THIRD PERSON POV
Sara Montrose leaned against the marble counter, one manicured hand curled around a half-filled glass of Chardonnay. From the bathroom sink behind her came the steady drip of water — a sharp, irritating tap-tap that had already tested her patience. Normally Henry would have handled something like this, or at least made the call, but Henry was on another trip. Golf, business, whatever excuse he had this week — it was all the same. He was gone, and she was alone.
When the doorbell finally rang, Sara smoothed her robe across her waist and opened the door. She had expected an older, weary tradesman. What she found instead stopped her mid-breath.
Rico Anderson filled the doorway, tool bag hanging from one hand, the late afternoon sun catching on the curve of his shoulders be
