“I was just telling your aunt that we should probably go over the budget and pin down what we absolutely can and can’t do.”

“Oh?” Hunter purses his lips. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, Jeannie said the heat in this place isn’t what it used to be. Do we have room for a new furnace?”

Hunter scoffs. “I highly doubt it. We can barely afford the cosmetic stuff Jeannie mentioned.”

“We really need a new generator,” Jeannie points out.

Hunter makes a face. “And where are we supposed to get the money for that?”

“Okay,” I say, placating. “So we focus on cosmetics for now, and hopefully more business will come in to help offset the cost for some of the bigger projects.”

“What exactly do you plan to do here?” Hunter asks.

I push my plate aside, crossing my arms. “Well, Jeannie and I discussed new flooring, some renovations in the bathrooms—that will mean new showers and vanities. I want to redo the foyer if we can; the front desk needs to be sanded and restained, and for that matter, the stairs need to be redone as well. The wood is scuffed to hell. From what I can see, the fireplace is still great—we just need to refinish the mantel, maybe, but I like the rustic charm of the original stonework there. Based on your budget, I don’t think we have enough to rip out all the wood paneling, but we can most likely refinish it, at the very least. Plus, there is definitely some cosmetic work that needs to be done outside. I’d love to get the roof replaced with sheet metal if we can, but I’ll have to go over the numbers to see if I can contract it out.”

“That sounds like…a lot,” Hunter says flatly.

I nod back at him. “There are other projects that might come up after I see the whole place—I’m going to want that tour later, by the way—but we can discuss those then.”

Hunter’s jaw works subtly, and I can tell he’s bothered by this whole conversation. I remember what Jeannie said about him not liking change, and I can imagine that this definitely is a lot for him. Still, this is what I was hired for, and I can’t let his aversion stop me from doing my job.

Hunter huffs out a breath then, shaking his head and pushing up from the table. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“I mean, I don’t want to do anything without your approval. You’re still the owner.”

His mouth turns down in a frown as he looks between me and Jeannie, and for a moment I imagine a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that’s gone as quickly as it comes. “Whatever Jeannie wants that we can afford,” he says finally. “I’ll deal with it.”

He stalks out of the room then, and I feel as if he’s left more questions than answers.

“Don’t mind him,” Jeannie sighs. “Like I said, he’s really attached to this place. Doesn’t like the idea of changing things.”

“I don’t want to step on any toes,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You’re not. He knows we need this, he’s just having a hard time accepting it. He’ll come around. Promise.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m positive.”

She stands from her chair and wipes her hands on her apron, informing me that she’s going to wash dishes and to holler if I need anything, then leaves me to puzzle over the conversation (however one-sided) I just had. It bothers me to know I’m unwanted here, because it’s a problem I’ve never had to deal with before. Still, with HGTV looking for footage of this place to use as a pseudo interview for a chance at my own show, I can’t afford to back down. Not as long as Hunter isn’t outright chasing me off.

My eyes move to the enormous mass of fur. The cat is currently giving me a bored expression while he licks his lips, and I feel myself frowning as I remember the way Hunter implied I don’t look the part when it comes to this job.

I tell myself that maybe Jeannie is right. Maybe Hunter isn’t much of a people person. I even convince myself that it’s possible we just got off on the wrong foot. I mean, I did sort of imply he might be a murderer—but it was a joke. Plus, I guess if he really doesn’t want to make any renovations to his place, it’s understandable he would be wary of me. I’ve got nothing for all the omega stuff though. I’m actively choosing not to think about it, or else there won’t be any hope of getting along with Hunter. I tell myself I’ll find him later, give him my sunniest smile, and we’ll be right as rain for the remainder of the job. I reach over tentatively to give Reginald a head scratch, but he quickly slinks out of reach, looking almost offended.

Awesome.

There’s a better signal on the deck, and I hold out my phone to check my appearance, making sure my hair isn’t windblown before I hit record.

“Hey, guys! I’m here in Pleasant Hill, Colorado, for a new project.” I turn the camera toward the lodge to get a panoramic view. “And as you can see, I’ve got my work cut out for me. Stay tuned for more updates!”

I’ll need to get some shots from the inside later to post to my account, but for now, that should do.

I move down the stairs in search of Hunter after I finally get my video to upload to TikTok and find him chopping wood like Jeannie mentioned. Remembering that I am a sensible twenty-eight-year-old woman who shouldn’t be rendered temporarily incapable of speech at the sight of an overgrown man all dressed in plaid and chopping wood proves to be another matter entirely.

I don’t mean to wind up at the deck stairs, one hand on the railing and short a few dozen brain cells (the important ones, ones that help unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth in moments like these) as I try to process rolled-up sleeves and thick forearms. It also doesn’t escape my notice that even from where I’m standing at the top of the stairs, Hunter might still be eye level to me. Needless to say, I’m decidedly less than eloquent when I meet the surly innkeeper for the third time since my arrival in Pleasant Hill.

God, this guy could create an entire TikTok account of just him chopping wood and make a killing.

I find him mid-swing, which means I’m forced to watch the way the plaid button-down hugs his shoulders as they strain with the effort of rolling to wield an axe—leaving me an addled mess with parted lips and wide eyes. Honestly, at this point, I hope I still look like a functioning human woman. His chest heaves against the fabric of his shirt as he looks up at me with a furrowed brow, then reaches with his free hand to wipe away the sweat that clings there.

That’s when I remember that I’m still staring at him.

“Hey.” My voice comes out all wrong. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He swings the axe enough so that the blade is wedged into the wide log that he’s using to prop up the smaller ones—and that’s not supposed to be hot, is it? “Did you need something?”

“Oh, no, not really,” I say a little too quickly. “I just wanted to—” I’m momentarily distracted when he tugs at the edge of his shirt to bring it up to his forehead to wipe the sweat there, revealing hard lines and ridges and a trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. I refuse to think about how far it goes. “I wanted to apologize if I was rude yesterday,” I manage. “It was a long flight and a weird day. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about your place. It’s really great.”

One dark brow arches with something that almost seems like amusement, but it’s so hard to read Hunter Barrett. “Nah, you meant it,” he says with a shrug. “But you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Still,” I say through gritted teeth, ignoring his blasé demeanor. Also, how is he wearing only that flannel out here? Is he some sort of yeti? “I really wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Another shrug. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Help out with my dingy lodge?”