Page 148 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"You were saying?"

I look at him. "About?"

"The cheese station."

I pull my hand back. "There should absolutely be one."

His mouth curves. "Thought so."

I take another bite of the pear just to have something to do. Javier goes back to the crates. The back of his neck is slightly red. Good. At least I'm not suffering alone.

We carry the final crates toward the barn. Javier takes the heavier one. I don't argue. Personal growth.

"Final setup is Friday," he says.

"I know."

"You'll be here?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

He smiles. "Good."

Friday. The same day Julian needs an answer. My stomach tightens. Javier keeps walking, unaware of the deadline suddenly attached to that day. My crate shifts against my hip.

"Give me your crate."

"I can carry it."

"I know." He holds out his hand anyway.

There's something about that simple answer that gets me. Not because he thinks I can't carry it. Because he knows I can and still wants to make it easier for me. I hand it over. He stacks it on top of his, and we keep walking.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don't have to look. I know it's Julian. He emailed revised projections this morning and asked me to call after I reviewed them. I will. Just not standing beside Javier. Not yet.

That evening, I sit on the edge of my bed with Julian on speaker. My laptop is open again.

"So?" he asks.

I look at the spreadsheet. "The numbers work."

"I know."

"The staffing plan is aggressive."

"It's manageable."

"Assuming we can find another sous-chef."

"We can."

"The renovation estimate could climb."

"I padded it by fifteen percent."

I lean back against the headboard. "Have you been preparing answers to everything I'm going to say?"

"For eleven years."