Southern Storms (Compass 1)

“Amen,” Kate sang along with her sister. “Anyway, let us know about the pedicures, Kennedy! And about Bernie. You two would get along so well. I just know it.”

The two hurried away, and I’d have been lying if I said I missed them when they left.

At the end of the day, Lars came knocking on the door to let me know his team had headed out. “Let me show you what we’ve accomplished today,” he said, gesturing to the front yard.

With a hesitant smile, I followed after him. We walked around as he gestured here and there, explaining what it would look like a few months from now. He spoke about the garden that would be placed in the back yard and went on and on about the lighting fixtures that would be put in place. He boasted about how talented and intelligent—and single—he was, sometimes touching on the amount of success his business had achieved in Havenbarrow. Then, as we were looking toward the corner where the lilac bush would go—Mama’s favorite flower—he placed his hand on my lower back, and I shot forward.

“What are you doing?” I said, feeling a jolt of nerves rushing through my system.

He cocked an eyebrow, apparently baffled. “I’m sorry? I was just—”

“Touching my lower back without my permission,” I spat out. “And frankly, that is highly inappropriate.”

Instead of apologizing for his actions, Lars rolled his eyes. “Come on, lady. It’s not like you haven’t been coming on to me all day since I arrived here with my team. The signs seemed pretty clear.”

“There were no signs. I wasn’t coming on to you at all.”

“There’s no need to lie about it,” he argued, raking his hands through his hair as if he were the most confident man alive. “I get it. You’re a good-looking girl. I’m a good-looking guy. It only makes sense that”—he placed his hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine—“we’d be attracted to each other.”

“I’m not,” I said, my voice growing louder as I tossed his hand from my shoulder. “And if you touch me one more time, you’ll regret it.”

“No need to be a bitch,” he huffed. “The truth is, you’re not even my type.”

What is it with men who can’t accept the fact that a woman isn’t interested in them and therefore become defensive?

“You’re a little too plump in all the wrong places,” he said, eyeing me up and down.

“It’s time for you to leave,” I ordered, my voice stern even though I was shaking a little bit on the inside. At least in my marriage, I knew the monster that was coming home to me each night. But with Lars? A complete stranger? I didn’t know where he drew his lines of anger.

“Whatever. I’ll be back tomorrow to get to work.”

“It’s probably best if you don’t come back,” I said, knowing there was no way Yoana would be comfortable with someone like him working on their property. She’d never want me to feel uncomfortable. And Lars? He was the definition of discomfort.

He snickered, shaking his head. “You don’t have the right to fire me. As you said, your sister is my client—not you.”

“And my sister will be getting a call from me the moment you leave. Now, leave.”

“Listen, lady—” he said, stepping toward me, making me flinch backward. Gosh, I hated that. I hated him seeing reaction escape from me. I hated how I saw the flicker of confidence my flinching gave him. I hated looking weak in front of men. I hated feeling boxed in.

His chest puffed out as he stood taller. “I can’t have you messing with my income, so we are going to have to figure something out.”

“Or how about this? How about you listen and leave her property,” a voice said, making Lars and me both look in the direction of Joy’s house. There he stood, Mr. Personality at the short fence that separated Joy’s yard from mine. His eyes were stern and filled with…anger? Was that anger? Only this time the maddening look was focused on Lars.

“How about you mind your own fucking business, buddy?”

Mr. Personality walked around the fence and then over to my yard. He stood face to face with Lars, and within seconds, Lars looked like a little fish about to be eaten by a shark. Sure, Lars was a bigger guy, tall and somewhat fit, but Mr. Personality was fit. Like fit fit. Like, will lift a car with his pinky and not break a sweat fit.

They had a staring contest for a few moments before Lars stepped back and surrendered. “Whatever, man. I don’t have time for this.” Lars turned his stare to me, and his blue eyes looked a little colder. “Good luck finding another landscaper to finish this shit. I’m the only one in town, so congratulations—you’ve fucked over your sister’s yard.”