Chapter 6 Hailey
Hailey
My brand-new Denver apartment looks like the aftermath of an IKEA tornado.
There’s a half-assembled coffee table bleeding screws onto the floor, a pile of instructions written in what I can only assume is ancient Norse, and one lone Allen wrench sitting on the counter like it’s mocking me.
“Okay,” I mutter to the room, “this cannot be that hard.”
I shove my hair into a messy bun, sit cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, and stare at the drawing that claims Step 3 follows Step 2. Lies. Step 3 requires a second person with octopus arms. That’s the only explanation.
“Maybe being independent and single isn’t for me after all,” I mutter bitterly, only half joking.
If Maddie were here, she’d already be holding one leg while singing Mariah Carey off-key and reminding me that she told me buy power tools but I insisted I would later. Instead, she’s back in Chicago, texting me pictures of bagels and her cat.
“Miss you too,” I grumble, tightening the wrong screw and immediately stripping it. “Awesome. Love that for me.” I drop the wrench and let out a long breath before I freak out and throw this thing out the window.
The knock on my door isn’t actually a knock, it’s more of a thunk. Then another. I freeze, heart tripping. Oh God. Please don’t let it be the office manager. I’m still traumatized from yesterday when she yelled at me for recycling wrong.
But then the noise stops before turning into one more, very loud crash this time. Turns out it’s my bookshelf slowly tipping like a drunk elf, crashing into the wall.
“What the hell?” I yelp, grabbing it by the edge and somehow saving it from flattening me by pure adrenaline. I steady it, stepping back very slowly, too afraid to even breathe. The bookshelf wobbles again.
“Shit!” I grab a stack of cookbooks from the shelf and shove it under one side to brace it. I step back again and this time it stays steady.
“Perfect. Totally safe. Absolutely not OSHA-approved.”
My phone buzzes across the counter and I step away from the shelf, deciding that it’s good enough for now. I have neither the patience nor the understanding to figure out what I possibly did wrong when assembling it.
Maddie: Made it to the office. Already sick of people. You good?
I snap a picture of the disaster and send it back.
Me: Define good.
She responds immediately and I already know what she’s going to say.
Maddie: Call Cole if you need help. He offered, remember?
I stare at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. My chest tightens because yes, I remember. The business card with his cell is sitting right there on the counter next to my coffee mug.
But my dumb brain keeps thinking of him in all of these sexy scenarios that have me too embarrassed to reach out, as if he somehow knows. I roll my eyes at how ridiculous I’m being and send a message back to Maddie.
Me: You’re right, thanks for the reminder.
I open a text thread with Cole and start typing: Hey, funny story… Then delete it.
“Nope. I am an independent woman with a master’s degree and a screwdriver. I’m a software engineer. I can handle this.”
I tighten one more bolt after my pep talk. The shelf leans farther left, as if mocking me. My pride wavers.
“Maybe calling him isn’t weakness; maybe it’s… delegation. Efficient delegation.”
I type again. Delete again. Pace the living room like I’m negotiating a hostage situation.
I sigh. “You can do this, Hailey.” The shelf creaks and I glance over at it. It’s basically the Leaning Tower of Pisa by now. “…or you could die doing this.”
I glance at my phone one more time. My thumb hovers over Cole’s name again. Just his name makes my stomach flip stupidly. He’s Maddie’s big brother, my one Denver contact, the man who can probably assemble an entire house blindfolded.
Five minutes later, I’m on my knees with a hammer I have no business using. My thumbnail that is slowly turning purple is enough proof. My coffee’s gone cold. My knee, elbow, and somehow my chin are bruised, and the screw I dropped has vanished into another dimension.
“I give up.”
I flop onto my back in the middle of the rug, staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere in this building, someone is cooking bacon.
My stomach growls, and the sound echoes in the empty space.
For the first time since Maddie left, the silence feels heavy.
Too heavy. I close my eyes and whisper to the ceiling, “Maybe just one little text wouldn’t kill me. ”
I sit up, groaning, grab my phone, and before I can overthink it again, my thumbs start moving.
Me: Hey there, it’s Hailey. I may have just angered a bookshelf and was wondering if you had any free time this week to help me assemble a few things?
I hit send before I can chicken out, then immediately throw the phone face down on the couch like it’s a bomb. My heart thuds against my ribs as if I’ve just confessed a crime.
“Okay,” I whisper, pacing. “It’s fine. He’ll laugh. Or ignore me. Or think I’m a helpless idiot. Totally fine.”
The phone buzzes once from the couch. I freeze, then run over and swipe the message open.
Cole: You hurt?
Me: Just my pride. The rest is all superficial.
The typing bubble appears, disappears, then reappears, a message populating a second later.
Cole: Sit tight. I’ll be there soon.
My jaw drops. “Wait, what? No, that’s not—” I type frantically.
Me: You don’t have to right this minute. I just meant if you had some free time this week.
He responds so quick I’m confident he had the response ready to go, knowing I’d say that.
Cole: Already in the truck.
I stare at the screen, pulse skittering.
“Oh my God, he’s coming here right now.” I look around at the disaster zone. My coffee table is in pieces, cardboard guts everywhere, one shoe on the counter, the matching one on the other side of the room, and I swear under my breath. “He’s going to think I live like this.”
I scramble to shove packing paper into one corner, sweep screws into a cereal bowl, and toss the shoes into my bedroom.
I glance into the bathroom next, making sure I didn’t leave my panties from yesterday on the floor.
Thankfully, I put them in the hamper. Before I exit, I look toward the mirror, my reflection looking back at me.
My cheeks are flushed, my hair a wild mess that resembles roadkill piled on top of my head, and my eyes scream absolute panic.
“Pull it together, Hailey. He was here helping you move in; he knows this isn’t normal.
” I glance down at the oversized, stained shirt that does nothing to hide my braless nipples.
“Shit!” I run back into my bedroom, throwing on an oversized hoodie that goes halfway down my thighs, hiding my shorts and making me look pantsless.
Just as I finish pulling on a pair of fuzzy socks and before I can change into pants, my intercom buzzes.
The intercom buzzes again, sharp and demanding. I practically trip over my rug on the way to the wall.
“Hailey?” His voice crackles through the speaker.
I press the button. “Hey—hi! Yep, that’s me. Come on up.” I release the button and frown at it. “Why did I sound so weird?” My heart is thudding against my chest like a full percussion line when the knock comes, even though I’m expecting it. I open the door with a smile that’s aiming for casual.
“Hey.” He’s standing there, running a hand through his rumpled hair that was clearly under the beanie that’s in his other hand.
“Hey,” he says, the slightest hint of a smile ghosting his lips.
My brain short-circuits for a second, because he looks unfairly good for someone who apparently dropped everything to come rescue me. His dark lashes are long, framing his blue eyes in the most heart-stopping way.
“You weren’t kidding,” he says, eyes sweeping over the battlefield behind me.
His eyes linger on the mess, probably trying to analyze where to start first before flicking, very briefly, to my bare thighs beneath the hem of the hoodie.
He looks away just as fast, clearing his throat.
“Uh. You, uh… survive the bookshelf attack?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a grin. “Barely. It put up a good fight.” I lift my arm, sliding up my sleeve to show the bruise that’s forming on my elbow while I step aside.
He comes inside, boots thudding heavy against the floor when he kicks them off. He scans the space again like he’s mentally creating a blueprint. He lands on the bookshelf, nodding his chin toward it. “You said this thing’s giving you trouble?”
“Giving me trouble is putting it lightly. It’s one wrong move away from committing homicide.”
He glances toward the lopsided shelf, eyebrows lifting. “You’re not wrong.”
I cross my arms, feeling defensive for some reason. “In my defense, the directions were written by sadists. They always say if you want to put your relationship to the test, buy furniture you have to assemble together.”
“Let me guess,” he mutters, crouching down to inspect the base, “you thought you could handle it because you’re an independent woman with a master’s degree?”
I narrow my eyes, but my lips twitch. “Don’t mock me while I’m vulnerable.”
“Not mocking,” he says, smirking just slightly. “Just observing.”
He braces one hand on the shelf, testing its balance. It groans in protest.
“I can help,” I offer, moving in beside him.
“Probably not a great idea—” Too late. I grab the opposite side of the shelf, giving it a little shake, and the entire thing teeters dangerously toward me.
“Shit!” I squeal, stepping back and losing my balance. His arm shoots out, strong and fast, circling my waist as his other hand catches the shelf before it crashes.
“Don’t move,” he says, his voice low but firm. His body is right behind mine, his chest pressed against my back as he reaches higher, holding the unit steady over my shoulder.
“I guess I should have taken the books off it, huh?”
He laughs and it’s unexpected. “That’s what I was going to suggest right before this happened.”