At nine seventeen Thursday morning, Wren Brooks was standing on a ladder outside The Nook with a roll of fishing line between her teeth when Daniel Hale walked around the corner.
He stopped.
Wren saw him.
Neither spoke.
She removed the fishing line.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
Daniel looked up.
A six-foot papier-mâché moon hung crookedly above the bookstore entrance.
Three silver stars dangled beneath it.
Wren stood on the fourth rung of an aluminum ladder wearing denim shorts, an old T-shirt, and one sneaker.
The other sneaker sat on the sidewalk.
Daniel looked at it.
Then at her bare foot.
Then at the moon.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Then don’t.”
“What happened to your shoe?”
“Ladder issue.”
“That answers nothing.”
“It answers the important part.”
Daniel looked toward the storefront.
Maribel stood inside the window holding both hands up in what Daniel initially interpreted as surrender.
Then he realized she was directing the moon.
“Left!” she yelled through the glass.
Wren shifted it.
“My left!”
“I only have one left, Maribel!”
“Then use it!”
Daniel looked at Wren.
Wren looked down at him.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
There it was.
Daniel.
He’d begun noticing when she used it.
This time it apparently meant please don’t make my current situation worse.
Tempting.
“Good morning.”
Wren narrowed her eyes.
“That was suspiciously easy.”
“I’ve decided to respect your process.”
“You don’t respect this process.”
“I don’t understand this process.”
“Different.”
“Significantly.”
Maribel opened the bookstore door.
“Oh, good. Tall person.”
Daniel turned.
“No.”
Wren laughed so abruptly the moon swung.
Daniel stepped forward instinctively and caught the ladder.
“Stop moving.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have one shoe.”
“The shoe isn’t load-bearing.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Above him, Wren went quiet.
Then—
“You liked that.”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Secure the moon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Daniel looked up.
Wren grinned.
That had been a mistake.
He returned his attention to the ladder.
Maribel came outside.
“Can you reach that hook?”
Daniel looked at the hook mounted above the bookstore awning.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
“No.”
Maribel blinked.
“No?”
“I came to speak with Wren.”
“She’ll still be here.”
“Debatable,” Wren said from the ladder.
Daniel tightened his grip.
“You are not falling.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“People rarely do.”
Wren looked down at him.
“You’re very bossy before ten.”
“I’m responding to conditions.”
“Architecturally?”
“Biologically.”
Maribel held out another piece of fishing line.
Daniel stared at it.
Five minutes later, he was standing on the ladder.
He wasn’t entirely certain how.
His jacket was folded over the back of a chair Maribel had brought onto the sidewalk. His sleeves were rolled up. Wren stood below holding the ladder.
Both shoes present now.
Daniel considered that an improvement.
“A little left,” Wren said.
“Your left or Maribel’s left?”
“My left.”
“Clarify.”
“The moon’s left.”
“The moon has no anatomical orientation.”
“Oh my God.”
“Specific instructions produce predictable results.”
“Move the moon toward Nora Mae’s.”
Daniel moved it three inches.
“There.”
“Too far.”
“You said toward Nora Mae’s.”
“I didn’t say visit Nora Mae.”
Daniel looked down.
Wren smiled sweetly.
“Three inches is not a visit.”
“In Willow Creek it can be.”
He moved the moon back.
“Stop.”
Daniel stopped.
Wren tilted her head.
“Tiny bit right.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Make a decision.”
“I am making one.”
“Repeatedly.”
Maribel leaned out the doorway.
“Now you understand my life.”
Daniel looked toward her.
“You asked her to do this.”
“I make mistakes.”
“Hey,” Wren said.
Daniel smiled.
Wren saw it.
Naturally.
“Less smiling. More moon.”
“You’ve spent four days attempting to make me smile.”
“I contain contradictions.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
He tied off the line.
“Done.”
Wren stepped back.
The moon hung above The Nook surrounded by silver stars, apparently advertising something called READ UNDER THE STARS, according to the poster in the window.
Daniel climbed down.
“What is this for?”
“Library fundraiser,” Wren said.
“At the bookstore.”
“Collaboration.”
“Why is there a moon?”
“Night reading.”
“Indoors?”
Maribel nodded. “Air-conditioning.”
Daniel considered that.
“Reasonable.”
Wren handed him his jacket.
“What did you need?”
Daniel had temporarily forgotten.
That irritated him.
He took the jacket.
“I need the photographs from the depot restoration.”
“Okay.”
“And whatever documentation you have on the brick supplier.”
“Okay.”
“And the original window measurements.”
Wren’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m working.”
“On what?”
“The building.”
She stared at him.
Daniel stared back.
“Are you changing the windows?”
“Possibly.”
“Daniel.”
“I need information before I know.”
“You’ve done something.”
“I’ve worked.”
“You have that face.”
“My face—”
“The secret architect face.”
“I have no secret architect face.”
Maribel came through the doorway.
“He does.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You’ve known me three days.”
“Small town.”
That apparently explained everything.
Wren picked up her tote.
“I’ve got the restoration binder at home.”
“Good.”
“But I can’t get it until later.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
Daniel immediately regretted asking.
Wren held up one finger.
“Library banner.”
Second.
“Drop table linens at Town Hall.”
Third.
“Pick up raffle tickets from the printer.”
Fourth.
“Take Nora Mae her order forms.”
Fifth.
“Help Tanner move the folding tables.”
Daniel interrupted.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Any of that.”
Wren blinked.
“Because it needs doing.”
“By you?”
“Somebody.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Wren’s expression flickered.
Not wounded.
Just surprised.
Daniel noticed.
He softened the question.
“Does everyone in town call you when something needs doing?”
“Not everyone.”
Maribel and Daniel both looked at her.
Wren sighed.
“A lot of people.”
Daniel glanced at his watch.
“How long?”
“For what?”
“All of it.”
“Couple hours.”
Daniel looked toward his car.
Then back at her.
“Fine.”
Wren frowned.
“Fine what?”
“I’ll drive.”
“No.”
“You have errands. I need the binder.”
“I have a car.”
“You also have six stops.”
“Five.”
“You forgot the folding tables.”
“Right. Six.”
“My car has a trunk.”
“So does mine.”
“Your trunk currently contains what?”
Wren hesitated.
Daniel waited.
“Craft supplies.”
“How many?”
“That’s not a measurable unit.”
“Wren.”
“Some.”
Maribel coughed.
“It’s full.”
Wren turned.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side that gets my table linens delivered.”
Daniel picked up his jacket.
“I’ll drive.”
Wren folded her arms.
“You have work.”
“I know.”
“This is not work.”
“I’ve been informed several times that understanding Willow Creek is work.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Wren opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Daniel felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.
“Exactly.”
She pointed at him.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“But I’m choosing the music.”
“No.”
“Then I’m driving.”
Daniel sighed.
“You can choose the music.”
Wren smiled.
Daniel immediately knew he’d made a mistake.
The first song contained a banjo.
Daniel lasted forty-three seconds.
“No.”
Wren turned the volume up.
Daniel turned it down.
She turned it up.
He turned it down.
“This is my car.”
“My music.”
“I agreed you could choose it.”
“I chose.”
“I retain veto authority.”
“That was not negotiated.”
“It was implied.”
“You hate implied.”
“I’ve evolved.”
Wren stared at him.
Daniel kept his eyes on the road.
“Turn it back up.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Wren.”
“It’s a classic.”
“It is an assault.”
“You said you listen to some country.”
“I said limited.”
“This is within the limit.”
“This is beyond several limits.”
She reached for the volume.
Daniel caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Barely even thinking.
Just stopped her hand.
Both of them went still.
Daniel felt her pulse beneath his fingers.
Wren looked down.
Then up.
The music continued quietly between them.
Daniel released her.
“Driver controls the volume.”
Wren settled back into her seat.
“Fine.”
Her voice had changed.
So had the air in the car.
Daniel cleared his throat.
“What is this?”
“The song?”
“Yes.”
She told him.
Daniel nodded.
A minute passed.
Then he turned the volume up one notch.
Wren looked toward him.
He didn’t.
Her smile appeared in the passenger window reflection.
Daniel pretended not to see it.
The printer was first.
Wren disappeared inside and emerged four minutes later carrying a cardboard box.
Daniel opened the trunk.
She stopped.
His trunk contained:
An emergency kit.
Umbrella.
Reusable grocery bags folded into exact rectangles.
A small tool case.
Nothing else.
Wren stared.
“This is upsetting.”
Daniel took the box.
“What?”
“Your trunk.”
“What about it?”
“Where’s your stuff?”
“This is my stuff.”
“No. I mean stuff.”
He placed the box inside.
“You’ll need to define the term.”
“Random jacket. Three reusable water bottles. Christmas decorations you forgot to take inside. A shoe you haven’t seen since April.”
“Why would I have one shoe?”
“Life.”
Daniel closed the trunk.
“You own a shoe whose location you don’t know?”
Wren thought.
“Probably.”
He stared.
She patted his arm.
“You’re adorable.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Make me.”
Daniel looked at her.
Wren froze for half a beat.
Then walked very quickly toward the passenger door.
Interesting.
Daniel smiled.
By the third stop, Daniel understood how Wren lost entire days.
Nobody allowed her to leave.
At Town Hall, Caleb intercepted them before they reached the supply closet.
“What are you doing here?”
“Linens,” Wren said.
Caleb looked at Daniel.
“With him.”
“Apparently.”
Daniel carried two plastic bins.
Caleb’s eyebrows rose.
“Daniel Hale.”
“Caleb.”
“Internationally recognized architect.”
“Occasionally.”
“Carrying tablecloths.”
“They’re linens,” Wren corrected.
Caleb looked delighted.
Daniel disliked him.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re about to.”
Caleb smiled.
“I’m proud of you.”
Daniel walked past him.
Wren laughed.
In the supply room, she opened one bin.
“Blue or cream?”
Daniel looked at her.
“For?”
“Founders Day banquet.”
“I don’t care.”
“Wrong.”
“How?”
“You have design opinions.”
“Not about banquet linens.”
“Color is color.”
Daniel looked at the blue.
Then cream.
“Cream.”
Wren gasped.
“I knew it.”
“What?”
“You care.”
“I answered a question.”
“Why cream?”
He sighed.
“The room is dark. Blue will absorb more light. Cream will brighten it.”
Wren stared.
Caleb appeared in the doorway.
“What?”
Wren pointed.
“He has opinions about tablecloths.”
Daniel set down the second bin.
“You asked.”
Caleb looked at Wren.
“Did he choose cream?”
“Yes.”
“Good choice.”
Daniel walked out.
Their laughter followed him down the hall.
He was beginning to understand why Caleb had come home.
That thought surprised him.
Nora Mae didn’t need order forms.
She needed Daniel to fix a shelf.
He knew this because the moment they entered the diner, she pointed toward the back.
“It’s leaning.”
Daniel looked at Wren.
Wren looked innocent.
“You said order forms.”
“She evolves.”
Nora Mae handed Daniel a screwdriver.
He stared at it.
“Why do you assume I can fix a shelf?”
“You build buildings.”
“I design buildings.”
“Same family.”
Wren laughed so hard she had to sit down.
Daniel looked toward the shelf.
Then at the screwdriver.
Then back at Nora Mae.
“Where is it?”
Nora Mae pointed.
Ten minutes later Daniel was crouched beside a pantry shelf while Nora Mae supervised.
“You’re holding the screwdriver wrong,” Wren said.
Daniel didn’t turn.
“No, I’m not.”
“Looks wrong from here.”
“Then stop looking.”
“Can’t.”
Daniel paused.
That word.
He looked over his shoulder.
Wren was leaning against the doorway.
For once, she didn’t rescue herself with a joke.
Their eyes met.
Nora Mae stepped between them holding a jar.
“Pickles?”
Both said, “No,” simultaneously.
Nora Mae shrugged and walked away.
Wren laughed first.
Daniel followed.
Danger averted.
Mostly.
When he finished, Nora Mae tested the shelf.
“Good.”
Daniel stood.
“Thank you.”
“For fixing your shelf?”
“For being useful.”
Daniel stared.
Wren covered her mouth.
Nora Mae went back to the kitchen.
Daniel looked at Wren.
“Did she just compliment me?”
“Highest praise.”
“I feel strangely accomplished.”
“You should.”
They headed toward the door.
“Hey, Handsome.”
Daniel stopped.
Wren stopped faster.
A woman sat at the counter Daniel hadn’t noticed when they came in.
Late twenties, perhaps early thirties. Blonde ponytail. Scrubs. Friendly face.
She smiled at Daniel.
“You’re the architect, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Kelly.”
“Daniel.”
Wren said nothing.
Daniel glanced at her.
Interesting.
Kelly turned on the stool.
“My mom was at the meeting. She said you were cute, but she undersold it.”
Daniel wasn’t entirely certain how to respond.
“Thank you.”
Wren picked up a toothpick from the counter.
Daniel looked at her.
She studied it as though preparing a dissertation.
Kelly smiled.
“So how long are you in town?”
“Several weeks.”
“Long enough to learn where the fun is.”
Daniel heard a tiny crack.
Wren had snapped the toothpick.
He looked at her.
She looked down at the two pieces.
“Huh.”
Daniel nearly smiled.
Kelly continued. “You should come out Friday. A bunch of us go to Murphy’s.”
“I—”
“He’s working.”
Wren’s voice arrived before Daniel’s answer.
Kelly looked at her.
Daniel looked at her.
Wren looked at both of them.
“What?”
Kelly grinned.
“Friday night?”
Wren blinked.
“Oh.”
Daniel waited.
Wren recovered.
“I mean—he’s probably working. He works constantly. He’s very…worky.”
Worky.
Daniel stored that for later.
Kelly looked at him.
“Are you?”
Daniel could have saved Wren.
He chose not to.
“I don’t know.”
Wren’s eyes widened.
Daniel continued.
“What’s Murphy’s?”
Kelly smiled.
“Bar and grill out by the highway. Live music Fridays.”
Wren snapped the second half of the toothpick.
Daniel almost lost control.
“Sounds interesting.”
Wren looked at him.
Daniel looked back.
Kelly wrote something on a napkin.
“My number. In case you want company.”
She handed it to him.
Daniel took it politely.
“Thank you.”
Wren walked out of the diner.
Just left.
Daniel watched the door close.
Kelly laughed.
“Oh.”
Daniel turned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He had heard that word enough to know it meant the exact opposite.
He followed Wren.
She was halfway to the car.
“Wren.”
“Yep?”
Daniel caught up.
“You forgot the order forms.”
She stopped.
Looked down at her empty hands.
“Damn it.”
Daniel held them up.
He had them.
Wren took the stack.
“Thanks.”
He waited.
She started walking again.
“Worky?”
Wren stopped.
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t.”
“I’m very worky.”
“I panicked.”
“I noticed.”
“I didn’t panic.”
“You just said—”
“Shut up.”
Daniel laughed.
Wren glared.
Then he did something unwise.
“Are you jealous?”
She stared.
“No.”
Very fast.
Too fast.
Daniel nodded.
“Okay.”
“I am not.”
“I said okay.”
“Kelly can call you handsome all she wants.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“And give you her number.”
“I didn’t ask for that either.”
“Go to Murphy’s.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
They stood beside his car.
Wren folded her arms.
Daniel looked at her.
She looked furious.
Not actually furious.
Flustered.
Embarrassed.
And, unless Daniel had wildly misread the situation—
Jealous.
A warm, rather masculine satisfaction moved through him.
He immediately distrusted it.
Wren opened the passenger door.
“Are we going or not?”
Daniel walked around the car.
“Yes.”
She climbed in.
Daniel got behind the wheel.
Silence.
He started the engine.
More silence.
Then Wren said, “Handsome is a terrible nickname.”
Daniel turned his head.
She stared through the windshield.
He bit the inside of his cheek.
“I thought nicknames were expressions of affection.”
“Not all of them.”
“Interesting.”
“Drive.”
Daniel did.
He made it almost two blocks before smiling.
Tanner’s folding tables finished her.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
There were eight.
“Why does one town own this many folding tables?” Daniel asked.
Wren grabbed one end.
“Events.”
“You have a dedicated Town Hall supply.”
“Those are Town Hall tables.”
“These are festival tables.”
“Different?”
“Extremely.”
Daniel lifted the other end.
“How?”
“These fold in half.”
He looked at her.
“That is admittedly significant.”
Wren laughed despite herself.
Good.
She’d been weird since Nora Mae’s.
She knew she’d been weird.
Worse, Daniel knew.
And worst of all, she had no legitimate reason to be weird.
Kelly was single.
Daniel was single.
Kelly was pretty.
Daniel was—
Wren looked across the table at him.
Nope.
Not finishing that sentence.
“Watch the truck bed,” Tanner called.
They lifted.
Daniel slid the table into place.
Tanner came around the side.
“Thanks, Danny.”
Wren’s head snapped around.
Daniel’s did too.
Silence.
Tanner looked between them.
“What?”
Wren pointed.
“No.”
Tanner frowned.
“No what?”
“You don’t call him that.”
Daniel went completely still.
Wren heard herself.
Too late.
Tanner’s eyebrows rose.
Slowly.
Daniel looked at her.
Oh, hell.
Wren scrambled.
“He hates Danny.”
Daniel said nothing.
“He corrects everybody.”
Daniel still said nothing.
Wren glared at him.
“Tell him.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“I’ve made considerable progress toward acceptance.”
Traitor.
Tanner’s mouth twitched.
Wren narrowed her eyes.
“Daniel.”
There.
The name.
His expression changed.
Tiny.
Damn him.
Tanner looked between them again.
Then smiled.
“Oh.”
Wren pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I was going to say thanks.”
“For what?”
“The table.”
Tanner walked away whistling.
Wren stared after him.
“I hate this town.”
Daniel stood beside her.
“No, you don’t.”
She sighed.
“No.”
They leaned against the truck.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Daniel said, “So.”
“No.”
“Danny is proprietary?”
Wren closed her eyes.
“I will push you into traffic.”
“Small-town traffic?”
“Still counts.”
He laughed.
She looked at him.
There was no mockery in it.
Just delight.
And damn if that wasn’t worse.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Daniel’s laughter faded.
“For what?”
“That was weird.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“But not unpleasant.”
Wren looked at him.
Daniel held her gaze.
The afternoon seemed suddenly quieter.
Then Tanner yelled from the garage.
“Wren! You still have my extension cord?”
She closed her eyes.
Daniel smiled.
“Saved by electrical equipment.”
She pushed away from the truck.
“Story of my life.”
They finally reached Wren’s house at three forty-two.
Daniel followed her inside.
“Binder.”
“Binder.”
“No additional errands.”
“Probably.”
“Wren.”
“Definitely.”
She disappeared down the hall.
Daniel waited in the living room.
He had been here before.
It felt different without lunch happening around him.
He noticed photographs on the wall.
Wren with Caleb at some town event.
Wren and Maribel holding paint rollers.
Wren beside Nora Mae wearing an apron and laughing.
Wren with Tanner and a woman Daniel assumed was his wife.
Wren everywhere.
Always surrounded.
Always doing.
He thought about the day.
The moon.
Linens.
Order forms.
Shelf.
Tables.
Every stop had turned into another request.
Wren had said yes to all of them.
Not resentfully.
Automatically.
Daniel heard a crash down the hall.
“You alive?”
“Yes!”
Pause.
“Probably!”
He smiled.
She returned carrying an enormous three-ring binder covered in dust.
“Found it.”
Daniel took it.
Heavy.
“You kept all this?”
“Restoration project.”
He opened the cover.
Receipts.
Photographs.
Material samples.
Measurements.
Grant correspondence.
Volunteer schedules.
Daniel looked at her.
“This is exceptionally organized.”
Wren put a hand to her chest.
“You sound shocked.”
“I’ve seen your refrigerator.”
“Unrelated.”
“This is good work.”
Her expression softened.
“Thanks.”
Daniel turned a page.
“You did all this?”
“Most of the coordination.”
“For free.”
“It needed doing.”
There it was again.
Daniel closed the binder.
“Wren.”
“What?”
“What do you do that’s just for you?”
She blinked.
“Lots of things.”
“Name one.”
“Coffee.”
“That’s consumption.”
“Rude.”
He waited.
She looked around her own living room as though an answer might be hiding behind the sofa.
“I make stuff.”
“For festivals.”
“Sometimes.”
“You help at the bookstore.”
“I like books.”
“While hanging moons.”
“Okay.”
Daniel watched her.
Wren frowned.
“Why are you asking?”
Because he’d watched an entire town take pieces of her day without anyone seeming to notice.
Including him.
He had started the morning needing a binder.
He’d taken hours.
Daniel didn’t like that realization.
“The café,” he said.
“What about it?”
“That’s yours.”
Wren went quiet.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good?”
“Keep it that way.”
Something passed over her face.
Warm.
Surprised.
Daniel wished suddenly that he’d said it differently.
Better.
Then Wren stepped closer.
Not much.
Enough.
“You know, for a stuffy architect, you say nice things sometimes.”
“Stuffy?”
“Extremely.”
“I spent the day hanging a papier-mâché moon and repairing diner shelving.”
“In expensive shoes.”
Daniel looked down.
She smiled.
“Stuffy.”
He looked back up.
They were standing too close.
He knew it.
She knew it.
Neither moved.
Daniel’s gaze dropped.
Her mouth.
Just for a second.
Wren saw.
Her breath changed.
There it was.
Not hypothetical anymore.
Not jokes.
Not shoulder contact or accidental admissions.
Attraction.
Clear.
Mutual.
Daniel leaned—
The doorbell rang.
Wren jumped.
Daniel stepped back.
They stared at one another.
The doorbell rang again.
Wren closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
Daniel exhaled.
“Expecting someone?”
“No.”
“Small town?”
“Probably.”
She went to the door.
Maribel stood on the porch holding Wren’s missing sneaker.
“I found this outside the store.”
Wren stared at it.
Maribel looked past her.
Saw Daniel.
Saw Wren.
Saw the space between them.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Oh.”
Wren grabbed the shoe.
“Thank you.”
Maribel smiled slowly.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Wren said.
“Yes,” Daniel said.
Wren turned.
Daniel looked entirely unapologetic.
Maribel’s smile became enormous.
“I’ll go.”
“Maribel.”
“Going.”
She practically skipped down the porch steps.
Wren shut the door.
Then leaned her forehead against it.
Daniel stood behind her.
“I like her.”
“Don’t.”
“She seems helpful.”
“Everybody’s helpful today.”
Daniel laughed.
Wren turned around.
The moment had broken.
Mostly.
But something remained.
They both knew it.
Daniel lifted the binder.
“I should go.”
“Yeah.”
Neither moved.
Then Wren smiled.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to Murphy’s tomorrow?”
There it was.
He considered teasing her.
Decided against it.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
“Are you?”
“Probably. Everybody goes sometimes.”
Daniel nodded.
“Then perhaps.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps?”
“Possibly.”
She pointed.
“You know how I feel about possibly.”
“I do.”
“Annoying man.”
“Territorial bird.”
Wren opened the door.
“Get out.”
Daniel stepped onto the porch.
He turned.
Wren leaned against the frame.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Architect.”
“Wren.”
He started down the steps.
“Daniel?”
He turned again.
She smiled.
“Wear less expensive shoes.”
Daniel looked down.
Then back up.
“No.”
Wren laughed.
He walked toward his car.
Behind him, the door closed.
Daniel looked at the restoration binder beneath his arm.
He had gotten what he’d needed.
Eventually.
He’d also hung a moon, selected table linens, repaired a shelf, transported folding tables, endured country music, been propositioned over pie, discovered Wren apparently considered Danny protected territory, and almost kissed her in her living room.
Daniel unlocked the car.
He stood there for a moment.
Then shook his head.
Four days.
He had been in Willow Creek four days.
At this rate, Caleb’s building was going to be the least complicated thing he designed all summer.