She poked her head in the door and saw men, a lot of toothy tools, piles of lumber, stacks of paint, shelves jammed with cans and jars, and God knew what else.

Finch hustled right in, dropped the ball at Ryder’s feet. Ryder barely glanced down before he kicked the ball through the window.

The dog soared through after it. There was a crash, a thud. As Hope scrambled back to make sure the dog was all right, Finch rolled with the ball clamped in his teeth, raced back into the shop.

“For heaven’s sake,” she murmured. She walked back, this time going in. And had just enough time to lift her hands in defense and catch the ball before it hit her in the face.

“Good reflexes,” Ryder commented.

“Yuck.” She heaved the ball outside. A deliriously joyful Finch flew after it.

“And not a bad arm.”

“You might look where you’re kicking that disgusting thing.”

“It would’ve gone out the window if you hadn’t blocked it.” He pulled a bandana out of his pocket.

She only eyed it when he offered it, and instead reached in her purse for a mini bottle of antibacterial gel. “No, thanks.”

“Hope! Look at my bar.” Avery, in cargo shorts, hiking boots, and a wildly green bandana tied around her hair looked more like one of the trekkers who came off the Appalachian Trail than a restaurateur. She negotiated the maze of power tools and lumber to grab Hope’s hand and pull her through. “These are the panels that go on the bar. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

Hope didn’t know much about carpentry, but she thought she saw potential in the unfinished wood, the cleanly defined details.

“All of those? It’s going to be bigger than I realized.”

“Belly up!” Avery wiggled her butt. “I’ve nearly decided on what I want for the top. I keep going back and forth. We’re going to start staining some of the panels today so I can see how they look.”

“There’s no we,” Owen corrected.

“But I—”

“Do I mess around in your kitchen?”

“No, but—”

“Why?”

Avery rolled her eyes. “Because you’re too fussy and picky about having everything lining up like soldiers, and won’t experiment.”

“And you’re not. Makes you a good cook. Fussy and picky make me a good carpenter.”

He did something Hope never expected to see the fussy and picky Owen do. He licked his thumb, rubbed it on the unstained wood. “Nice,” he said as the dampness brought out the deep, rich tone. “Go cook something.”

When she bared her teeth at him, he laughed and grabbed her in for a hard kiss and a butt squeeze.

Beckett came in from another area carrying a couple of large cans. “I told you I knew where it was. Hi, Hope.”