Or maybe for her it was like fucking the help . . . who knew?

Besides, it didn’t really matter. In a few weeks, she’d be gone, and things would go back to normal. And as long as she and I were on the same page about what this was, what was the harm in enjoying one another in the meantime?

She rolled over to face me, tossing an arm and a leg over my body. If it had been any other woman, any other night, I’d have felt uncomfortable and desperate to leave. But because it was Blair, I gathered her in closer, glad when she lifted her head onto my chest.

It felt right—for now.

Twelve

Blair

I woke up with the sun the next morning. Griffin was still asleep, so I moved as quietly as possible. I managed to slide out of bed, tiptoe to the bathroom and dress without waking him, but before I left the bedroom I couldn’t resist studying him for a moment as he slept.

He lay on his back, one arm thrown up above his head, the other on his stomach. The blanket was at his waist, revealing his tattooed chest, which never failed to cause a stir inside me. I let my eyes travel the length of him, feeling a secret thrill as I recalled everything from last night.

Leaning over him, I pressed a light kiss to his jaw. As I straightened up to go, he grabbed my arm. “Trying to escape, princess?”

I giggled. “Never. I just want to get the scones and shortbread going.”

“Oh, right. It’s a work day.”

“Yes. But don’t forget our plans tonight.”

His brow furrowed. “What plans?”

“You’re going to take me for a ride in the old truck, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I remember now.”

I smiled at him. “Good. Okay, you have to let go of my arm now, because I have to go bake.”

“Don’t you want to come back to bed?”

“Yes, but I can’t. I have to get to work, and you do too.”

He frowned. “I liked it better when you were trapped in the tower.”

Laughing, I patted his shoulder. “You can rescue me again later. This morning, we work.”

It was the perfect day.

I spent the early morning in a sunlit kitchen, listening to music, chattering away to Bisou in French, and baking one tray of scones and two pans of lemon lavender shortbread.

Once again, the baked goods were a hit, and a steady stream of people wandered in through the open door to sample a treat, introduce themselves to me, make appointments for maintenance or repairs, and confide that even though they’d tried Swifty Auto last time, it was really just about curiosity and they much preferred to support a local family business. Many of them told stories about Griffin’s dad and grandfather, and it gave me an idea.

“Hey, do you have any old photos of your dad and grandfather working on cars? Or of you working alongside them?” I asked Griffin over lunch.

“I’m sure my mom has some. Why?”

“I think we should blow them up, frame them, and put them on the walls in the lobby. They’ll be a great visual reminder of your family’s history and the garage’s place in the community. And they’re fun to look at,” I said. “People like a glimpse into your personal life.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me about it. How many people congratulated you on our marriage today?”

“Just a couple,” I said with a laugh. “But don’t worry, I set them straight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I told them we’re living in sin for now, but you’ve promised to make an honest woman of me sooner or later.”

He threw a potato chip at me. “Smartass.”

While we were eating, Cheyenne messaged me contact information for Frannie MacAllister, and I called her right away and left a message, explaining who I was and inquiring if there was any possibility she was hiring at her shop. I left my number with her, and hung up, my heart pounding.

“I hope she calls me back today,” I said.

Griffin smiled. “I hope so too. Let me know if you need a letter of recommendation.”

“From you? What would it say?”

“Hmm. Organized team player with excellent interpersonal skills. Also an unbelievable fuck.”

I gasped and threw a chip back at him. “Jerk.”

But secretly I was glad for the compliment.

I spent the afternoon scouring Pinterest for lobby makeover ideas, and by four o’clock, I’d ordered new chairs, a rug, two small side tables, and one coffee table. I also called Andy’s girlfriend Lola and chatted with her about a redo of the garage’s website with a new logo, and also asked her if she might be willing to set up some social media accounts.

“It will be best if they’re all branded the same, and they’ll need good graphics,” I said. “Although finding someone to keep them updated around here might be a chore.”

“You know, Andy would be great for that,” Lola said. “He’s really good with a camera. Photography is a hobby of his. I bet he could come up with content.”

“Really?”

“Sure. If you want, I’ll talk to him about it.”

“That’s perfect. Thanks!”

Lola said she’d get back to me within a week, and we hung up. Sitting there studying the walls for a moment, I decided the grungy pale green color had to go, so after securing Griffin’s permission to wander away from the desk, I walked over to the hardware store I’d seen on my way to the market. Turned out the store was owned by the Frankel family, and Charlie Frankel was delighted to help me.

“I was at work this morning, otherwise I’d have come in for breakfast again,” he said, smoothing the wayward tufts of white hair on his head. “I retired years ago, but now that I’m widowed, I’ve got a little too much time on my hands. My sons run the place, but I like to come in a few times a week and make sure they’re doing things right.”

I smiled. “Well, I’m very glad to see you, and I bet you’ll be able to help me. I’m going to repaint the lobby at the garage, but I have no idea what I’ll need.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Sure, sure. I can get you all set up. What color?”

“I was thinking about a nice clean white.”

“No problem,” he said. “Are you enjoying life in Bellamy Creek?”

“I really am.”

“My family has been here for six generations.”

“That’s incredible,” I said.

“My great-great-grandfather built a log cabin here back in the 1830s and started a sawmill. And my grandfather built one of the first homes on Center Avenue in what’s now the Historic District. Have you been over there yet?”

“No, I haven’t had a chance, but now you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Number 910. That’s our house.” The happy expression on his face turned a little wistful. “Betty and I had a lot of good years there. Raised four boys.”

“I’ll definitely check it out. I love old homes.”

“Terrific! Would you like to come for iced tea sometime? After I retired, Betty and I used to have tea and apple pie on the porch every afternoon. I sometimes have it alone now, but it’s not the same without someone to talk with. My kids and grandkids visit, but they’re all so busy . . .” His voice trailed off, his smile fading.