Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

K irsty arrived at the festival grounds, clutching a coffee. The air was rich with the scent of the sea and laced with the anticipation of a thousand regrets. An entire weekend with Connor. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything. The answer was everything.

He was already here. Of course he was. Always such a stickler. From atop the small ladder, he was finishing their marquee. He moved with efficiency, his brawny arms flexing as he handled the metal struts. His shirt hugged his athletic build in all the right places. And that back…oh, that back! A testament to his old rugby days. Every time he swung his hammer to tap the frame parts together, his muscles flexed. Seriously distracting. And the day hadn’t even begun yet.

Well, this should be a riot.

‘Planning to build a fortress, Bannerman?’

He turned and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Sweat pearls glistened on his nose. It wasn’t even ten and already roasting. ‘Just ensuring it won’t collapse under the weight of your ego, Munro.’

The sharp retort earned a reluctant smile from her, one she quickly masked with a sip of her coffee. ‘I’m not going to entertain that with a response.’

The hot liquid scalded the tip of her tongue. She set her coffee down on a nearby stool, the burn in her mouth secondary to the heat that pooled in her centre as she watched Connor work. She didn’t even try not to stare at the way his rough-hewn hands moved with confidence, the way they always had, whatever he’d touched. Part of her craved those callouses sliding all over her. A bit scratchy. Hot, delicious friction against her skin.

‘You always were good with your hands.’ The words rushed out before she could catch them.

Connor’s gaze flicked down to meet hers, a flash of something unspoken passing between them. The tips of her ears warmed at the unintended double entendre, and she busied herself by pretending to inspect a knot in the stool’s wood. ‘Just stating facts,’ she mumbled, trying to regain composure.

Off to an awfully awkward start, then.

He lifted another crossbeam into place and secured it with a few focused hammer strokes. ‘If you’re going to stand there, at least hand me that wrench. Think you can handle a tool?’

‘I can handle all sorts of tools.’

She was glad that he exercised his right to remain silent.

Playing with fire here, Munro.

Hastily, she picked up the wrench and gave it to him. Her fingers grazed his, and she withdrew her hand as if she’d touched the hot coils of a stove. But their fleeting contact buzzed in the air like static.

‘Thanks,’ he grumbled, his focus back on the task.

Did Connor Bannerman look…flustered?

She watched him for a moment longer. His concentration, the deep furrow in his brow… He was always so steady, so centred. Now he seemed a bit reserved, too. As if something was simmering inside him and he didn’t want her to see it. As if he was trying to keep it together.

It was annoying, confusing, and…so hot.

There was nothing sexier than a man who could handle his tools so smoothly. Warm pressure rose right where it mattered. She pulled open the neckline of her t-shirt and blew a breath down her cleavage. As if this could cool anything. This was going to be a long, hot, and hard weekend.

Speaking of long and hard…

God’s sake, stop it, Munro!

That was the problem when you knew a man. You knew what you’d get, no need to fantasise. And in Connor’s case…phew .

‘Right, I’ll crack on with it then.’ She began unloading boxes with pies and cupcakes to busy herself.

Kirsty had laboured for hours, perfecting every hand-crafted cupcake with wrappers. Each of those had a message written on the inside. She had taken the notes from the board of regret and added a few phrases that spoke to the universal human experience. Her cupcakes were more than a treat, they were a conduit for communication. And, hopefully, an advertisement for the Seaview Café.

I wish I hadn’t worked so much.

I regret that I never spoke to my daughter again.

I wish I’d let myself be happier.

I should have been more generous with myself.

I didn’t appreciate my body enough when it was healthy.

I wish I had taken the time to watch more sunsets.

I should have stayed in touch with my friends.

I wished I’d spent more time with the bairns.

I should’ve written down my gran’s recipes.

I listened too little and talked too much.

I regret not travelling more.

I wasted too much time thinking about what others think.

I should have learned to sail when I had the chance.

I wish I’d had the courage to speak my truth.

‘What’s that?’ Connor asked with a glance at the cupcakes and took a long swig from the water bottle. Kirsty paused, watching the column of his throat ripple as he drank. A trickle of water escaped, running down his stubbled jaw. She imagined following that droplet with her tongue, tasting the salt on his skin.

She quickly looked away, arranging the cupcakes in neat rows. ‘This, young Padawan, is our coming bestseller.’

A roguish grin spread across his face. ‘Is it, aye?’

‘It is, aye. Each one has a wee message inside the wrapper. I got the idea from the board of regrets in the café,’ she said. ‘People love that kind of stuff.’

‘Maybe down south they do.’ His eyebrows creased. ‘Not so sure about Cairnhaven.’

‘Whatever, infidel. We divide the stall into two halves then. You can stay on your side and sell my maw’s pies. I’ll stay on mine and sell the cupcakes.’ She hissed out a breath. The hot nights in her tiny old room under the roof were stuffy. Clearly made her irritable. And she wasn’t here to cater to Connor Bannerman’s whims. She was here to help her family.

‘If you say so, Freckles.’ He lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his face, casually showcasing his almost six-pack. It was perfect, not too chiselled. It screamed, ‘I use my body, girl, but I’m not a vain airhead’.

Goddammit, Bannerman!

‘The stall is done, as you can see,’ he added. ‘Just have to attach the tarp and we’re good to go.’

‘About time, the festival starts in an hour,’ she said. ‘And Connor? Not to be insensitive, but…I’d take a shower first if I were you. You know what they say: don’t smell and sell.’

Connor tipped his chin back and laughed, rich and unguarded. It was that laugh, that rare, barrelled sound that made her heart trip over itself. Disarmed her, as it always had. Kirsty bit her lip. She had to remember that this was Connor Bannerman, her heart-breaking foe of yore, not just some run-of-the-mill hunk with a hammer.

But what would she have done if it wasn’t? If he was a random handyman?

She would have dragged his hot ass to bed and handled his tool, that’s what.