17. Chapter 17
Finally. A day off.
She peeled out her earplugs, stretching her arms overhead, but before she could even sit up—there it was.
Noise.
Not just any noise. The sound of something being fixed. The steady rhythm of a hammer. The low murmur of movement downstairs.
Heath.
Of course.
She exhaled slowly, her stomach twisting—not from hunger, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer fact that he was here. That he’d been here. While she slept.
Something about that did things to her.
She ran a hand through her tangled hair, forcing herself to get up, but the thought stuck—Heath, moving around one floor below, working, fixing, watching over her.
God. That was a feeling she wasn’t used to.
She stepped into the bathroom, blinking at her reflection in the mirror. Hair wild. Face pillow-creased. Dark circles under her eyes.
She took a breath.
She was switching back to day shifts on Monday. A real schedule again. A real life again.
That was enough time to start clawing her shit back together.
And more than enough time to avoid the mountain of a man downstairs—the one she wanted to drag into bed with her.
Maddie turned on the shower, yanking open drawers, pulling out clean clothes. Still too hot for October—yoga pants, a tank, a hoodie.
She tied her hair up, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the weight of knowing he was here.
Trying to ignore that deep, unsettling pull in her chest that told her—
She didn’t want to.
Maddie tugged her hoodie sleeves over her fingers as she stepped into the kitchen, her wet hair leaving damp spots on the fabric. The house smelled faintly of sawdust and something else—cleaner. Of course he cleaned, she thought with a sigh, moving straight for the coffee maker.
Coffee. Toast. Phone.
Routine. Stability. Things she could control.
As the coffee dripped into the pot, she flipped through her messages. The usual—group texts from Sandra about work, a few emails she’d ignored overnight.
And then—Laurie Kim.
Her stomach tightened.
She clicked the email open, eyes skimming over the lines.
Maddie,
Just keeping you updated—David was officially served today at 2:37 PM. Expect some kind of response soon. Let me know if you need anything.
Her breath hitched.
It’s real now.
The divorce filing had been in motion since Tuesday morning when she told Laurie to proceed. In California, once paperwork was submitted, it typically took a few days for it to be officially processed and assigned a case number.
Tuesday: Laurie filed the petition in San Diego County Superior Court.
Wednesday-Thursday: The clerk processed it, assigned it a case number, and a process server was arranged.
Friday: Final confirmations.
Saturday afternoon: David was officially served.
And now… now it was a waiting game.
David had thirty days to respond.
She set her phone down on the counter, staring blankly at the stainless steel coffee pot. The drip was steady, rhythmic—like a countdown she couldn’t stop.
Would he fight her? Make her out to be the bad guy?
Would he roll over and play dead? A girl could only wish.
Her pulse kicked up, but she forced herself to exhale slowly, reaching for the bread and tossing two slices into the toaster.
It’s done. The legal ball was rolling, and there was nothing to do now except wait.
She grabbed her coffee, took a sip—too hot, burnt her tongue—when she heard footsteps behind her.
Heavy. Solid. Him.
She didn’t turn around right away. Instead, she took another sip, her voice perfectly even when she said—“You’re still here.”
Maddie took another sip of coffee, stalling. Don’t turn around. Not yet.
She already knew what she’d see.
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in his navy uniform, sleeves tight around thick forearms, boots polished, radiating control. A man who commanded a room without saying a word.
But now—
Now she could feel something else entirely standing behind her.
She turned, slow, deliberate—
And damn.
Black baseball hat pulled low, shadowing those sharp, unreadable eyes. A sweaty charcoal-gray shirt clinging to his broad chest, bringing out the deep tan of his neck and forearms. Contractor jeans—ripped, stained with paint and dust. Boots scuffed, worn in.
The opposite of the pale, thin husband she’d had.
She refused to react.
Instead, she let her posture go stiff, guard up, mask on.
He mirrored it, shoulders squared, arms crossed over his chest like they were strangers, like she hadn’t fallen apart in his hands.
“House is coming along,” he said, voice even, unreadable.
Maddie nodded, setting her coffee down. “Yeah. Looks good.”
“Master bedroom’s done. I started the ensuite.”
“Okay.”
His eyes flickered over her, maybe expecting more, but she didn’t give him anything.
“Did you want to pick out the tile today?” he asked.
A perfectly neutral, professional question.
Maddie folded her arms. “Sure. You have samples?”
“In the truck.”
“Alright.” She took a bite of her toast, washing it down with coffee.
Nothing. No small talk. No teasing. No acknowledgment that just days ago, he’d been in a hospital stairwell, tongue in her mouth, daring her to break.
This was business.
And that’s how it needed to be.
Still—her pulse was pounding. And when she moved past him, their arms brushed, a split-second of body heat, of something dangerous curling under her skin.
He didn’t react.
Neither did she.
Not outwardly.
Heath pulled off his cap, swiping a forearm over his forehead. “Come with me. There’s something you need to see.” He put the hat back on.
Maddie lifted a brow. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s your house. You should know what I’m dealing with before I fix it.”
She sighed, setting her coffee down. “Lead the way.”
He turned, heading toward the hallway, and she followed, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space. His scent—sawdust, sweat, and something clean, like cedar soap—hit her hard.
They stopped outside the laundry room. Maddie frowned. “This isn’t on the list.”
“It is now.” Heath crouched down, prying open a low access panel near the baseboards. “Your dryer vent’s a disaster, and your subfloor under here? Rotted out.”
Maddie exhaled sharply. “You’re kidding.”
He didn’t look up. “Wish I was.” He angled his flashlight into the opening, illuminating the damage. “Come down here and see.”
Maddie hesitated. The hole was small.
So was the space between them in this tiny, sweltering room.
She gritted her teeth, steeling herself. Just look at the damage. Ignore him. Don’t breathe him in.
She crouched next to him, shifting lower, her tank riding up slightly as she bent forward, bracing her hands on the edge.
Heath exhaled sharply through his nose. “Jesus, Maddie. I didn’t mean bend over like you’re about to crawl inside the damn wall.”
She froze. Then turned just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. “I’m trying to see what you’re talking about.”
His jaw ticked. His eyes, dark and unreadable, dragged over the length of her. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Heat flared in her chest.
She swallowed hard and turned back to the hole, focusing on the rotted wood, the mess of lint-clogged tubing. “What’s the solution?”
“Replacing the vent and patching the subfloor. But I’ll need to get under the house for that.” His voice was gruff, businesslike, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.
Maddie exhaled slowly. “Fine. Do whatever you have to do.”
She started to push herself back up, but her shoulder grazed his chest.
Heat. Solid muscle.
He didn’t move.
For a breath—just a fraction of a second—they were close.
Too close.
The air in the laundry room was stifling. Too hot, too tight, too full of him.
Maddie folded her arms, bracing herself. “How much is this going to cost?”
Heath didn’t even look up from the access panel. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”
Her jaw clenched. “Sorry, what does that mean?”
Finally, he turned his head.
That look.
The one that made her stomach flip, made her knees weak. The one that told her you fucking know what that means.
“No.” She took a sharp step back. “No charity.”
Heath wiped his hands on a rag, slow, methodical, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. “Not everyone trying to help you is here to screw you over, Maddie.”
“No.” She took another step, needing space, distance, oxygen— but he moved faster, rising to his full height, closing the gap.
The heat between them ignited.
“I will pay for this.”
“I don’t give a shit about the money.”
Her pulse slammed against her ribs. “Then what do you give a shit about?”
“You.”
The word hit her like a strike to the chest.
Her breath stalled.
His jaw was tight, his body inches from hers, his voice low and rough as hell. “I stopped being here for the job the second we kissed. And then you let me fuck you on your goddamn kitchen counter.”
Her lungs barely worked.
Heath was too close. His hands curled into fists, his chest rising and falling too fast.
She felt it—the moment they were about to break.
The way his fingers brushed her hip.
The way her body swayed into his, unthinking, needing.
The way his mouth was about to crash into hers—
Then—
Gravel crunching outside.
Maddie whipped her head around, glancing out the window. A luxury car had pulled into the driveway. Her stomach plummeted. Not just any car.
David’s car.