He wants to shake on it? I nearly scoff, but we have an audience. Best to be sportsmanlike for the cameras for a change.

When I slip my hand in his, there’s a jolt. Electricity? Shock? The surprise comfort of skin-to-skin contact with the British hottie who can’t stand me? Probably. The feel of Callum’s hard, rough, warm hand against mine is a treat. I’m surprised. It’s exactly the same firm, respectable grip he employed when he first shook my hand the morning he mistook me for the health inspector. I thought he’d for sure opt for a limp fish or douchey iron grip since our every interaction from that point has been hostile.

In these few seconds though, I’m not shaking the hand of the most disagreeable human being I’ve ever met. No, this is simply a hand on another hand, a small part of his body on mine. A devastatingly beautiful and cut body that I wish would show me a smidgen of kindness, like I showed him the day we met. Maybe if he had, we could have sorted this out and shared a laugh. My mind wanders some more. There would have been no arguments, no glares, no hurtful words exchanged. In my perfect world scenario, Callum would have agreed to move his truck elsewhere, but not before asking for my number. I would have given him a cute compliment about his accent and told him that my aunt and uncle live in London, which would have further broken the ice. Flirty texting would have most definitely ensued.

And then I catch him giving me that look again. That same split-second once-over he gave me the day we met, when we were arguing and I was incensed that he would dare to check me out in such a heated moment. Only this time, it doesn’t enrage me. It sets me simmering, on fire in the best way. Like when you finally catch eyes with someone you’ve been gazing at from afar, and in that one look they give you, you know they want you just as much as you want them.

But then he furrows his brow and it’s gone. When he releases me from his grip, my hopeful thoughts drift away with the gusts of salty ocean air. A million dollars says I was mistaken. He wasn’t checking me out; he was sizing me up. I bite the inside of my cheek. Shame on me for fantasizing. It’s pathetic, especially when the object of my fantasy so blatantly wants to destroy me, and the only thing Callum’s dreaming about is taking this prime parking spot from me.

I breathe in, square my shoulders, and look Callum straight in the eye. “Okay, then. Bring it.”

Chapter 3