The sound of my front door clicking shut and then his boots on my tiles told me he’d followed me in. A shiver ran through me at the thought that this gorgeous man was in my house.

I searched through my pantry for the gravy but came up empty-handed. Turning to face him, I frowned. “Sorry, I’m out.”

He stood leaning against the counter, one foot crossed in front of the other, and I took a moment to study him while I had him up close. His tanned skin made me think he spent a lot of time out in the sun, and I figured he spent a lot of time working out if his muscles were anything to go by. The way his hair hung a little long and the lack of a wedding band led me to think he wasn’t married and perhaps single. Men with partners tended to – in my experience – have haircuts more often. Personally, I loved his hair. I also loved the masculinity he exuded. He was the kind of man who only had to be in your presence to make himself known – he didn’t need to say anything, you just knew he was in charge. This man owned his maleness, and yet, I sensed a vulnerability to him as well.

Pushing off the counter, he said, “All good. I’ll head out and buy her some.” His gaze swept over my kitchen before coming back to me. “I like the changes you’ve made in here. It needed some updating.”

The first thing I’d done when I moved in was rip the kitchen out and put a new one in. I loved to cook and spent hours in my kitchen so that was a no-brainer. The outdated pale blue tiles had to go, and I replaced them with fresh, white tiles and white paint. I’d added splashes of colour with prints on the walls and red appliances. And the plants I always had in my home finished the room off.

I smiled. “Thank you. Next up is the bathroom.” I couldn’t wait to get started on that room; I had grand plans.

He started walking down the hallway to the front door. Pausing, he asked, “You doing the work by yourself?”

“Yeah. My weekends and nights tend to be filled with renovations these days.”

A look crossed his face, like I’d impressed him, but not knowing him, I couldn’t be sure. In the end, all he said was, “Good. There’s some guys out there who will rip you off, so best to steer clear of them.” And then he walked the rest of the distance to the front door.

I followed him, and held the door as I watched him walk down my path. Realising I didn’t know his name, I called out, “I didn’t catch your name, handsome.”

His step faltered, and he came to a stop before slowly looking back at me. He took a moment to speak, as if he was unsure about sharing his name with me. Odd. “Griff.”

Smiling, I leant against the doorframe, and folded my arms across my chest. “Nice to meet you, Griff. I’m Sophia.”

He gave me a nod and turned away from me again.

As he took another step, I called out again, “And Griff?”

Stopping again, he turned his whole body this time to look at me. His lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed on me while he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah?” he said, his voice all kinds of gravel, the kind of gravel that made me thank God for men.

“Tell Josie, anytime she needs something, just call out, okay?”

Blowing out a breath, he nodded again. “Will do.”

And then he was gone, and I couldn’t help but hope like hell that I ran into him again. Soon.

4

Griff

Fuck, it’s too early in the morning for this.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, fumbling when I couldn’t grasp it. Frustration punched through me and I squinted my eyes open to see where the phone was. Locating it, I snatched it up and eyed the time. Just after five in the morning. Then I saw the name on the caller ID, and that jolted me out of bed.

Scott.

Fuck.

“What’s up, brother?” I asked as I stretched. Jesus, the workout I’d given myself last night had left me in a world of hurt.

“There’s been a fire at Trilogy. Can you meet me there?”

One of Storm’s restaurants.

“Yeah. Any idea how bad?” I asked as I began pulling clothes on.

“Not sure yet,” he answered, and I heard Harlow’s voice in the background. Scott said something to her and then came back to me. “See you soon,” he said before ending the call.

I finished throwing on clothes and headed out to my bike. The minute I stepped foot outside, the humidity stuck to me. Fuck, this summer was brutal – not even six in the morning and already a scorcher.

As I sped off towards Trilogy, I thought the only good thing about leaving for work this early was the lack of traffic. My home in Bulimba wasn’t far from where Trilogy was in The Valley, but peak hour traffic more than doubled the time to get there some mornings. The lack of traffic today meant I pulled up outside the restaurant just over fifteen minutes later.

Surveying the damage from the fire, I estimated the restaurant was as good as fucked. I found Scott talking to one of the firies. When they’d finished their conversation and we were alone, Scott confided, “Looks like arson. They found empty fuel containers, and while they won’t voice their suspicions, I know we sure as fuck don’t keep fuel containers on the premises.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, my brain scrambling to figure out who would set fire to the restaurant and what their motive would be.

A vein pulsed in his neck as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You and I have got some visiting to do today, brother. Nash and J can keep digging for the info on Ricky’s deal, but I want us to figure this fire out.”