Julia straightens, narrowing her eyes.

“Luke just harvested his biggest corn crop yet. He’s going to have a lot of product to sell. Whatever cabinetry we install has to hold up to serious wear and tear. You put stock in here—and use crappy paint—and I guarantee within a year you’ll be replacing it. Whatever we spend on cabinets we can make up for with countertops. I selected a honed black granite that’s reasonably priced—the place stocks it, so we don’t have to buy whole slabs—but very durable. It’ll look great with the cabinet color. I also found some brass hardware for cheap at an antique place over in Mt. Pleasant.”

She never holds back. Never tempers her words with politeness or patience. Granted, neither do I. But I appreciate her no-bullshit attitude. It’s refreshing.

And arousing.

And infuriating.

“Cutting costs on two hundred square feet of countertop isn’t going to put a dent in the extra ten grand custom cabinets will cost us. We hired you to stick to budget. Rework your proposal and have it in my inbox by tomorrow morning.”

“No, you hired me to make this place feel special.” Julia puts a hand on her hip. “And I usually make the budget work, don’t I? Why haven’t you learned that yet? Be honest. Did you really come all the way out here just so you could be rude to me in person?”

I tilt my chin toward the duct work above our heads. “I came out here to check on the HVAC.”

Only half a lie. A lie that Julia picks right up on.

“The HVAC,” she says, leaning her head to the side. “It was installed last week. You’ve been out here twice since then.”

See? See how quick she is?

Goddamn it.

I look at her. She waits for an explanation. Patiently. No judgment in her eyes. Just annoyance.

Annoyance and a hint of something else. For a crazy heartbeat I imagine it’s arousal.

Shaking the idea from my head, I’m overwhelmed by the need to apologize to her. For being such a miserable jerk. For making life difficult just because feeling things pisses me off.

But that would open up a can of worms I do not want to revisit. Too soon.

Too late, really.

At last, Julia digs a silver tape measure out of her coat pocket—she’s wearing this beat-up, teeny tiny leather jacket over her dress—and shoots me one last look. Blue eyes alive, set of her shoulders determined.

“Whatever,” she says, taking a quick, angry step past me. “Just don’t get in my way, all right?”

But in her hurry, she trips on a loose floorboard. She stumbles forward with a gasp.

I tear my hands out of my pockets and lunge to the right, determined to block her fall with the bulk of my body.

My left arm hooks around her waist. I catch her, my other arm curling around her back as I try to reverse her forward momentum by pulling her against me. She’s a little thing, petite, so it doesn’t take much effort. But my heart still pounds as her body collides with mine, her warmth seeping through my shirt.