Chapter 2

2

I wake up to sunlight burning through my eyelids, searing my retinas. I groan, stretching, slowly becoming aware of my surroundings. I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at the fabric twisted beneath me. What on earth? There are towels piled above and below me. My skin is filthy. The memory of last night comes roaring back.

The fire.

Tears start immediately. I sit against the headboard, dropping my head to my knees as sobs wrack my body. I don't even know where to start. The restaurant is my primary source of income, and now that the kitchen is gone, so are my summer plans. I'll have to call the seasonal hires today and tell them to look for something else. Fuck my life.

"Hey."

Archer is standing at my bedroom door, leaning against the wall, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair wet like it had just come out of the shower. I swallow hard, averting my eyes.

"Good morning," I croak, wiping at my cheeks, my fingers coming away with black smudges .

"How are you feeling?" he asks softly.

"Not great," I admit. "I can't believe I passed out like that. I don't even remember you guys bringing me back home."

"Stress can do weird things."

I nod, sniffling. "Why are you here?"

"We were all so worried about the kitchen yesterday that none of us even thought about the bunkhouse until it was too late. I'm sorry, Pen."

Oh my god. The bunkhouse. It shared a wall with the kitchen. I was so worried about saving the dining room, that it never even cross my mind. "The whole thing burned? What about all of your belongings?"

He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Goddamnit. "Where did you guys sleep last night?" Where will they sleep tomorrow? Will they leave now that they don't have anywhere to call home? My heart thumps painfully.

"Downstairs," he says sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind. With the bunkhouse gone, we didn't have anywhere to go."

"No. I'm glad you stayed here," I murmur, my gaze wandering to the tattoo on his chest, tracing the outline of the coast of Maine down to his?—

"No rush, but breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. I thought you may want to shower first."

I squeeze my eyes closed, my cheeks burning. I nod, embarrassed, broken. Devastation consumes me without warning, a tsunami of grief tossing me around, battering me against the rocks. I bury my face in my hands, my body trembling. The bed dips, and then Archer's arms wrap around me, pulling me onto his lap.

"It's okay, Penny. I promise we'll figure something out." He rubs his hand in small circles over my lower back, soothing me.

"Don't say 'we,'" I sob. "You guys will have to find a job where you have somewhere to stay. I won't even have any money coming in this summer."

"If we stay and fish, you will," he objects .

"It won't be nearly enough, Archer. Most of what you catch is to supply the restaurant, and the restaurant writes your paycheck."

"We're not leaving, Penny. The five of us have already talked. We're not going anywhere."

"But—"

"No buts. We'll figure it out together once you've had a shower and something to eat." He stands, carrying me into the bathroom. My feet hit the cold tile, and then he's turning on the shower spigot, waiting for it to get hot before releasing me completely. "You'll feel better after a shower." He kisses my head, my hair so dirty it leaves a black smudge on his lips.

He was right. I do feel better after showering. I towel dry my hair and pull on a tank top and shorts before padding to the kitchen. The scene that greets me stops me dead in my tracks. Five sleep-mussed, warm-bodied, heavily muscled men in various states of undress are cooking in my kitchen and lounging at my dining table. I haven't had a single man in this house since I bought it, except for my brother, so this is an incredible shock to the system. Jamie's greeting dies on his lips as his gaze slides down my body, snagging on my nipples, which have decided to come out and play. This may be the second or third time they've seen me dressed in something other than coveralls, and they sure as hell have never seen me in a tank top and shorts.

"I—I'll be right back," I stammer, running down the hallway and pounding back up the stairs. I tear through my dressers until I find my baggiest pair of sweatpants and one of Lach's old sweatshirts. I try to walk back into the kitchen without being noticed, but all the guys look at me at me the second my foot hits the tile. Sammy turns away from the stove, lifting an eyebrow as if to say, 'We already saw what's underneath that, and we're not going to forget any time soon.'

"Good morning," I murmur, twisting the sleeve of the sweatshirt in my hands.

I get an immediate response from all five, varying nicknames makign an appearance. "I've been thinking about it, and we need?—"

"Not yet. We can talk after we eat," Sammy says in his posh English accent, shoving a big bowl of scrambled eggs into my hands and gesturing for me to take it to the dining table.

I set the bowl on the table, and Spencer walks up behind me, pulling a chair out and gently pressing on my shoulders until I sit down. He scooches me in, and Liam places a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of me.

"I could get used to this," I murmur, wrapping my hands around the mug.

"You may have to," Liam says, chuckling as he sits beside me.

Does that mean what I think it means? Have they talked about possibly staying here ? In my two-bedroom, one bathroom, tiny house?

Would I even be okay with that?

Dumb question. I'm pretty much okay with anything when it comes to them. I've been harboring some serious crushes that have only worsened over the last two years. I've been trying to get a handle on it, but my heart refuses to cooperate with my head. So, until today, I've been giving them room. Staying scarce. Trying to put some distance between us so I have time to get over them. But being in a tiny island town on the west coast of Scotland doesn't lend itself to meeting anyone who would help me get over said crushes.

Jamie sits on my other side and loads my plate with food before the guys serving himself.

After two minutes of silence, I can't take it anymore. "You guys have obviously talked already. Let's hear what sort of plans you came up with."

"We'd rather hear your thoughts first," Archer says, pushing his glasses up his nose, those serious brown eyes pinning me in place.

"I don't have any thoughts other than panic at the moment, so, please, go ahead."

Sammy clears his throat when nobody starts talking, taking one for the team. "We know you're going to tell us to leave, but we're not going to, just to make that clear from the start."

I take a bite of eggs, trying to hide my trembling chin.

"We think you should take the summer to do what you've been saying you want to do for the last two years. Rehab the restaurant. With the kitchen gone, and with our help, we can start from scratch and build a state-of-the-art professional kitchen. We can strip down the dining area and revamp that as well. Most of it will need to go due to the smoke, anyway."

"But what about money?" I ask, my voice cracking, hopelessness trying to worm its way into my heart.

"We'll take turns fishing and we can use that money for the restaurant. Money will be tight, but we're used to that."

"No, you guys are used to soft beds and two restaurant meals a day," I protest, pursing my lips.

"We had lives before we came here, Sugar. We can handle it," Spencer reminds me. I've heard his stories about growing up in Southern Appalachia, so I know he's telling the truth.

"That still doesn't solve where the five of you are going sleep. With the bunkhouse gone, we're five beds short."

"We measured, and we can fit two sets of bunk beds in your guest room," Liam says, leaning back in his chair, the gold hoop in his ear catching the morning sun.

"And the fifth?"

"Don't you have a king bed?" Sammy asks, grinning.

I choke on my food. "You can't?—"

"I'm kidding, boss! We'll take turns sleeping on the couch."

Fucking hell. So my options are firing them, having no income, and having nobody to help me fix the restaurant. Or letting them live in my house and help me rebuild. I know Lach would help me in a heartbeat, but I'm too proud for my own good. I don't want to take his money when I know I can do it myself. Well, by myself with the help of five burly men.

"Okay," I whisper, massaging my forehead,trying to ease the ache between my eyes.

"Okay to what part?" Jamie asks, his soft brown eyes alive with hope.

"You can stay and help me." I hold up my hand to keep them from talking. "Thank you for being here for me and offering to help. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know."

"Thank you for allowing us to stay in your house, Penelope," Spencer says, that deep southern twang sending goosebumps skittering over my arms.

"So, where do we start?"