7. The Walkthrough
The Walkthrough
The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen before the sun came up. Jenna had been awake since before dawn, pacing between the mirror and the suitcase she still hadn’t unpacked, convincing herself it was about being productive.
She told herself she just didn’t want to look like someone who’d been sleeping on a couch for two weeks, even though she had.
Her hair hadn’t seen a curling iron in months.
She had found Grace’s in her bathroom under the sink.
She picked it up, set it down, then picked it up again.
The first outfit, paint-spattered jeans and a faded T-shirt, made her look like she’d given up.
The second, dark jeans and a chambray button-down, looked like she cared .
. . too much. She landed somewhere in between: fitted enough to look pulled together, but casual enough to claim practicality.
Biscuit watched from the bed, tail flicking like he knew something. She could feel the judgment from the other room.
“It’s not like that,” she told him. “He’s just a contractor.”
The cat just stared, the way cats do, unimpressed and all-knowing. “Probably married anyway,” she muttered, brushing lint from her shirt.
She didn’t understand why she cared. Rugged, manly contractors were a dime a dozen in her former life.
But she didn’t really have a type anymore.
Not really. Ten years of cautious first dates and quieter endings had trained her to stay half-gone before anyone could leave.
When men started asking what she wanted long-term, she disappeared into work, travel, distance, whatever excuse fits the shape of escape.
No one had made her feel anything worth staying for. Not like she was feeling right now.
It unsettled her how easily he’d gotten under her skin, how quickly her thoughts kept finding their way back to him. So, she did what she always did when something scared her: she shifted to logistics.
They hadn’t agreed on a time; he’d just said morning.
In construction, that usually meant eight o’clock sharp. It was the unspoken rule, the universal code for punctual men who carried tape measures and blueprints instead of excuses. Cole struck her as that kind of man: prompt, steady, organized. The kind who said morning and meant it.
She caught her reflection, heat rising in her cheeks. “Get it together, Hart. You’re hiring him, not proposing to him.”
Still, when she stepped outside, the morning air felt charged—like the sky already knew he was on his way.
Cole showed up right on time with a white paper bag from the gas station and two coffees.
“Morning,” he said, offering her one of the cups. “Didn’t risk Hellas this time. Went high- end, the Shell station on the corner.”
She took the cup, fingers brushing his. Even that brief touch carried heat, like he ran a few degrees warmer than the air around him despite the Florida heat.
“Burnt beans and sugar, huh?” she said, sniffing. “You’re really setting the bar high this morning.”
He smiled, easy and patient. “It’s not about perfection. It’s about potential.”
She arched a brow. “That your business motto?”
“Life motto.” He tilted his head. “What’s yours? ‘Do it right or don’t do it at all.’ Probably.”
The fact that he’d read her that fast made her pulse trip. “You catch on quick.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “I build things. Gotta know when something’s solid and when it just looks that way.”
The words landed somewhere between compliment and understanding, soft enough to slip under her guard. She took a sip to cover the way her breath caught.
It was terrible coffee, but she swallowed anyway. “You’re lucky you brought donuts. This coffee might’ve ended our partnership. Those are donuts, right?”
“Powdered. Guess I’ll have to win you over with my craftsmanship instead.”
“Now you sound like a salesman.”
He laughed, low and genuine, the sound rolling through her like a slow-moving current. “Depends what I’m selling.”
The air between them shifted again, too warm for the hour. Jenna felt her pulse stumble and forced a smirk to cover it.
She raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m starting to think I should’ve let you bring something controversial. At least that was edible.”
He grinned. “You haven’t had these yet.” He held out the bag like an offering. “Five-star cuisine.”
She laughed and took one, brushing sugar from her fingers. “Grace used to hide these in her car for ‘emergencies.’”
“Then I’d say you come from good stock,” he said, glancing toward the building. “This place has good bones. Needs some love, but it’s solid.”
He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside ahead of him. The floor creaked underfoot as they crossed the worn tiles toward the counter.
Jenna gestured toward the ceiling. “That’s a polite way to say it’s falling apart.
The roof’s leaking near the back corner—probably soft decking.
You’ll want to check the soffit and fascia on the west side, too.
They’re starting to separate. And I’m guessing the exterior trim will need replacing once you pull it down. ”
Cole looked up from his notes, amusement tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Maybe once or twice,” she said, crossing her arms. “Old habits.”
“That explains the bossy tone.”
“Confident tone,” Jenna corrected.
“Mm.” He nodded, pretending to consider it. “You always this sure of yourself?”
“Only when I’m right,” she said, matching his tone. “So yes, pretty consistently.”
“That explains a lot,” he murmured, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
That smile, warm and knowing, caught her off guard. It wasn’t just teasing; it was understanding. Like he could sense she needed to feel in control of something, anything, and he was willing to let her have it.
Jenna rolled her eyes but felt a flicker of warmth beneath the exchange.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, though it should’ve been.
He was a big man, taller than anyone she’d been face-to-face with in years, and standing this close to him, she could feel his presence like a change in temperature.
Even from a few feet away, the air between them seemed thinner, like they were standing closer than they actually were.
He moved through the bakery, taking notes on his phone, occasionally asking questions about outlets, fixtures, and flooring. She answered easily, staying practical, but every time their eyes met, the air shifted again, steady, quiet, and charged.
When he finished, he looked up from his notes. “I’ll pull together pricing and get you an estimate in a day or two. You want it broken down by section or just a total?”
“Detailed,” she said automatically. “Always detailed.”
He chuckled. “Got it. I usually get paid in muffins, but I’ll make an exception for an actual check this time.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “We’ll see how good your numbers are first.”
Cole laughed softly. “Fair enough.”
He slid his phone into his pocket, nodded toward the open doorway at the back of the kitchen, and said, “I’ll start over at the house next—see what’s hiding behind those walls.
“Brace yourself,” Jenna said. “Grace’s mess is legendary.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said, smiling as he met her eyes. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
* * *
They crossed the short walkway between the buildings, Cole holding the door for her as they stepped inside the house.
She hesitated just past the threshold, the vague scent of lemon oil and vanilla still clinging to the air. Grace’s air. The space felt occupied somehow, as if her sister’s presence were still threaded through the walls. Jenna’s chest tightened. It felt wrong, someone else standing here.
Cole glanced around, then looked back at her. “It’s weird for you, isn’t it?”
Her eyes lifted to his, startled.
He nodded, voice smoothed now. “Some places still feel like they belong to the person who left them.”
She swallowed, the words hitting closer than he could’ve known. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Exactly that.”
He moved through the space carefully, scanning the trim, the flooring, the windows. He was close, close enough that Jenna could feel the warmth coming off him. It radiated like the sun on skin after a storm, solid and steady. He didn’t crowd her, but his presence filled the room anyway.
He leaned down to look under a window frame. “Flooring’s solid. Subfloor might need a few screws tightened, but that’s it.”
He moved like someone used to wide spaces and heavy work, every motion deliberate. Even standing still, he seemed to warm the air around him.
When he crouched to check the baseboards, she caught herself watching the shift of muscle under his shirt. She leaned a little too far, her breath catching as the fabric across his shoulders tightened. He must’ve felt it, because he glanced back with a half-smile.
“You checking my work?”
She scoffed. “Someone has to.”
“Fair.” He straightened to his full towering height. “You like things done right the first time.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Most people do,” he said carefully. “But you’re not most.”
He turned back toward the window, giving her room to breathe before asking, “You mentioned an office?”
Jenna hesitated, then gestured down the hall.
He followed the motion with his eyes before glancing back at her. “You’ve been avoiding it.”
It wasn’t a question, and somehow that made it easier to answer. “A little.”
“Then we’ll take it slow,” he said, his voice low, deep, and warm enough to settle something restless inside her.
They stopped outside Grace’s old office—the one Jenna had been avoiding for weeks. The door was still cracked open, the room exactly as her sister had left it. Papers. Receipts. The half-done lists are taped to the wall.
“I can’t decide if I should keep it like this or turn it into something useful,” she said. “I need a workspace, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Cole studied her profile for a moment, then said kindly, “You don’t have to decide today.”
She looked at him, then back at the door. “If I don’t, I’ll never do it.”