holes from what they hoped was a mole. He was even civil after being asked to spray the backyard with mosquito repellent.

But when Ms. Peggy had asked if he could mow the lawn out front—the very massive front yard—Brady had just about thrown a fit. Sloane had pulled him aside, reached for his hand, and looked him square in the eye.

“We need this,” she’d reminded him. “Plus, she’s good people. If you won’t do it to help her, I will.”

That had, remarkably, worked. Though he’d grumbled about it, too.

Since then, Sloane hadn’t peeked outside.

Now she regretted she’d missed most of the show.

Wherever the man’s shirt was—which definitely wasn’t on him—it wasn’t missed.

Brady Knox wasn’t built like a superhero in a movie with a six-pack carved from stone, but he sure was blessed. There were lines and curves and definition that hadn’t just appeared overnight. It was built by exercise, toned by use, and maintained by discipline.

And then there was the happy trail.

Audible gulp.

The light dusting of brown hair led down to the brim of his pants and disappeared from the eye before switching over and continuing in the imagination. Sloane didn’t want to think about what was under there while she was standing next to Ms. Peggy, but she damn well couldn’t stop the thought hardening into desire while she was trying and failing to pretend to be uninterested.