Chapter 3
Sage
TWO WEEKS LATER
“It just needs to be livable. Livable. Not perfect.” I chant my mantra over and over while the sweat pours down my back and the August sun beats down on me when I emerge from my house and toss more ripped-out underlay into the front yard.
My neighbors must think I’m nuts.
I’ve been busting my ass every day, trying to transform this space with zero air conditioning while praying for a coastal breeze to come through. I tore up the filthy carpet, exposed the gorgeous hardwood that lay beneath, and tried desperately to set myself up before the semester starts.
No such luck, obviously.
Swiping the sweat from my upper lip, I rest my hands on my knees and let my head hang down. Had Dad known it was going to be so much work? Had he gifted this place to me because he knew it’d keep me too busy to keep wallowing in the death of my on-screen dreams?
“You doing okay?” A voice calls out. Clear, gruff, masculine. Griffin. “I think I’ve watched you haul half the house out of there. You gutting the place?”
I glance over, heart pounding when I see him leaning against the pillar of his porch holding an ice-cold beer. He emanates casual grace and quiet strength. The kind that makes me gravitate toward him like a flower basking in a ray of sunshine.
Watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat makes thirst claw at my throat. I straighten, pressing my hands into my aching sides.
“No, I’m just trying to make the space mine. More me. I’m not really one for burnt orange shag carpet, you know?” I scrunch up my nose and remember my grandma’s pride in her home. She clung to this place until the day she died, and it passed to my dad. “No offense to dear old Gran.”
Griffin’s lips quirk up, and that tiny flash of a smile does something funny to my insides. It’s probably wrong to lust after my dad’s childhood friend. The man’s got maybe eighteen years on me, and I know I shouldn’t find him so damn appealing, but I can’t help it.
There’s something about him that reminds me of the ocean. Maybe it’s his calm demeanor, or the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, or how the silver streaks at his temple catch the light… but I am so drawn to him.
He looks seasoned. He feels like he could be a safe harbor. And he has enough sex appeal that I’ve gone through the trouble of figuring out he’s single.
It’s a fact I’ve subtly double-checked with townspeople while out buying supplies, especially after I ran into him in the hardware store. That time, it was me who was going too quick around a bend, and I slammed my cart into his and tried to laugh it off while my face flushed hot.
I also remember how my parents would mention him in passing and comment on his solitary lifestyle. Guess it must be true because I haven’t clocked any visitors coming over to see Griffin since I moved in. Mostly, it’s been clients who clang through the gate and head back to Griffin’s workshop.
Across the short physical distance that separates us, there’s an energy that pulses between us. I know I shouldn’t want it. Shouldn’t want him.
But I’m not known for having a lot of restraint when it comes to chasing after the things I want.
“You got another one of those? I could use a break right about now.”
His eyebrow quirks up. “You old enough to drink, Sage?”
“Old enough to drink, rent a car, and book a hotel room.” I beam at him while he takes a long swig and eyes me across the dead lawn.
“Plenty old enough for a lot of things. I’m twenty-eight. Not barely legal.”
Beer spews out of his mouth and into a bush. He coughs hard, and I can’t help but laugh as his face goes a little more ruddy.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
Griffin’s eyes glint as he swipes at the corner of his mouth. “You’re trouble.”
“So, how about that drink?”
I watch as he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Those ocean blue eyes hold steady on me, never once daring to skim down my curves, but I caught him staring hard before. First, when we met, and more, later.
“Think you’re grown up enough to get your own beer, Sage.” He disappears inside his house and I’m left rolling my lips between my teeth.
I debate taking him at his word, jumping over the property line and helping myself to his beer, but I’m not sure I’m bold enough to pull that off. And besides, there’s plenty of work left to do inside.
So I swallow that soft rejection and head inside. Gulping down a couple glasses of ice-cold water, my eyes catch on a wall I’d been debating about tearing down. It cramps the space, and I prefer an open, welcoming, dynamic vibe.
Hell, the only room I want closed off is the downstairs coat closet. For reasons.
So I drag out my sledgehammer, check the internet one more time to make sure my next move is actually sound, and take a heavy swing.
Big mistake.
The wall crumbles, dust flies, and a loud POP! sounds as the old insulation tumbles out and sparks fly. Yelping, I jump back and drop the sledgehammer to the floor.
Shit, shit, shit!
The smoke alarm starts up as a flame flashes and dies, leaving a small trail of white smoke sailing upwards. I catch the distinct scent of burning plastic as I back away, patting my jeans in search of my cell phone. Fire? Is there a fire? Shit.
I’ve barely unlocked my phone to call 911 when the front door bangs open and Griffin storms in.
“Heard the alarm! Are you hurt?” He sniffs the air, turning to me with wild eyes and worry written all over his face. “Where’s the fire?”
He strides forward, his long legs eating up the space between us in mere heartbeats. His eyes dart from one end of the room to the other as he wields a fire extinguisher in hand and searches for the source of the burning smell.
“It’s okay,” I say, stunned to find him here. “No fire. Just a few sparks.”
He drops the fire extinguisher and expels a breath. With his eyes shut, I watch a series of expressions ghost over his face—worry, relief, fear, and something I can’t quite make out before his eyes open and he rounds on me.
With his hands settled on my shoulders, I automatically wrap my fingers around his wrists. Feel the steady drum of his pulse beneath my fingertips.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t think the wall had any wiring, so I took a swing. Turns out I was wrong.”
“That… that’s dangerous,” he growls.
“But I’m fine.”
His eyes blaze with quiet fury. “You could’ve very easily not been fine. You cannot just take out any old wall because you’re… you’re renovating.”
“I’m DIY’ing, and YouTube—”
“YouTube?” He rubs an agitated hand over his face. “You need a professional. Not YouTube. A remodel like this?” He waves a hand at the bare interior, the utter state of disrepair surrounding us. “You can’t do it alone. You need help. You need a team.”
The tips of my ears burn with embarrassment and anger, and I wrench free of his grasp.
“I can’t afford a team. Every penny I earn is earmarked for living expenses, my car repairs, headshots, equipment, and the rest is owed to the Department of Education!
” I take a big breath and fight to level my voice.
“Besides, I’m not trying to make this place perfect. I only need to make it livable.”
“I honestly can’t believe this place was left to rot like this…” he trailed off. “Never mind. What matters now is that this place is not livable. It’s not safe.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Sage, look at me.” His voice softens, and he waits until I lift my gaze to his. “It is that bad. Don’t keep faking happy for me. I’m not your dad, but I am your next-door neighbor. And this? This is a dangerous fire waiting to happen. You need an electrician.”
My gaze drops to the fire extinguisher at our feet. I was moments away from starting an electrical fire, and I hadn’t even realized it.
I chew on my bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“I know a guy. Come over, have that beer, and I’ll give him a call. Maybe it’ll be an easy fix.”
I nod, grab my phone and my keys, then follow Griffin out the door without looking back.