The actual thing I did is too mortifying to explain. What I didn’t plan for was the way Zane McCrae looks at me when he assumes the worst — all heat and suspicion and very clear rules about supervisor-crew dynamics that my pulse is completely ignoring.
He’s tattooed, gruff, and built like trouble I’m not allowed to touch. I’m supposed to pull weeds and go home.
Not stand in the summer heat watching him work, thinking about the lake at the edge of his land and whether any of his rules cover this.
He knows I’m keeping something. He’s right about that. He’s wrong about what it has to do with him — and that’s the part I can’t outrun.
