Sour cream and onion potato chips.
Her heart galloped in her chest. Her palms sweat. He walked back and handed her the evil gift. “Here you go. Figured you could have it with your lunch today and won’t need to fight me for them.”
Morgan swallowed hard. Stared at the bag. “You shouldn’t have,” she choked out.
He frowned. “What’s the matter? Thought you loved chips.”
Oh, God, she did. So much. Her mantra rose in her head and crashed over her. Don’t eat the chips . . . Don’t eat the chips . . .
How could she say no? It would be rude. She’d just hold them and think about eating them. She didn’t have to eat them. The gesture of the gift told her what type of man Caleb Pierce was. He paid attention. He liked to please, even as much as he liked to fight with her. It was an intoxicating combination.
“Morgan?”
She fought off the voices and slowly took the bag. Her fingers trembled slightly, and a rustling sound filled the air. “Thank you,” she managed. “That was very . . . nice of you.”
“I can be nice.” His eyes darkened. “Very, very nice.”
She fought the blush. Hard. It was time to steer this conversation away from chips and sex. “Maybe we should get back to the business at hand? Are we ready for the inspector?”
His amusement should’ve pissed her off. Somehow it didn’t. The confidence of this primitive male trying to secure a date with her pleased her way too much. “We’re ready. Drywall is set to go, and we’re working on insulation.”
“Good.” Excitement shimmered as she looked at the shell before her. Already the main guts of her new baby was done. They’d gotten through the electrical and plumbing inspections, and now the house was fully wrapped with the roofing, shingles, sewer lines, and main plumbing completed. Sure, it had been a bit of a scare when the HVAC unit hadn’t worked and they’d lost a day reinstalling and tearing it apart. And the stones they originally ordered to replace the shingles had been lost and wouldn’t be delivered on time. The three days of pouring rain had caused some minor flooding, forcing them to slow down, and the blistering argument with Tristan and the tile supplier over gouging prices and wrong deliveries had been a challenge. But they were finally moving forward and had made up precious time. Once the framing inspection cleared, the house she imagined in her dreams would be a step closer to reality. The skeleton before her was just that—bones and organs that made up the heart of the house. The flesh emerged slowly, as if a drawing where hair and clothes and body shape came into view and the onlooker saw the full beauty of the completion. Her blood warmed, and a surge of adrenaline grabbed her in its delicious grip, confirming once again this job she had chosen was more than just work—it was a part of her soul. Trusting her to make such an individual vision a reality was a humbling gift, and she never forgot it.
Cal smiled as if he knew how the house affected her, and tugged on her hand. “Come on. Zach’s here.”
They went to greet Zach Griffin, a grizzled, booming bear of a man with crooked teeth, short black hair, and staggering height. Built like a quarterback, he was sharp, relentless, and honest. Morgan knew Cal respected him for refusing to take payoffs in his job and for making some very unpopular decisions. He was adored by the majority of the town and loathed by the rest. Another research tip she’d unearthed when making her decision to choose a builder. A bad relationship with the inspector was like rolling the dice at roulette. Morgan didn’t like playing that way.
“Hey, Zach. Good to see you.”
Morgan watched the inspector’s face harden. His usual relaxed demeanor had been replaced by a hard, accusatory light in his sea-green eyes. Huh. Weird: supposedly he and Cal had always had a tight relationship. He nodded curtly. “Cal.”
Instead of spending a few seconds bullshitting, Zach stalked past them and inside the house, beginning the walk-through and making notes on his paper. An odd tension vibrated in the air, and she shot Cal a worried look. Catching it, Cal cleared his throat and tried to make conversation.
“Busy this season, huh? Any time for vacation?”
Zach didn’t answer. Just grunted and scribbled, occasionally touching the frames, checking sealants around the windows and doors, getting on his knees by the front foyer stairs and pulling out a measuring tape.
Uh-oh. This was serious.
Morgan had been through hundreds of inspections and knew there was sometimes a game involved. If the inspector wanted to be a hard-ass, he or she could insist items be redone to meet code, but there was a large gray area to be played with. Fortunately, Pierce Brothers didn’t cut corners, and Morgan had been personally impressed with the amount of effort and time Cal put into every inch of the house, insisting on starting over on certain things even when it cost them time.
Zach stopped by the upper loft entryway Brady had convinced her to change for a more startling look. “Where’s the beam for support here?” he snapped out. Shuffling through his plans and mass of papers, he shook his head.
Cal gave him a puzzled look. “No beam needed here, Zach. Brady changed the original plans, they were approved, and we moved this wall so we wouldn’t need a beam here. See?” Cal motioned to her, and Morgan slipped the finalized copy into his hands so he could hand it to Zach.
Zach ignored him. “Not in my copies. Needs a beam.”
Sweat prickled on her forehead. No. This wasn’t happening.
“It’s an open loft. Here, look.” He shoved the paper at Zach.
The man barely glanced at it, then shut his folder. Zach’s gaze held disgust as he looked up. “Never had an issue with your work before, Cal, but since your father died and those brothers of yours came back, work’s getting sloppy. Put in a beam or get me new plans to approve and I’ll come back.”