“You don’t have a TV.”
“I don’t have a TV.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because I just moved here. Because I sold the one I had in Denver. Because I rarely watch TV, and unlike you, I don’t need SportsCenter to feel good about myself.”
“No, you just need a bottle of hair bleach and a crop top.”
If looks could kill, Nellie would have flayed the skin from my bones nineteen years ago. I guess you could say by now, I was used to that murderous, green glare.
“Can’t we go somewhere else?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Where there are more than two seats?”
After Kerrigan’s water had broken, Nellie and I had walked to her house with Elias in tow. We were only a couple of blocks off First. There had to be places for both kids and adults in Calamity. Pierce and Kerrigan had just opened up a brewery downtown. I hadn’t been there yet but maybe they’d put in a kids’ play area.
“We are staying here.” Nellie nodded to Elias. “If you want to sit, the couch is all yours.”
“It’s full of boxes.”
“Then move them. They go in the office upstairs. First door on the left.” She pointed at the ceiling, a smirk on her pink lips. “Unless you’re afraid to lift anything heavy and hurt your back. Oh, wait. You don’t have to worry about silly injuries anymore. Because you got fired.”
“I didn’t get fired,” I gritted out. “I retired.”
“Did you though?” She tapped her chin. “Because they didn’t rehire you. So it’s sort of like they showed you to the door.”
This woman.
My blood began to boil.
She was goading me into an argument because usually a fight would send both of us storming away in opposite directions. Except I wasn’t leaving. Not until we heard from Pierce. Not until we knew that Kerrigan and the baby were okay.
Nellie wanted me to move boxes? Fine, I’d move boxes. A floor between us seemed like a damn good idea.
I stalked out of the kitchen and hefted the first box from her couch. The label taunted me, a blinding neon yellow. Books. Of course, she’d have me hauling books.
The staircase was steep and the treads nowhere near deep enough for my size-twelve shoes. The wooden handrail was scratched and dinged from years of use. The hallway upstairs felt too narrow for my broad shoulders. But at least the ceilings were tall, and I didn’t have to duck to pass through a doorway.
The first room on the right was Nellie’s bedroom. Apparently, she’d already unpacked the boxes for that space. A velvet, olive quilt covered the mattress. A mountain of white pillows rested against the oatmeal tufted headboard. The walls were the same startling white as they were in the rest of the house, and not a single box could be found.
Pierce was setting up a satellite office in Calamity for his investment company. He’d mentioned earlier that Nellie had moved here two weeks ago.
Clearly, she’d made getting settled a priority. If all that remained of her boxes were those in the living room, she’d be fully unpacked soon.
She had a head start on life in Montana. I didn’t like that she was ahead.
Across the hall from her bedroom was the office. Three empty bookshelves hugged the longest wall. I dropped the box beside her desk, then jogged downstairs to collect the last two.
Except there weren’t two on the couch. There were three.
“Did you just put another box on the couch?” I asked her.
“It goes upstairs too.” Nellie sauntered into the living room, her hips swaying with each step.
Her jeans molded to her slight curves. The cropped tank showed a sliver of her flat, toned stomach. Her hair was down, the white-blond strands hanging in sleek panels to her waist. And those pretty eyes were always full of fire.
She was maddeningly attractive.
“I’m not moving this shit for you.”
She glanced over her shoulder to Elias who was too busy gulping apple juice to hear that I’d cussed. “Because you’re so busy at the moment? It’s a few boxes. And they’re heavy.”
“Then don’t buy books. Or, follow my lead, and hire a moving company. I’m not going to move my own stuff, let alone yours.”
“I—Wait. You’re moving here? From Nashville?”
A slow grin spread across my face. “Pierce didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Earlier today, on the sidewalk outside The Refinery, Nellie had been genuinely shocked to see me. Which meant she had no idea. She probably thought I was here on vacation.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Do you think that house across the street is for sale?”
She gulped. “You’re moving here?”
“I’m moving here.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
I leaned in closer. “Tell you what. I’ll do you a favor. I’ll cart one more box upstairs. Since it’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“You cannot move to Calamity.”
“Watch me.”
Her hands balled into fists. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Watch that foul language.” I tsked my tongue, then grabbed the closest box and hauled it upstairs.
Taunting her was like trash-talking the best lineman on a fourth-down conversion attempt. Either I’d find a way to get the ball down field, or I’d get my ass sacked. Regardless, the game was a rush.
Nellie Rivera was my most formidable opponent.
The sound of the front door opening and closing rang through the house. I stepped toward the office’s window, spotting Nellie and Elias in the yard again. She’d found a ball for him to toss.
She had a smile on her face but there was a tension in her shoulders. A tightness to her moves. I’d known her long enough to know the difference between riling her up and truly getting beneath her skin.
And today, I was in there deep. Nellie did not want me moving to Calamity.
A better man would have walked away. A better man would have given her this town to claim as her own.
But, like she’d said, I was an asshole.
I plopped the box beside my feet. The top hadn’t been taped shut like the others, and as it landed, the flaps popped loose, revealing rows of books inside. One with an orange spine caught my eye, so I picked it up, inspecting the cover. It was a compilation of articles from the Harvard Business Review.
I flipped it open, skimming through the pages. A few of the articles I recognized, having read them myself. Most people, Nellie included, probably thought I’d spent the past decade reading only playbooks.
But I’d read and researched and put my money to work. I used the Harvard degree I’d worked my ass off to earn. They’d needed a star quarterback, and I’d wanted an Ivy League education. It had been a win-win. My father had paid my tuition, but after graduation, I hadn’t taken a cent from that man. Not even a birthday or Christmas gift. I’d sworn never to be indebted to him again.
It was bad enough knowing his blood ran through my veins.
I returned the book to the box, rifling through the pile. Maybe there’d be one I hadn’t read yet. Except the educational texts stopped midway through the box. Beneath them were leather journals. My fingers skimmed a suede cover, and I pulled it out, unwrapping the strap that bound it together. One glance inside and I knew exactly what I held.