But despite all of the things wrong with it, there are far more things about this place that are beautiful. The brand-new wraparound porch, the unpainted wood still fresh and new, is breathtaking. Rocking chairs sit out front, along with new windows and a new navy blue front door.
Clearly, Jackson has been renovating, even if it’s still a work in progress.
Putting my car in park, I grab my bag from the passenger seat and open the door, stepping out.
A second later, the front door opens and two giant balls of fur come barreling toward me, a blur of fluffy golden hair and floppy ears.
Immediately, a smile spreads on my face as I drop into a squat to get all of the puppy love.
“Oh, hello,” I coo, petting each of the heads of two of the cutest Golden Retrievers I’ve ever seen. “God, you are adorable. Clearly, you two got the looks in the family,” I tell them just as Jackson saunters over, his hands pushed deep into the front pockets of his jeans.
“I see you’ve met Marley and Mo,” he says sheepishly. “Calm down, you two heathens.”
“They’re precious.”
He nods. “I rescued them down by the creek. Last December, I stumbled upon them huddled in a bed of wet leaves, tiny little puppies just shivering in the snow. I was surprised they hadn’t frozen to death, and when I couldn’t find their mama anywhere, I brought them back to the farmhouse, and the rest is history.”
Wow, the jerk does actually have a heart. That’s surprisingly… adorable.
Keeping my comment to myself, I nod, plastering on a saccharine smile. “Very noble of you, Jackson Pearce. How many acres do you have here?”
“Twenty. Goes beyond the tree line there and up past Harrow Creek.” Removing his hand from his pocket, he points toward the tree line, where the sun has begun to set in deep orange and purples, bringing the temperature down with it. We haven’t had hard snow in the last couple of weeks, so there’s only a light dusting along the ground. Enough to cover it, making a fluffy white blanket.
“Let’s get inside. You’re shivering,” he says, noticing a fact that I haven’t even yet realized. I was too busy staring at his property and adorable pups.
“Um, yeah, that’d be great.”
He turns toward the rustic two-story and calls for the dogs, motioning for me to follow behind him.
I try not to stare at the way the tight denim on his ass is molded to him like a second skin as he walks inside.
Why is it that men who are unreasonably attractive are also equally as annoying?
Maybe it’s just a Pearce thing.
I step over the threshold into Jackson’s house, my coat pulled tightly around me, and my jaw drops open as I take it all in. While the outside of the house is very clearly still a work in progress, the inside is a completely different story.
Obviously, this is where Jackson started.
The inside is breathtaking, and for the first time, I truly see why everyone in town is obsessed with Pearce Builders.
His craftsmanship is incredible, and the design… it’s modern and fresh yet still feels rustic and welcoming.
“Judging a house from the outside, are you?” He chuckles, shutting the door and kicking off his boots in the entryway. “Shouldn’t be surprised, Emmie.”
Rolling my eyes, I do the same. As I’m shrugging out of my jacket, he takes it from me, surprising me, and hangs it on the coat rack.
“I am not judging the house. I… I just wasn’t expecting it to be so beautiful. I mean, the house sat abandoned for so long the entire town was convinced that it would have to be condemned. Clearly, that’s not true. You’ve put a lot of work into it.”
He leads me into the open-floor-plan living room, where there’s a comfortable cream couch and a massive TV mounted on the wall. “Did it kill you to give me that compliment? I feel like it had to have hurt.”
The smile on his lips is teasing, and I scowl, narrowing my eyes. “Enjoy it because it’ll never happen again.”
I set my bag down on the coffee table and then do a slow one-eighty, taking in the rest of his house, the dark wood floor and black iron light fixtures.
“Do you care if I set my stuff up here, or would you prefer somewhere else?”
He shrugs, nodding toward the dark wooden coffee table. “Have at it. Mo and Marley will probably want all the attention if you’re on the floor though.”
“No complaints from me—they’re so cute. Thanks.”
Dragging my gaze from his, I rummage through my bag and pull out all of my supplies: notebook, calendar, stickies, highlighters, colored pens. My mood board. Everything I need to make sure this goes smoothly, as organized as humanly possible.
It’s going to be hard enough for the two of us to work together without both of us losing our minds, and even harder if I don’t stay on top of everything.
Plus, it helps me feel… in control of a situation when I’m prepared. I need everything to go exactly as planned, and the only way to do that is to plan.
What’s that saying… fail to plan, plan to fail?
Jackson disappears into the kitchen, then returns with two amber bottles of beer in his hand. “Beer? I know it’s probably not fancy enough for you, but it’s all I’ve got. Not a red wine kinda guy.” He extends it toward me.
Glaring at him, I take the bottle from his hand. “Now who’s judging who? I happen to love beer. I drink it all the time. I’m a real beer connoisseur.”
Amusement flickers in his eyes as I take a hefty sip, never breaking our stare.
The second the bitter liquid hits my taste buds, I immediately regret my decision.
God, it takes like… carbonated muddy water, except even worse, and I don’t know how that’s possible. Trying to keep a straight face, I swallow the mouthful and grimace. “Delicious. Thank you.”
He tosses his head back, a deep, low rumble erupting from his chest. “God, you’re a shit liar, Emmie. The look on your face was priceless.”
I ignore him entirely, taking a seat between his couch and the coffee table and setting the beer on the table. “Do you have a coaster?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who has a coaster?”
Sighing, I open the notebook and uncap my pen as he sits on the floor next to me, bringing his beer to his lips.
Even though it tastes horrible, I continue to sip my beer, if only to prove a point that I’m not “too good” for beer. For someone who doesn’t know me at all, he sure does have a lot of preconceived notions about who I am. Although, I guess that’s not entirely fair because I’ve done the same to him.
“Okay, so I think we should get started.”
He nods. “Have at it, Emmie.”
My gaze narrows as I take another hefty sip of my beer, and for a second, I don’t bother to hide the slow perusal as I drink him in. Maybe it’s the alcohol or that I’ve barely eaten all day… or maybe it’s that it’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to Jackson Pearce. The jail cell didn’t count—I was in distress and trying to focus on getting free again.
It’s at this moment that I realize being this close to Jackson Pearce is dangerous.
It’s his whiskey-brown eyes, the gold flecks of honey that swirl around his irises. Thick, dark lashes frame them, a shade darker than the stubble on his chin that he hasn’t bothered to shave. I’m usually more of a clean-cut, suit-and-tie kind of girl, but there’s something deliciously enticing about him. Something dangerous and rough. Something I find myself wanting.