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ways before crossing the street. Quinn held her jacket above her head to keep from getting rained on. She stopped at an old black Honda that was parallel parked on the opposite side of the road, yanked open the driver’s side door, and slid in. The headlights came on as she started the ignition. Her left turn signal blinked, and she slowly pulled out of her parking spot right before she put on her brakes to let a couple of girls with the world’s tiniest umbrella cross the street in front of her.
    So it wasn’t his imagination the other night, the woman did have claws.
    But she also had goodness underneath that temper of hers. Ewan bet she never exceeded the speed limit or made an illegal no-turn-on-red right turn either. She probably drank eight glasses of water a day, flossed her teeth every night, and said prayers before every meal.
    In other words, she was everything he wasn’t.
    She strived for excellence, while he strived for anonymity. Her world was sunshine, rainbows, and yellow sweaters. His reality was a dark pub, long hours, and the never-ending smell of stale ale. Even that ugly bruise around her eye did nothing to mar her vitality.
    As he looked across the street to see another car try to parallel park into the space Quinn had vacated, he remembered the way her eyes had flared when she suggested he pull his head out of his ass.
    And then he actually did smile.

Chapter 4
    It was midmorning and she was already sweating. Since when did it start to get this hot in New England in early May?
    Quinn dropped a cooler full of ice and bottled water on the ground beside the porch.
    As promised, Mr. Sheen from the lumber mill had dropped off her cedar the night before, so she was all ready to start putting the posts in for her pergola. It was a good thing too, because it’d been dry all week, and they were calling for sunny skies and warm temperatures the next couple days. Her cement would be set in no time.
    So far her week was moving right on schedule. After her trip to the antique store on Sunday to get the two gas lanterns she’d found online (and the regretful incident in the West End Public House), she’d started the cleanup of the garden shed. It was an utter mess, but she’d already decided it would be her favorite project in the entire backyard. With a little love, it was going to be a quaint little house perfect for potting and storing all her aunt’s outdoor tools.
    The faux gas lanterns were made for the shed and added the perfect amount of rustic appeal to the English cottage style design. Apparently, her uncle had built it for her aunt as a present over a decade ago, knowing how much her aunt loved to garden. Over the years, it had fallen into disrepair. But once Quinn got done with it, it would be perfect.
    It was halfway done, but with the delivery of the lumber, she had to temporarily abandon the shed to concentrate on the pergola. She stood over the pile of wood trying to come up with a plan. The pieces were immensely heavy, and getting them to each of the holes she’d dug the previous week was going to be tough. Not to mention getting them to stay vertical long enough to pour cement around them.
    She decided that she would haul each post next to a hole and leave it there. After putting on her gloves, she picked up the end of the nearest post and began to drag it. Her arms and back muscles strained, and her hands kept slipping around the dense wood. She’d gotten halfway to the hole when she lost her grip and fell right on her ass. After dusting herself off, she started pulling again. Finally, she got it where she needed it and dropped it.
    Dear Lord, this was going to break her back. She might have to do half the holes today and the other half tomorrow. After her third attempt at the second post, she reached the hole and threw it down.
    â€œShit,” she hissed as the post barely missed her right foot.
    â€œDid you just say shit ?”
    Quinn looked up to