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He’d wanted to bury his nose in there and never come up for air.
    That’s enough, Evans. Last thing she needs is someone like you screwing up her life.
    “Cole?”
    He jumped, his forehead banging against the trap. He bit back a few choice words. “ What? ”
    PJ’s bare feet stopped at the doorway. Hidden in the cabinet, he let his eyes travel up her long legs to the cutoffs, which was as far as he could see.
    “I’m starting to think grumpy is your default.”
    “What do you want?”
    “Just wanted to tell you to keep the house locked up, even when you’re here.”
    He gave the pliers another futile twist. “Why’s that?”
    “Someone stole my cookware.”
    He lowered his arm and eased out of the cabinet, sitting up. “What?”
    “Those boxes I mentioned yesterday—they’re gone. Along with the very expensive cookware inside.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “They didn’t walk away.”
    He didn’t miss the flicker of suspicion in her eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that look. Seemed once you were in foster care everyone assumed you were a bad person.
    She crossed her arms. “I filed a report with Sheriff Simmons, but he wasn’t too encouraging. He might want to ask you a few questions at some point, since, you know, you live here.”
    “Sheriff Simmons . . . Is he—”
    “Yeah, Mrs. Simmons’s nephew. Great-nephew, I think. He was there the night you showed up at my house, but you probably don’t remember.”
    Great. He was suspected of theft by a family member of the woman deciding his fate. “I’m happy to answer his questions, but I never even saw the boxes.” He thought of the contractor who’d been working in the house. “I doubt someone just walked in off the street and took your stuff.”
    She arched a brow. “Got any better ideas?”
    He clenched his teeth. She was thinking it, but she wasn’t going to say it. “What about that contractor you hired?”
    “I already checked him out.”
    “Did you tell the sheriff about him?”
    “Of course.”
    “Is anything else missing?”
    She shrugged. “Just my cookware. I don’t suppose you’re missing anything?”
    “Not that I’ve noticed. If someone broke in, they’d take more than that, wouldn’t they? We have tools lying around.”
    “You’d think.” She continued looking at him.
    He wished she weren’t standing over him, looking down her pert little nose at him with a seemingly innocent expression. He should just say it, get it out in the open.
    “Just—keep the doors locked, okay?” She turned and left.
    He shoved back under the sink and a few minutes later finally worked the fitting loose. But the ugly feeling swelling inside him didn’t go away.

Chapter Twelve
    PJ DASHED UP THE W ISHING H OUSE PORCH , DUCKING IN out of the rain. It had poured all day, and the fudge shop had been dead. She entered the house, shaking the water from her hair. The stale smell of paint fumes lingered in the air, mixing with the smell of sawdust and rain.
    She entered the kitchen, admiring the first coat of paint she’d applied the night before. It was only glossy white, but it brightened the place. One more coat. The ceramic tile was being laid tomorrow, an expensive but necessary expenditure. The warped wood floor wouldn’t do, and it would be too hard to replace the flooring later after the appliances and steel shelving were installed.
    “Yoohoo!” a voice called from the foyer. “PJ?”
    “In the kitchen.”
    Madison appeared in the doorway, a T-shirt hanging on her like a burlap bag. “Got my painting gear on.”
    “I hope you’re wearing shorts under there.”
    Her sister gave her a look. “It’s one of Beckett’s old shirts. Mom’ll be here after supper. And just so you know, she’s planning to confront you about church. Like a good sister, I’m giving you advance notice.”
    “Great.” It was true she’d missed a few Sundays. Okay, morethan a few. But she was on a tight schedule here. Surely God