July's heartbreak

New Friends

Three days later, I woke up on the floor of my grandmother's restaurant. I had been sleeping on an old mattress in the back room, the apartment upstairs had no running water yet.

Every muscle ached from twelve hours of pulling rotten boards off walls yesterday. My hands were covered in blisters, but for the first time in five years, I felt alive.

My phone buzzed. Forty-two unread messages from Peter. I deleted them all without reading.

I walked to the dusty window and looked out at Admiralty road. The street was quiet, a few shops were opening, an old woman swept the sidewalk in front of a tea shop, and John Karma was walking toward the restaurant with two cups of coffee.

When John knocked and I opened the door, his eyes swept over me like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Coffee," he said, holding out a cup. "I saw your lights on late last night. Figured you could use it."

I took the cup, my fingers brushing against his. A spark shot through my entire body.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

John stepped inside and looked around at the torn-up walls and piled-up boards.

"You've been busy."

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted. "I watched some videos online. Mostly I'm just tearing things apart and hoping for the best."

The corner of John's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

"I know someone who could help. A builder. He's good, and he owes me a favor."

I frowned. "I can't afford a builder."

"He works cheap," John said. "Consider it a landlord's contribution to the property value."

I wanted to say no. I had spent five years letting a man make decisions for me. I wasn't going to let another man swoop in and fix my problems.

But John wasn't swooping. He wasn't pushing. He was just... offering.

"Okay," I said finally. "But I'm paying him back eventually. Every penny."

John nodded. "Fair enough."

They stood there drinking coffee in comfortable silence.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked suddenly.

John looked at me, his gray eyes intense. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't know me. Most landlords would want me to sell so they could tear it down and build something new."

John's jaw tightened. "I'm not most landlords."

"Then what are you?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "Someone who thinks old things are worth saving."

The way he said it made my heart twist, like he wasn't just talking about buildings.

The door banged open and a broad, cheerful man burst inside. He had sun-tanned skin and the biggest smile I had ever seen.

"You must be July!" he boomed. "I'm George Stone. John said you needed help, and here I am."

The next few hours were a blur. George examined every inch of the restaurant, poking walls and testing floors. John stayed too, helping move heavy boards and holding up beams.

George talked constantly, cracking jokes and telling stories. John barely spoke at all, but he laughed at George's jokes, and his whole face changed when he laughed. Softer. Younger. Breathtaking.

"The bones are good," George announced finally. "But that roof is a disaster. We need to fix it before the next rain or you'll have a swimming pool in here."

"How much will that cost?" I asked, my stomach tight.

George named a number that made my heart sink. I didn't have that kind of money.

"I'll cover the roof," John said quietly.

I spun to face him. "No."

"Consider it a loan."

"No," I repeated. "I'm paying my own way."

John's eyes met mine. Heat. Challenge. Respect.

"Then pay me back in food," John said. "When the restaurant opens, I eat free for a year."

I hesitated. That was actually fair.

"Six months," I countered. "And you help with the renovation. Actual work, not just watching."

John's almost-smile appeared again. "Deal."

We shook hands, and the touch sent fire racing up my arm. John's hand was big and warm and rough with calluses. He held on for just a second longer than necessary.

George cleared his throat loudly. "Well, this is adorable. Can we get back to work now?"

My face burned. I pulled my hand away and turned back to the wall.

The three of us worked until sunset. George taught me how to use power tools and how to tell if wood was rotten. John worked silently beside me, our shoulders brushing as we moved boards.

Every touch felt like electricity.

When the light got too low to work, George packed up his tools and I walked him to the door.

"He likes you," George whispered before he left. "John, I mean. I've never seen him like this with anyone."

"Like what?"

George grinned. "Happy."

Then he was gone, and I was alone with John in the dimly lit restaurant.

"I should go," John said, grabbing his jacket.

"Wait." I caught his arm. His skin was warm under my fingers. "Thank you. For today. For everything."

John turned to face me. We were standing so close. Close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes. Close enough to count the stubble on his jaw.

"You're welcome," he said softly.

The air between us crackled and my heart pounded.

John reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers left trails of fire on my skin.

"July," he whispered. My name sounded different in his mouth. Precious. Important.

"Yes?"

His thumb traced along my cheekbone and his eyes dropped to my lips.

And then his phone rang.

John jerked back like he had been burned. He pulled out his phone, looked at the screen, and his whole face went cold.

"I have to take this," he said. "Goodnight, July."

He was out the door before I could say anything.

I stood in the empty restaurant, my heart racing and my skin still tingling where he had touched me.

I didn't know who had called and I didn't know why John's face had changed so quickly, but I knew one thing for certain.

I was falling for John Karma.

From the way he had looked at me, he was falling too.

As I locked up and climbed the stairs to my makeshift bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that John was hiding something.

Something big, and in a small town like Savannah, secrets never stayed buried for long.