Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

It had never occurred to him that he and his new boss would be interested in the same fuckin’ woman.

Michael threw back the rest of his coffee and stood up. “I better get back to work.”

“This going to be a problem between us?” Jeff asked, straightforward as ever.

Michael decided he owed Jeff to be equally up-front. “I like you, Jeff, and I respect you as a man and as my boss. But I’ve let Dahlia McGuire slip through my fingers too many fuckin’ times, and I won’t let anyone, anyone, get in our way this time.”

Jeff nodded, his blue eyes hard in a way Michael didn’t like. “Got it. But if she doesn’t want you in her way, I’ll be there to make sure you stay out of it.”

With a soft exhalation of frustration, Michael gave him an abrupt nod and strode out of his office.

When the gift store was quiet, I spent most of my time in the workshop. If the shop was closed, I blared my music and got to work. It was still open, however, so I needed to keep one ear out for the tinkle of the bell above my door. Which meant no music.

Hammering the final piece in the summe

r collection I was creating to put in the window display during high season, my brain didn’t switch off like it usually did. Most of the time I got lost entirely in silversmithing, but not this time. Not after Kell’s bomb about Dana and Michael over lunch. The only thing that had calmed me down was the fact that my dad called as I was letting myself into the shop.

After Michael first showed up, I called my dad to see if he knew Michael intended to come to Hartwell. He didn’t. The only person who knew Michael had left his job was Dermot, but he hadn’t known why. I was reassured that my family hadn’t let me walk into that shock without a heads-up.

Dad had been calling every day to check on me. I wasn’t sure if it was worry or if he wanted to see how Michael was progressing in his pursuit of me. My guess was it was the latter because he seemed awfully disappointed to learn that Michael had not approached me since Monday.

I was seconds off the phone with my dad when Davina gave me a quick call to ask if I’d make a bracelet for Astrid’s birthday. I had texts from Dermot and Darragh, and I’d been on the phone with Dermot for an hour last night talking about the redheaded administrative assistant he was interested in at the station. She sounded too young, and I told him so.

It was nice, though.

It was beyond nice.

My family was in contact with me all the time, and I couldn’t be more grateful for how easy they’d made it. How quickly they had welcomed me back into the fold. Darragh even let me chat with Levi and Leo the other night, but since they’re kids, talking on the phone was not one of their favorite things.

Still, it was awesome.

What wasn’t awesome was the missed call from Bailey and the following text:

You think Michael deserves better than you? What’s that about?

When I didn’t respond, she sent another:

You’re insufferable. But I love you. I’m here when you want to talk. xx

I text her back with a simple “I love you too.”

I don’t know why I said that about Michael and me. Or maybe I did know. Deep down, perhaps I did.

Rubbing my forehead, I glared at the ring I was working on. Why did Dana Kellerman have to shove her tiny ass into the equation?

“What did that ring ever do to you?”

“Ahhh!” I jumped out of my skin, dropping the mandrel and ring.

Michael stood in the doorway between the store and my workshop, grinning boyishly, mischief in his dark eyes.

As I tried to calm my racing heart, I ignored the anticipation that incited butterflies in my belly. He looked delicious. The stubble on his cheeks had turned into a short beard. In lieu of a jacket, he wore a thick, navy fisherman’s sweater. His detective badge was clipped to the black belt he wore through a pair of dark-wash jeans. Why did he have to be so goddamn rugged and masculine? “How did you get it in? I didn’t hear the bell.”

“The bell sounded,” he said, strolling farther into the room. “You seemed lost in thought.”

I watched him as he rounded the benches until he was standing opposite mine, looking down at me.

Michael’s expression was assessing and tender at the same time. “Did I tell you I like your bangs?”