Chapter 3
DAKOTA
Of course, the landscaping company would send me a big, hunky jock type. I remind myself this isn’t high school, and the man before me isn’t going to beat me down or shove me into a locker.
But it’s hard not to imagine that.
He has a friendly smile though. A golden boy sort of look to him as he stands there looking confused as all hell, his head actually cocked to the side. “You’re Dakota?”
“Yes,” I snap quickly because wow, cliché much? He has the dumb jock thing down if he can’t even compute that I’m the client. “And you’re Gabe from Oakley’s Crew Landscaping. I assume you’re here to build the greenhouse.”
“Oh. Okay, sorry about that. You aren’t what I was expecting.
” He runs his hand through his golden-brown locks, kind of looking like he just rolled out of bed, but also too perfect for that to be true.
I truly despise men like this. Big, muscular.
Too beautiful to be real. Likely had everything handed to him his whole life.
Probably fell into his dream job after high school where he tormented the hell out of little nerdy kids for fun.
I don’t bother asking him what he expected.
Though I do bristle at the thought of him likely taking a swipe at my smaller stature.
I’m tall—not as tall as the giant standing before me—but I’m skinny.
Always have been, probably always will be.
I also have a baby face that makes me look younger than my twenty-seven years.
I hate it. I’ve tried to grow facial hair—a nice beard that says I’m getting close to thirty—but it just doesn’t work.
It comes in patchy when it finally comes in at all.
And I don’t need this asshole judging me for it.
He drops his hand from his hair, and I notice I can see his breath from the cold air around him and sigh. “Do you want to come in and discuss the job? You know, the reason you’re here?” I feel like I’m going to have to explain a lot to him.
Normally, I wouldn’t invite him into my home, but it’s too damn cold to sit out on the porch, and I’m not freezing my balls off for anyone.
He nods and walks into my house before I close the door behind him. He follows me into the living room where I have the fireplace going, and I offer him a seat on the sofa, while I take my usual chair.
“Wow, this is really nice,” he says, his eyes sweeping around the living room, toward the dining room of the nearly one-hundred-year-old home.
“So the greenhouse . . .” I start to get him to focus. We aren’t friends.
“Right,” he says. “We have several options to choose from.”
I motion toward the laptop I left on my coffee table. “That’s the one I’d like.”
He picks up the laptop in his large hand. I notice his nails are neatly trimmed and clean. Not sure why, but I expected them to be dirty and rough. Though I suppose they could feel rough—and why is my brain focused on his hands?
He whistles as he looks it over. “That’s one of our more popular ones for sure. It’s a monster.”
I cock my brow at him. “And that’s a problem?”
He chuckles, his white smile nearly blinding as he grins at me. “Well, you only want one person to do the job, and it’s a huge job.”
“I don’t see why it should be a problem. Just might take a little longer.”
He’s studying me carefully, and I don’t care for it. I don’t want to be analyzed. “Sure. I can do most of this myself, no problem. But to frame it out, I’ll need at least one other person. My friend Jackson is great—”
“No,” I interrupt him, my skin prickling with anxiousness. One big jock type is enough. I don’t need two running around my place.
He’s still staring at me in this kind, understanding—has to be fake—sort of way. I imagine it’s how someone would look at a lion they were trying to approach, and I will snap his damn hand right off if he gets too close. “It’s just—”
“No,” I say again, but somehow, he doesn’t seem all that rattled. Maybe a hint of frustration, but he doesn’t look angry. “You just need help with the framing part?”
He looks slightly relieved, like he thinks I’m going to give in. “Yeah. It would take a day or two tops.”
“Fine.” Again, he looks relieved, but it won’t last long. “I’ll help with that part.”
“What?” He looks at me, and I bristle again, my hackles raised because I may not look like much, but I’m strong, buddy.
“What? I can hold a damn post. It can’t be that hard,” I say, rolling my eyes at him like he’s balking at me doing any sort of hard labor.
“No. I mean, sure . . . but.”
“Great,” I say, standing up. “So when can you start?”
He looks shaken now, that’s for sure as he stands up too. “Um . . . you sure you want to help with that part? I know it probably seems easy, but it can be grueling work. I could get a guy to come out, and we would be done in a day or two tops.”
“You said that,” I point out, still salty about him assuming I can’t do any sort of manual labor because I’m just a scrawny nerd in his eyes.
“I’ll manage. I worked on my parents’ farm every summer of my life until I turned eighteen.
I’m no stranger to a hammer and nails.” I hated fixing fence posts in the hot summer Kansas sun, but I did what I was told.
“Okay,” he says, sounding resigned. “I just have to go back to the office and run it all by my boss. I can get a cement truck here tomorrow afternoon, since it’s supposed to be pretty nice, and get started right away.”
The forecast high for today is forty degrees and seventy-five for tomorrow.
Welcome to Kansas. “Okay, sounds good. Let me know if there’s a problem, and if not, I’ll see you tomorrow.
” I walk him to the door. “And only you,” I say firmly because I can see him trying to show up with another crew member tomorrow, thinking I’ll just go along with it.
Boy, does he have another thing coming.
I’m not a weak little wallflower anymore.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says as he pulls open the door. “Just me.”
That better be true.