the rest of the pots onto the trolley willy-nilly. When had she ever been so scatter-brained talking to a man?
‘You wanted me to give you a hand with this one, right?’ He indicated the aloe vera.
He gave no outward hint that he’d heard her ‘friendly as a frozen fish neighbour’ comment, but she knew he had, and cringed inwardly. ‘That’d be great,’ she muttered. ‘Thanks.’
‘Reckon you’ll need to keep it steady,’ he said, lifting it on board the trolley as if it weighed no more than an empty bucket. Which drew her attention to the movement of the muscles beneath his jumper. The way they stretched the wool tight across his chest and bunched beneath the sleeves.
He glanced her way. ‘Your back yard, I presume?’
She shifted her focus to his eyes. Only his eyes. ‘No need for you to bother. I can manage, thank you.’
‘Wouldn’t want that pot to shatter.’
Wouldn’t want her self-control to shatter either. She wanted to be away from him asap. Away from his warm man smell that made her want to burrow against his chest and breathe deep. She didn’t want to like her new neighbour but her body had a mind of its own.
Best to let him play Mr Macho then and get it over with. Get him over with and she could go back to whatever she’d been doing before. If she could just remember. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
They proceeded outside with rattling pots and trailing greenery as he manoeuvred the trolley towards the driveway.
Probably not wise to tell him she’d entered his property this way but, ‘There’s a gap between our fences.’ Brie lifted a chin in the general direction, holding the pot steady with both hands. ‘Carol and I used it to save time. I was going to close it after I got the plants,’ she told him.
When he said nothing, she continued, ‘We looked out for each other. As neighbours should. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’d say it depends on the neighbour.’ They reached the gap and he stopped to inspect it. ‘I’ll organise a tradesman.’
‘Fine. Thanks.’ He seemed so keen to take charge, she’d let him. This time.
‘Which reminds me.’ He held out his hand, palm up. ‘You have my key.’
Brie glimpsed scarring on the inside of his forearm as she retrieved the key from inside an empty ceramic pot and dropped it in his palm. ‘Thanks, it’ll save me a trip to the agent.’ Flipping her hand, she grinned at him. ‘And while you’re at it, you might want to change the security code.’
‘Yes. I will.’
Then he smiled back. Kind of. As if he hadn’t meant to and it was a surprise to him too, generous lips quirking at the corners. She glimpsed a twinkle of humour in his eyes.
Her stomach fizzed, her limbs went soft and her fingers tightened on the rim of the pot as her inner flirt demanded she come out and play. No, Brie told her.
He looked away, resumed pushing the trolley again. ‘So, Ms Black. Breanna—’
‘Brie.’
‘Brie. How do you earn a living?’
‘I’m a beauty therapist. You?’
‘Environmental management consulting.’
Her brows lifted. ‘And what does an environmental management consultant do, exactly?’
‘I freelance to businesses who want advice on their environmental practices.’
‘You must charge a fortune for your services.’ She gestured towards her garden shed as they crossed the square of lawn bordered by recycled pink bricks. ‘You might as well know I’m a tell-it-as-it-is kind of girl—I know how much you paid for the place.’
He cleared his throat. ‘My clients seek me out, not the other way around.’
‘Really? With those interpersonal skills I witnessed last week?’
‘I was in a hurry.’
‘Because of me?’
He made a strangled sound, cleared his throat again. ‘No excuses. I apologise.’
Hmm, uncomfortable. How charmingly appealing. She loved having that effect on a man. Her resolve to keep her distance was weakening by the second. ‘Accepted. You had a plane to catch, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘And a date waiting?’
‘Not precisely. Are you always this...?’ He seemed to struggle for the word.
‘Straightforward?’ Not the word he’d have used, she’d wager, and his ‘not precisely’ answer clarified nothing. ‘Pretty much. You mentioned this was an investment, so will you be here often?’
They stopped at the shed and unloaded the pots.
‘I’ll be stopping by to check on the progress. And I’ve just taken on some new clients in Tasmania so I’ll be on the island most of the time. Where do you want the aloe vera?’
‘Inside the conservatory. Thanks.’
She watched him push the trolley to the rear of the house, then, once inside, she helped him unload the pot where she wanted it. ‘Would you like something to drink? I have a chilled fruit tisane in the fridge.’
He regarded her blankly. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
‘Sure? It’s a very refreshing beverage.’
‘I’m a coffee man, myself. And I’m due to check out some rental accommodation in the Arcade Apartments.’ He checked his watch, displaying a thick wrist dusted with dark hair. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’ Grimacing, he yanked out his phone, sent a voice message apologising and advising he’d make a time later this afternoon.
Millionaire’s accommodation, the Arcade. ‘Where are you staying at the moment?’
‘A bed and breakfast two minutes away.’
She nodded. ‘That’ll be Hannah’s Hideaway. How much are you paying for an apartment at the Arcade?’
‘More than it’s worth.’ He spoke briskly, pocketed his phone with a similar movement. ‘Proximity’s important.’
Brie, always on the lookout for extra funds for Pink Snowflake, came up with an instant light-bulb idea. ‘How long are you looking at?’
‘Few weeks.’ A tiny frown dug between his brows. ‘Why?’
‘What would you say to living right next door?’
‘I’m not interested in a room.’ Penetrating eyes considered hers and he took his time answering. ‘If that’s what you’re offering.’
‘I’m not offering you a
