She imagined it miserable work, but it provided her with an interesting perspective.

Most of the men had stripped off their shirts. She hoped they’d made liberal and repeated use of sunscreen or they’d be hurting tonight.

She debated with herself a moment, thought, what the hell?

She hurried up to her apartment, grabbed her opera glasses, and jogged down again.

Definitely miserable work, she concluded as she brought that perspective close through the glasses. And oh my, my, the man was seriously built.

She’d seen it, when he had a shirt on, felt it the few times she’d been pressed against him. But . . . there was nothing quite like a full-on view of a sweaty man with muscles rippling.

No woman alive could deny a little buzz, even if the sweaty, ripply-muscle sort wasn’t her usual type.

She saw him glance over, pull down the mask to call out something to one of the other men. He had a damn good face, too—a little scruffy and unshaven over those strong bones, but damn good. And when he laughed, as he did now, another buzz zipped along inside her.

She made a little humming sound.

“Hope? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with . . .”

Hope turned. She nearly whipped the opera glasses behind her back, but she wasn’t quite that bad off. Instead she grinned, maybe a little sheepishly, as Carolee stopped at the door.

“I’m spying on the neighbors.”

“Really?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Carolee walked over. “What’s—Oh, the roof. God, they have to be hot and sweaty and—” She broke off, laughed. “And that’s the whole point. Let me have a look.”

She took the glasses, peered out through the slats of the blinds. “They are pretty, aren’t they? I only see two of the boys—Justine’s boys. Owen must’ve figured a way out. Horrible work. We should make them some lemonade.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if—”

“Absolutely.” Beaming, Carolee handed the glasses back to Hope. “We’ll fill a couple of coolers, an ice bucket, take some plastic glasses. We have that folding table downstairs. It’s a good deed.”

“And I should pay for the show?”

Carolee gave her a little pat. “I wouldn’t say that. Come on, it won’t take much time. We’ve got a couple hours before check-in.”

She couldn’t say no to Carolee, especially since she’d been caught ogling the woman’s nephew. So together they made vats of lemonade. They carted out the folding table, coolers, ice, cups. Carolee called one of the men by name, hailed him over. That started a rotation of men from the roof, from inside.

She got a lot of “thanks, Hope,” or in a few cases “Miss Hope.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Beckett downed a cup, winked at his aunt.

“You be careful up there.”