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“It’s six. In the MORNING.”

“You said we could start early. Your neighbor won’t complain for the noise.” He winked at me.

I couldn’t let his morning charm warm me. I couldn’t.

“Early is eight. Maybe seven-thirty if you’re feeling ambitious. Six is still technically nighttime.”

His crew, four guys who all looked way too alert, watched our exchange with poorly hidden grins. One of them, a massive guy with arms bigger than my thighs, actually snickered.

“Coffee might help,” Tyson suggested. “We brought our own thermos, but…”

“No.” I held up a hand. “No. If you’re going to wake me up at this ungodly hour, you’re getting real coffee and breakfast. All of you. Inside.”

That was how I ended up making coffee for five construction workers at six-fifteen in the morning. My kitchen was suddenly full of large men trying to be polite while clearly desperate for caffeine. The big one introduced himself as Hank. The others were Trent, Diego, and a younger guy everyone just called Rookie.

“Nice place,” Trent said, which was generous considering the kitchen cabinet was still being held up by a prayer and some duct tape I’d added a few days ago. “Lots of potential.”

“That’s realtor speak for ‘complete disaster,’“ I said, handing him a mug.

“Nah, disaster would be the Henderson place over on Maple. That one’s got foundation issues and a family of possums in the attic.”

“Angry possums,” Diego added. “They threw things at us.”

“Possums can throw things?”

“These ones could.”

By the time they’d all had coffee, pastries I’d gotten from the nearest bakery, and after I’d heard the possum story in full detail, I was almost awake. Almost human and able to handle watching Tyson roll up his sleeves and start directing his crew with the kind of easy authority that absolutely did not make my stomach flutter.

The thing about renovations, I learned quickly, was that they involved a lot of watching men lift heavy things. A lot of muscles flexing. A lot of competent hands doing competent things. To my personal taste, a man who knew how to do things, how to fix and carry and do manual work, was absolutely and completely hot. And when the man in charge happened to be your neighbor, who was also Sex in Pants, well. That was just unfair.

“Water line needs complete replacement,” Tyson called from under my house. Because apparently crawling under houses was a thing they did. “Hank, grab the three-quarter inch from the truck.”

I tried to focus on unpacking boxes. Tried very hard not to notice the way his t-shirt pulled across his back when he leveraged himself out of the crawl space. Failed miserably.

“See something you like?” Trent asked, appearing beside me with a knowing grin.

“Just wondering if my homeowner’s insurance covers workers who get stuck under houses.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Boss man’s single, you know.”

Fuck. “I didn’t ask.”

“Been single for years. Good guy, great dad. Owns his own business. No woman in the picture. Has all his teeth, no signs of balding, and he’s even gone to therapy to work on his issues and receive counseling on how to raise a little girl on his own. He was discharged shortly after.”

I was speechless, my mouth dry because if I hadn’t been attracted to him before, that introduction really sold him. I hated Trent. So much. “The teeth thing is really selling it.”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “Man hasn’t looked at a woman the way he looks at you since forever. Might be worth exploring.”

“Are you his wingman or his employee?”

“Both. I get a bonus if he actually starts dating again.” He grinned at me.

I laughed despite myself. “He’s paying you to set him up?”

“Nah, his sister is. Rose has a whole fund going. A hundred bucks from each family member if we get him to ask someone out, double if he lasts more than a month. He’s never been interested in anyone… Until now.”

“That’s…”