Which he ignored. “Bah, he’s fine. Young enough and he doesn’t have that useless look like some do.”

Connor was pretty sure that was a compliment, but who could tell? “Thanks?”

“I’m up by five.”

He couldn’t possibly mean that . . . “In the morning?”

“There’s no need to waste the day.” Paul nodded. “I’ll give you a break and see you at six.”

“Wait . . .” But Connor was talking to air and looking at Maddie’s amused expression. “What just happened?”

Maddie reached over to the bread basket and grabbed a roll. “I think you agreed to fix his steps and railing.”

“Did I use any of those words?”

A smile lit up her face. “You didn’t have to. I think it was assumed before the conversation even started.”

He was half tempted to agree to get up at five for this ridiculous back-steps adventure if it meant he got to see that unguarded look of pure joy in her face again. “I’m not going to let him pay me for work I’m not really qualified to do.”

“Oh, I doubt he plans to pay you.”

Words stuttered to a halt in Connor’s brain. It took another few seconds for the cells to fire up again. “Free labor I’m not qualified to perform, and at sunrise. Great.”

“Consider it being neighborly.”

“This is Hansen’s fault.”

“I’m afraid so.”

A thought hit Connor. “You’re a recluse. How do you know everyone?”

“First, stop throwing that word around. I’m careful, not a live-off-the-grid type who shoots people who step on her lawn.”

“That’s an interesting distinction.”

She handed the bread basket to him. “Second, Paul is on the Whitaker Board, which is a sort of demented island council—you don’t want to know—and from time to time, I get called in to handle some work for the board, like writing the meeting minutes.”

“My brother forgot to fill me in on all of this, including how I’d get roped into free labor for strangers.”

Her smile only widened. “While you’re at it, I have a kitchen cabinet that needs some work.”

“I bet you do.” But he couldn’t be mad. Helping out was one way to meet people. Helping her guaranteed spending more time with her. “We’ll see how dinner goes first.”

“You’re paying.” She toasted him with her water glass.

“Of course I am.” When she glanced at him over the rim of her glass, he explained. “I was raised in a family where people dive for the check as soon as it hits the table. I’d say it’s cultural, like an Asian thing, but my dad—who is very white—partakes in the tradition.”

She slowly lowered the glass. “So, if I tried to pay?”

“Amateur move. They would mow you down to get to the bill first.”

“That’s endearing.”