Page 31 of The Haunting Plot

“What are you working on today?” My voice is even-keeled, giving nothing away.

“I want to get started on the bathroom demo.”

“But you haven’t finished the flooring down here.”

“There’s a method to my madness.”

“Is there? Because it looks like I gave a moron a cookie.”

He blinks several times, and I realize he’s not following my logic. “The book When You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Once he gets a cookie, he needs a glass of milk, then he goes down this endless path of other tasks before he finishes the cookie.”

“Are you following me home? Because that sounds like my life.”

“Please tell me you’re going to finish all of these tasks.”

“Oh, I’ll finish. I’m just trying to get all the loud parts done while Jonah’s at school, so it doesn’t trigger another meltdown.”

Something catches in my chest at his words. “Oh.”

“You want to help? Tearing out a wall is a great way to get out pent-up aggression.”

“I can assure you that my aggression isn’t pent-up.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have a work deadline anyway.”

“Cool.”

“Make sure all your tools go back to their homes when you’re done.”

“Their homes?”

“Put them up so Jonah doesn’t get into them.”

“Got it.”

“That reminds me, it’s pretty hot up there today.” I hand him one of the water bottles on my desk, and he looks at it warily. “For fuck’s sake.” Snatching it from him, I open it and take a big swig before handing it back to him. “Satisfied?”

“Can you blame me?” He smiles as he climbs the steps.

I settle into my chair, but it’s hard to concentrate with all the racket Sawyer is making. After an hour, I make him a glass of lemonade. When I walk into the room, my eyes widen, and I grab the doorframe for support. Sawyer is shirtless, dripping in sweat as he swings a big hammer into the drywall.

Note to self: Learn more about tools if you ever plan to write a construction worker MMC.

Several minutes go by as I watch Sawyer work. Each time he swings, a ripple courses through his body. He’s solidly built, with strong arms and a thick chest, but the part I can’t look away from is his stomach. I write about ripped men all day, and I could describe six-pack abs in great detail, every line, ridge, and divot. But Sawyer looks nothing like the men in my books. His stomach is round and soft, hanging slightly over his belt, and I’m struck with the urge to touch it. There’s something distinctly masculine about the way he looks. It’s obvious he works out, yet it’s clear his focus is on building the muscles that matter, the ones that he probably uses on a daily basis as a first responder.

A bead of condensation runs down the glass, spilling onto my finger, and I take a step into the room. The movement gets his attention, and he startles, setting down his hammer-thing as he runs his hands over his stomach.

“Thought you might be hot up here and need cooling off.” I hand him the lemonade.

“Thanks.” He brings the glass to his lips, taking a giant sip.

My eyes fixate on his throat as he swallows. Why is that turning me on? I use this line in my books, but I’ve never found it attractive until now.

I point to his bare chest. “Is this a tit-for-tat situation? I showed you mine, now you’re showing me yours?”

He laughs, smoothing a hand down his chest. “It wasn’t my intention. I don’t hide snacks in mine.”