3. Walker

Walker

" T his looks good," Oakley says as he looks over the estimate I wrote up for Dutton. I did several different options all the way from super simple to the top-tier of landscaping.

I'm not sure which one I want him to go with, if I'm being honest. The work isn't extravagant. Not even the top-tier one—I think there's beauty in simplicity—but the top one will require the most amount of time.

And I'm not sure that's a good idea. I can't seem to tamp down my attraction to the beautiful man. It's only been two days since I left his house with the promise of a quick estimate, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about him and his inheriting his property from a woman who let him down in such a profound way. About him being from the city and not seeming to love it here—though he did say he enjoyed coming here before his grandmother's betrayal.

I find myself obsessing over whether he's going to stay or leave.

"Walker?" Oh shit. I hear my boss's voice and realize I've started doing it again—obsessing over a client. That's so unlike me.

"Yeah?"

"You going to show Mr. Collins and get this project going?"

Oakley looks a little concerned, and I don't blame him in the slightest. I'm not really acting like myself here. I don't get distracted. I've always been good at my job. "Yeah. As long as I have your okay."

"Looks good. You sure you're okay though? You seem rattled."

Fucking Oakley. He's not your typical boss. He's huge, built from years of playing football and then manual labor, but he's the friendliest guy. He really cares about his employees, but even so, what am I supposed to say? I'm not okay because I can't stop thinking about the pouty lips on the client's way-too-beautiful face. Wondering what put that pout there and what it would be like to kiss those lips.

Yeah. Probably not the best idea.

"I'm good. I'm just ready to start this project," I say as I stand up from the table. And it's not a lie. I just need to keep my head down, do my work, and get the hell out of there. He didn't seem too interested in talking details of his past with me. And if he signs the contract today, he'll officially be a client, and I shouldn't be concerned with those details anyway.

It's fine. I've totally got this.

But when I pull up to the property and see the man on the porch, sitting in an old rocking chair and looking at a tablet on his lap, his pouty lips pursed and his wavy brown hair blowing in the gentle wind, I'm not too sure I do.

Because goddamn, the man is literally breathtaking. I have to force air back into my lungs and take a deep breath, releasing it slowly before I can climb out of my truck. I hope I have the professional appearance down as his eyes lift and he watches me approach.

"Morning," I start as I head up the stairs and toward him.

"Good morning." His low raspy voice sends a message straight to my cock, coaxing it up and making it want to come out and play. I have to mentally scold said cock because it's work-time. Fuck me.

"I, uh... I have your estimate ready, if you'd like to go over it with me, and we can talk about how to proceed."

He places the tablet on the table next to him and motions to the rocking chair on the other side of it. I take a seat and hand him my own tablet to let him look over the estimate. I watch him closely as he scans the screen, those green eyes intense as they go over every detail.

"Okay. I think I want this one." He points to the top-tier choice, and I'm not sure if I'm excited or disappointed.

"You sure? You have time to think about it," I say, though I'm kicking myself right after I do because I don't want him to second-guess this. I don't want him to think about it, I realize. I want the time to get to know him.

He laughs bitterly at that, and it captures my attention because it doesn't sound like him, even though I don't know him well enough to even think that. But somehow, it just doesn't fit.

"Time. Right. If I don't commit to this, I'll leave. I'm sure of it." He hands me the tablet. "I want to do that one."

I take the tablet and turn off the screen. "Still not feeling it, huh?"

He snorts, his pretty eyes sweeping the landscape around us. "This place needs work. And not just the landscaping. It needs a lot. And..."—he stands up and walks over to the porch railing, looking out—"I live in LA. In a tiny little apartment."

I put the tablet down next to his and walk over to him, standing by his side. "You like it there?"

He nods but doesn't look at me. "I do. I mean, I probably shouldn't." He smiles slightly, as if reminiscing. "It's a tiny apartment. Loud all the time. But it's home to me. I can order food at all times during the night. Like at two in the morning, I can get food delivered."

I chuckle. "Yeah. You can't get anything past nine here."

"And no delivery," he says pointedly.

I look out at the trees surrounding the property. "What has you up at two in the morning that you need food?"

Okay, yeah. I just want to get to know him better. There's no excuse for asking him that question. "I'm a photographer." He turns to look at me, and I do the same so I'm facing him. I take in his high cheekbones and soulful eyes. Yeah, photographer fits. "So sometimes I'm up all hours of the night, editing photos and going through them. I lose track of time."

"Hmm," I say, unable to keep my eyes off him. He probably thinks I'm a damn creeper, but I can't seem to help it. "How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks." He turns away from me again, his hands gripping the railing as he looks out.

I scoff at that with a big smile, turning my attention back to the land as well. "Two weeks. You can't decide if you like anything or not in two weeks."

"No?" I can feel his eyes on me and hear the amusement in his tone. "And how long does that take?"

I think about it for a moment. Calculating how long it will take to do all the work on his property. "Six months." And no, the work will not take that long, but still, it's what I landed on. He makes a choking noise as I turn my body toward his again to explain. "Six months here and you'll get to experience all it has to offer."

"Is that so?" he asks cautiously.

"It is," I say with all confidence. "Think about it. It's hot as fuck right now. Humid. The very end of summer. I'm sure the mosquitos are eating you alive in the evenings, if you dare go outside."

He gives a clipped nod. "Annoying fuckers."

"Agreed," I say with a smile. "But soon, very soon, it'll be fall. Fall around here is awesome. The leaves turn these really beautiful colors. It gets cooler. We have hayrides and all kinds of shit celebrating pumpkins. Halloween parties. Festivals. In short, it's awesome."

His smile grows as he watches me. "Okay. And then?"

"Winter," I say with a little shiver because it's not really my favorite, although I can see the beauty in it too. "We get a shitload of snow. You ever seen snow?" I'm not trying to be a dick, but growing up in California and only coming here for the summers, I'm not certain he has.

"Once or twice. Not much of it when it happened either."

"Oh, there's a lot here. Sometimes it just dumps on us. Feet and feet and feet of snow."

He chuckles. "That sounds scary."

I wave him off. "Nah. It's fun. You put on your coveralls and go jump into snow drifts. Fucking blast."

He seems pretty amused. "And spring?"

"The flowers, man. They're so damn beautiful. And the rain." I look at him pointedly, trying to appear serious. "Have you seen rain?"

He laughs at that, and it lights up all his features, somehow making him appear even more beautiful. "Yes. I've seen rain."

"Well, you haven't seen Kansas rain," I say softly, and I swear there's a sparkle of something in his eyes. Something he's feeling that maybe he can't say or can't quite put a finger on.

"Kansas rain," he repeats quietly.

"Stay," I say, even though I have no business saying it. "Stay through at least the beginning of spring and then decide whether you hate this place or not."

"Okay." He looks at me, and it nearly makes my heart stutter when I see the trust he has in me. It seems almost impossible, but I'm almost totally certain that's what I'm seeing. "When can you start?"

I can't stop the grin from forming on my face.

Six months for him to decide whether he wants to stay or go. A couple of months, at most, to make the property somewhere he might want to stay.

Totally doable.