Chapter 1-Honor
As if living in the garage apartment of my childhood home wasn’t weird enough—with my now-married baby sister and her big, gruff husband, who also happens to be my boss—I come home to find out the universe has decided to make things worse.
Much worse.
Don’t get me wrong.
Miles Orson’s a solid guy.
Reliable. Built like a freight train. Treats Hope well.
He’s the kind of man you want standing between you and danger.
And I’m working on getting him to see me less like the wayward brother-in-law and more like an actual business partner, though that’s slow going—mostly because his monstrous ass doesn’t know how to use a fucking computer.
So I handle the invoicing.
The ordering.
The scheduling.
All the behind-the-scenes shit that keeps Orson Outdoors Co. running without falling apart.
It’s not glamorous, but it’s honest.
Which is more than I can say for today.
I’ve just survived eight hours with our most difficult client—Mrs. Seder.
Divorcee. No kids. Too much money. Too much time.
The kind of woman who thinks changing her mind counts as a personality trait.
She’s had us redo the gazebo attached to her outdoor spa three times in the last two weeks.
Three.
Fucking.
Times.
And today, she asked me if I’d like to take my shirt off since it peaked at eighty degrees by noon.
I declined.
It’s only April, but spring in New Jersey means the weather is up in arms and Mother Nature can’t decide what she wants to be.
Still, I don’t take my clothes off for customers—especially when they’re entitled, bossy, and generally disagreeable.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, my phone pinged. Mrs. Seder’s review of Orson Outdoors Co. had dropped from four stars to three.
Great.
So now I was dusty, sweaty, and questioning every decision that brought me back to Barvale.
Which was right about when the universe decided to add fuel to the fire that was my fucked-up day.
I walked into the main house.
And froze right fucking in place.
Because Hope was standing in the kitchen, all domestic and glowing and annoyingly happy.
Beside her—leaning against the counter like she belonged there—was a woman who immediately hijacked every functioning thought in my brain.
Tall. Brunette. Curves for miles.
The kind of body that makes you rethink gravity.
Baby-blue eyes that felt like they locked onto me on a cellular level.
Cute as fuck didn’t even begin to cover it.
I’m suddenly aware that I smell like sweat and sawdust and defeat.
“Honor,” Hope says, grinning like the little menace she’s always been. “This is my friend, Rosalind.”
I just stand there.
Like an idiot.
“Rosalind,” I repeat, because apparently my vocabulary has abandoned ship. “That’s a… big name.”
Real smooth.
She arches a brow, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m a big girl.”
My gaze immediately drops to her impressive tits, which are straining against the thin cotton of her shirt.
My sister snorts, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to blink.
Great. Now I feel even dumber.
Before I can dig myself any deeper, Hope cuts in, mercifully.
“Wow. Really smooth, Honor,” she says, clearly enjoying my discomfort far too much. “Anyway—bro, can you work the grill for me? I had to send Miles to the store, and for some reason the thought of touching raw chicken is making me want to puke.”
I blink.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I clear my throat, painfully aware that Rosalind is still watching me. “Just, uh, give me ten minutes to shower.”
Hope waves me off.
“Take your time.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes sparkle.
Traitor.
I head for the stairs, heart pounding way harder than it has any right to.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just a pretty woman.
Just a friend of my sister’s.
But as I climb, I can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted.
Like the world leaned a little closer.
And whatever was waiting for me down in that kitchen?
It wasn’t going to let me walk away untouched.