Chapter 11

Sunrise came early in upstate New York in June. Like, much too early to actually have the crew on the job at sunrise. Not because they wouldn't—Tiffany had never met a construction worker who didn't like overtime—but because heavy equipment and power tools at 5:30 a.m. wouldn't go over well with the locals no matter how much one of them needed the gazebo the next day.

Six a.m., though, that was fair game. Mostly because the town square didn't seem to have very much in the way of actual housing around it. There was the BB up at the corner, but one end of the square was mostly the town hall, and the other end was dominated by the church. The left side had the long row of businesses stretched along it, including Kate"s Cafe, and the right side, where the BB sat up on the corner near the town hall, had a scattering of other businesses and some homes.

So with apologies to the people at the BB and the handful of other homes, Tiffany's team got busy at six. Measuring, mostly, because that wasn't loud. Some hammering, which wasn't too bad. By seven, when people other than early-morning joggers were starting to move around town, the team was just about ready to get the new beams cut, including for the roof repairs the town planner had asked them to do.

Fortunately for the peace and quiet of a Friday morning in small-town New York, Eric and Parker drove in right about then, and everybody's intentions to get the real work going was derailed by checking in on Eric and applauding Parker for his quick thinking the day before. Tiffany thought it was hard to say which of the men was more embarrassed. Parker kept insisting he hadn't done anything that anybody wouldn't have done, and Eric was mortified at being taken out by a bee.

"Yeah." Pauline, one of the two other women on Tiffany's crew, always spoke like she was delivering the punchline to a dry-witted joke. "Because we have total control over our environment and allergies. Definitely your own fault."

Eric, gloomily, said, "I could have an office job," which got a burst of laughter from the rest of the crew.

Parker punched his shoulder. "I know what I keep saying, but that'd kill you faster than the bees. C'mon, stop lazing around, let's get to work. We got a gazebo to fix."

With all the distraction, the power tools and equipment didn't really get going until about 7:30, which was almost civilized. Tiffany wasn't sure about the noise ordinance laws in Virtue, but they were 10pm to 7am in the City, so she figured it was good enough. Forty-five minutes later she texted Ollie with a list of demands, and to her delight—and a little to her surprise and amusement—he appeared on the green about twenty minute later with two massive cardboard coffee trays.

"I didn't know there were twelve of you," he said in his deliciously Australian accent as he balanced his way up to them. "Do you know how mad the rest of the queue gets when one guy orders thirteen coffees?"

"Actually yes. We take turns getting everybody coffee on jobs so the local baristas don't recognize us right away and groan miserably when we show up." Tiffany grinned at him as they distributed the coffees. He was possibly even more gorgeous today than he'd been yesterday, which seemed impossible but true. Maybe it was that his thick black hair was still a little damp from the shower, and tended toward some curls that way.

Or maybe it was that he'd gone and gotten a baker's dozen coffees for her crew, and was now standing to the side drinking something with whipped cream on top. "Is that hot chocolate?"

He looked like he'd been caught. "American coffee is terrible.."

"Oh my God. You don"t like coffee. I'm sorry. We have to move on from this thing between us, because we can never be together." Tiffany had no idea why she thought there was that much between them to begin with (aside from the fact that he'd proposed last night), but Ollie's expression of complete dismay was enough to have made the dramatic statement worth it.

"I love coffee," he informed her emphatically. "I just don"t like American coffee. Your most famous coffee chain couldn"t make it in Australia. We"ve got standards, and won"t drink it. But I don"t mind if other people drink it. I can kiss American coffee drinkers. That's not a problem."

Pauline, walking past with a beam over her shoulder, said, "Really."

Ollie actually blushed. Tiffany laughed. Pauline looked Ollie up and down, shrugged the beam-bearing shoulder, and said, "Meh," as she went on her way.

Pure offense flew across Ollie's face and he stared after the other woman indignantly. "I didn't mean her anyway!"

Tiffany laughed again and patted his shoulder as she drained her own coffee cup. "Don't worry. Pauline's type is statuesque blondes. She's married to a woman who reminds me of Gwendoline Christie. I think you're very handsome."

"Oh. Well. All right, then. Do you mind if I watch?" Ollie nodded at the gazebo. "My entire family is terrified it won't be finished in time, and if I stay here to give them a play by play, not only will they be reassured, but nobody will make me chop carrots for the reception."

"Sure. Just don't get in the way. And if anybody comes to yell at us, you can be the first line of defense." Tiffany lifted her eyebrows. "Don't get yourself in over your head, though. If they can be put off, do it, but otherwise call me. I'm the boss."

Ollie's gaze drifted from her eyes down her body and up again with an intensity that didn't feel like he was undressing her so much as appreciating every inch of her authority. When he met her eyes again, it was with an expression not just of admiration, but of respect and something that seemed like real pleasure in that respect. "Yes, you are. You are the boss."

His breath hitched on the last of that, as if he"d cut off saying more. A sudden impulse made Tiffany say, "Were you about to say I could be the boss of you any time?"

His gaze snapped to hers again, pure liquid desire in their dark depths as he gave her the slowest, wickedest smile she'd ever seen. "Yes, Boss."

It was 9am and hot out already, but the heat that rushed through Tiffany made the temperature seem to rise by about a million degrees. Her knees actually went weak. Her brain melted. She didn't necessarily think of herself as a take-charge-in-bed kind of woman, but she found that she was suddenly very, very willing to explore that option.

Except for the part where she had a gazebo to fix, and hardly any time to do it in. "Go," she said hoarsely, and waved a hand thataway. "You. You go…you go over there, and let me do my work. Yeah. You…you go."

Oliver Campbell, grinning, went thataway, and Tiffany Wright enjoyed every dang moment of watching him go, until one of her crew yelled for her and she had to go back to work.

The day was hot,sweaty, long, and hard, and every time Tiffany thought anything along those lines she grinned like she was a dirty-minded college student. Ollie didn"t keep the whole crew in coffees all day, although he did spring for lemonade as the temperature soared in late afternoon.

He also fielded a lot of questions that meant Tiffany could stay on her side of the safety netting, getting work done instead of explaining over and over what had happened and what they were doing to fix it. At one point, though, Ollie did wave her over, and Tiffany, pushing her hardhat back to wipe a gloved wrist across her sweat-soaked forehead, came out from behind the fencing to meet a pretty purple-haired woman who was standing with a bright-eyed kid of eight or so.

Neither of them looked terribly unhappy, so she assumed they weren"t with the wedding party. "Hi, Tiffany Wright. What can I do for you?"

"Mabs Brannigan." The woman offered her hand. She was almost exactly the same size as Tiffany herself was, and wore a t-shirt with the words Happy Hands across the chest. "This is my son Noah. He wanted to ask you about the playground project."

Tiffany shook her hand and smiled at the kid. "Sure. Hi, Noah, I—wait a second. Wait a minute, Noah Brannigan?"

"That"s me!" Noah stuck his hand out to shake, too, and Tiffany, amused, did so.

"You"re the Noah Brannigan behind the playground project?"

The kid puffed his chest up. "Yup! My dad helped me with the plans, though."

"Yeah, but somebody told me a Noah Brannigan had run a major fundraising project to build this thing. Is your dad also Noah Brannigan?"

"Nah, he"s Jake Rowly. Mom and him helped me?—"

"Mom and he helped me," Mabs breathed.

Noah rolled his eyes with a depth of exasperation that only small children could truly achieve. "Mom and Dad helped me figure out everything we needed to do after the town council said, like, "lol, sure, if you can raise half the money, kid?—""

Tiffany couldn"t help but shoot a quick look at Mabs, who shrugged in a way that suggested Noah"s version of the story was close enough to correct, as the little boy barreled on with his explanation. "So I got the other kids to help and lots and lots of the businesses in town donated stuff for prizes and stuff and we made a LOT of money and the mayor said "and a child shall lead us" only it didn"t sound like a compliment and told the town council they had to match what we"d fundraisered and find somebody to do the job and I guess that last part is you but when are you gonna be able to work on the playground?"

The last few words were accompanied by soulfully hopeful eyes, filled with such sincerity that Tiffany choked on a laugh. It took everything she had to keep her voice steady. "Well, as it turns out, even if we hadn"t accidentally wrecked the gazebo, the park was double-booked for the weekend with Steve and Charlee"s wedding. Do you know them?"

"I know everybody," Noah said with a child"s casual off-hand confidence. "Chef Charlee"s nice. Mr. Steve is really big. What"s double-booked mean?"

"Oh. It means two things were scheduled at the same time. And their wedding was scheduled first, so I can"t start until Monday."

Noah"s eyes rounded. "We get the playground on Monday?"

"Well. No. It"ll take about three weeks to build. But it should be done before you have to go back to school in the fall. How"s that sound?"

A conniving look slid over the kid"s face. "Can we play with part of it on Monday?"

His mother said, "Noah," warningly, but Tiffany gave a small wave of her hand, indicating she had this. She crouched so she was looking up at the kid, keeping her expression serious.

"You can"t, no. This equipment looks cool, and I"m not gonna lie, it is cool, but while it"s around, you kids can"t play in the playground even when it looks like some of it"s done. You see what happened to the gazebo when one of my crew lost control just for a minute. Imagine if someone who didn"t know what they were doing with this equipment started messing with it. People could get really, really hurt. That"s why we have all this safety fencing up, and why it"s locked off at night. That, and it takes time for the concrete to cure, so even when you look at some of the playground and it seems finished, it might not be yet."

Noah"s jaw dropped. "Concrete can get sick?"

Tiffany blinked, taking a moment to review what she"d said that might have given Noah that idea. "Oh! Cured! Hah! No, but that"s a good interpretation. No, when concrete is setting, when it"s drying? That"s called curing. There"s a bunch of science about how to do it right, so it becomes as strong as it can be. I think that"s why it"s called curing." She straightened and put a hand on the boy"s shoulder for a moment.

"Whoa." Noah gazed up at her in admiration. "Whoa, that"s cool. That makes sense, "cause you"re getting better and stronger when you"re being cured! Mom! Did you hear that? That"s cool! I"m gonna be Captain Concrete!" Without further ado, he spun and ran off, flexing his arms and yelling, "Fear me, for I am CURED!"

Tiffany, a bit wide-eyed herself, turned her attention to Mabs, who was watching her child run around the square with the expression of a parent who had been dealing with this for a long, long time. "I know," she said to Tiffany"s silence. "He"s a lot."

"Did he really spearhead the fundraising for this playground? Like, I put a bid in on it, obviously. I know how much it"s gonna cost to build."

Mabs transferred a rueful smile to her. "I"m firmly convinced he"s either going to rule the world or destroy it. I"m trying to point his enthusiasm in the right direction."

"You seem to be doing a pretty good job!"

"I"m trying." Mabs went off after her son, leaving Tiffany to shake her head in admiration.

Ollie, who had been nearby, sidled closer. "Did I hear that right? That eight year old ran a fundraiser for a new playground?"

"I mean, having talked to him for three minutes, I believe it. I think he might be the dictionary definition of "a force of nature." I cannot imagine."

"Parenting him, or in general?" That was a hard question to ask casually of somebody you barely knew. Ollie almost pulled it off, and Tiffany gave him a quick, amused glance for the effort.

"Him in specific. I"m sure I"d be a great parent to a calm, polite kid who liked to play with dump trucks."

Ollie hesitated. "Were you a calm polite child?"

Tiffany laughed. "I wasn"t. I really wasn"t. You?"

"I"m afraid not. My chill was hard-won."

"Well." Tiffany glanced after Noah again. "To be fair, it"d probably be easier to parent a firecracker of a kid if you had experience being one yourself. You might know what not to do, right? Maybe someday. With the right guy."

She didn"t exactly mean to cast an almost-shy, inquisitive look at Oliver Campbell, but he smiled fast enough to make himself blush. Tiffany felt a deep urge to dig her steel-toed boot into the dirt and squirm like a storybook girl with a crush. "Right," she said loudly. "Right, I better get back to it."

"Dinner tonight?" Ollie asked hastily, and Tiffany felt a smile bloom across her face.

"It"s a date."