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 JONAS
Home Wreckers Construction
Book 8
By Piper Cook
 Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously.
Copyright © Piper Cook – All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

***

Editing and proofreading by Violet Rae

Cover by Piper Cook

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Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright Page

JONAS

DELICATE FLOWERS

CHUNKY MONKEY

BOSSY

CONSPIRING

TRUST ISSUES

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION

GIRL POWER

BIGGER THAN A BREAD BOX

DIRTY SECRETS

HARD-HEADED

LEATHER

WHO NEEDS A MAN?

WHAT FAMILY’S FOR

FIVE MORE MINUTES

MORE BY PIPER COOK

LUCA
 JONAS
***
This bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks is about to steal her generous heart, but is her trust
fund at risk also?

***

Jonas Knowles
Hard work and a hand up got me where I am today. I’m dedicated to paying my good fortune forward,
but my focus gets knocked for a loop when Jenna Nichols crosses my path. She’s beautiful, caring,
and a breath of fresh air. Most of all, she brings joy to my stagnant heart.
We couldn’t be more opposite, yet she fills my soul with the hope of a future I don’t deserve.
I want her smile, her heart, her soul. But she’s off-limits to a man like me.

***

Jenna Nichols
A winning lottery ticket changed the course of my life forever. My future’s secure and I want for
nothing. But material things can’t make up for what I long for most.
True love.
When Jonas Knowles pops up on my radar, he’s a blip I can’t ignore. He’s handsome, hardworking,
and makes my heart lighter. I want to trust him with all my secrets, but I’ve been burned by greedy
rogues in the past. I’ve learned my lesson, and I won’t let my guard down again.
Can I trust Jonas with something bigger than my bank account? Can I trust him with my heart?

***

Warning: If you love cheering for the hard-working underdog, then you’ll love Jonas. He’s ready to
put his heart on the line for the woman he loves, even if that means risking his future.

***

Home Wreckers Construction is full of cinnamon roll alphas, curvy women, and sticky sweet,
steamy romance. Don your hardhats and prepare for a bedtime story that’ll give you all the warm,
small town, swoony romance feels. Guaranteed HEA with no cliffhangers.

***

Opposites attract, friends to lovers, small town, blue collar, forbidden romance

***

HOME WRECKERS CONSTRUCTION series: https://geni.us/HomeWreckersSeries

 DELICATE FLOWERS
CHAPTER 1

***

Jenna
“I thought you were going to change?” Lola flits past me on the way to the kitchen. “We’re
supposed to be at Gabby’s in ten minutes.”
“I am changed.” I’m in my standard issue nightly attire, snuggled inside a Winnie the Pooh onesie
with my hand hovering above the remote, ready to hit play on the sappiest love story of them all. “I’m
not going.”
Cabinet doors click as Lola opens and closes them. A drawer scrapes against bare wood, singing
its broken displeasure with a sharp pitch. A chill scurries up my spine. We’ve got handymen out the
wazoo at our beck and call, yet we still haven’t managed to fix a kitchen drawer.
“Where are the cookies? And what do you mean you’re not going? We always go.” Lola peeks
around the corner. She hangs on the doorframe with only her head and shoulder visible. “It’s tradition.
What we do every Friday.”
“On top of the fridge behind the bag of potato chips. I hid them so Darby wouldn’t find them.”
Lola retreats to the kitchen. “Where else can we ogle hot men without getting hit on?” Her snicker
carries into the living room.
It’d be nice to be hit on occasionally.
A half-empty bag of potato chips rustles in the background as Lola rattles around. I sink lower
into the chair, comforted by the pillows hugging my body.
How will we ever meet an available hot guy if we’re always traipsing to Gabby and Justice’s
house on the weekend? Half of the guys are already taken, and those who aren’t are off-limits. Justice
nixed that little party favor in the bud when he made the silly no-fraternizing rule.
Justice’s rule is meant to protect us, Gabby’s delicate flower friends, from heartbreak. We’re all
adults. What’s the worst that could happen? Two adults have a good time and then find out they’re
incompatible. Fine. Deal with it and move on. We aren’t preteen girls navigating raging hormones.
But I know Justice’s rule is about more than heartbreak and ruining friendships. It’s about the
greedy son of a biscuit who used me like a tool. He didn’t want me. He wanted a chunk of my trust
fund. Justice and Gabby are being overprotective. I learned my lesson. I won’t let my guard down
again. I don’t trust anyone outside my circle of friends with the big money secret.
Mom winning a lottery windfall was and still is a double-edged sword. I want to use the money
for good, but there are too many rascals who wouldn’t think twice about running a scam on me. The
trust funds Mom set up for my brother, sister, and I are enough to allow us to do anything we want, but
not enough to do nothing. My future’s secure, and I want for nothing materially. But things can’t buy
happiness or what I long for most.
True love and a purpose in life.
There’s no use ruminating over something I can’t change overnight. I hit the remote power button,
queueing up the Blu-ray player. My roommates will be gone by the time previews are over. I’ll watch
the movie in peace and quiet. At least the cast of characters on the big screen will meet their soulmate
and live happily ever after.
“Oh, come on, Pooh Bear. You don’t even have to change,” Lola calls from the other room.
“I’m not feeling sociable tonight.” Saying it aloud makes me grumpier still.
I’m grouchy and in no mood to watch all the happy couples mingle while a do not touch bubble
follows my every move. I’m out of sorts with a serious case of the blahs. There’s got to be more
fulfilling things in life than the same old weekend routine and the same old meaningless nine-to-five
job.
“Too bad.” Lola saunters into the living room as she packs the flat of double-stuffed cookies into
a fabric shopping bag full of snacks. She wiggles her brows. “Gabby said Justice hired some new
guys and invited them tonight.”
“Big deal.” The idea of fresh man meat should cause at least a twinge of interest, but it doesn’t.
“It isn’t like they’re playing matchmaker over there. We can’t all be as lucky as Gabby. We should
plan a night at MatchMakers Inc. again.”
My suggestion falls on deaf ears. Lola frowns. I’m not serious about it anyway. Gabby and Justice
meeting at a singles event was a fluke. They’d seen each other a hundred times across the street, but it
took several rounds of speed dating to get them together. I’m happy for them, but maybe a smidge
jealous, too.
I want someone to fawn over me like Justice does over Gabby, and Vance over Rumer. Geez, and
the way Sloane and Madison set the air around them on fire is hot as Hades. But they’d been
percolating for a long time. River should’ve known stamping his sister with a big ole do not disturb
sign was a bad idea. Madison doesn’t play ball that way.
I should take a page out of Madison’s playbook and quit playing ball, too. I’m not a preteen, but
my hormones are out of whack. I want a man.

***

Jonas
I pull onto Shady Lane and scan house numbers. Twinkling lights sparkle in the empty tree
branches canopying the street. It’s an old neighborhood with a few renovated houses sprinkled in with
those in varying degrees of disrepair. Each home tells a story through its mismatched architecture. But
all have a common theme. Sprawling front porches where families once gathered with lemonade and
iced tea. I imagine kids playing stickball and bikes lying in grassy yards without fear someone would
steal them in the night.
Things looked a lot different in my childhood neighborhood. We kept doors closed with multiple
locks. We played occasional pickup basketball games in the street. Those games dwindled when thugs
moved in and started stirring up problems. I had my share of run-ins with those looking for a fight and
learned quickly not to look anyone in the eye.
I find the house number Justice gave me and a spot to park. A burly guy with a buzz cut ushers a
petite woman across the driveway. They disappear behind the back gate as a few women cross the
street, giggling and jabbering a mean streak. They follow the same path as the couple ahead of them,
disappearing through the same gate.
Justice mentioned it’d be a full house. The Home Wreckers Construction crew gets together every
weekend to unwind. Technically, I’m not part of the crew, but Justice insisted I come since I’ll be
working directly with his men. I’ve worked with previous outfits, learning the physical skills the job
requires. But my lack of degree or formal training leaves me feeling like an imposter when I meet a
new crew.
When Ezra asked me to oversee Langford Enterprises’ community outreach program, I assumed
I’d be working in the city instead of relocating beyond the burbs. I like sleepy little towns but didn’t
think Langford Enterprises would direct its focus outside the city. Urban areas have a
disproportionately higher percentage of concentrated poverty than small towns and rural areas.
People tend to take care of their own when they know their neighbors.
It wasn’t like that for my family. When my dad split, he left us with nothing. Alexander and I were
too young to get real jobs. My sister, Harper, helped with babysitting jobs and nannying even though
Mom insisted our only job was to get good grades and pick up after ourselves.
Harper isn’t a wait-and-see kind of girl, though. She’s a go-getter. She helped with bills, kept her
nose to the grindstone, and managed a college degree. It didn’t come cheap or easy, but she never
complained. Not even a peep. Harper shouldered our family burden with a heaping dose of positivity.
She helped Mom keep the family together as best she could.
Things looked bad when our rickety part of town went up for auction. Alexander and I both took
odd jobs after school. Mom worked longer hours, and Harper scouted the city for affordable housing
nearby. But big companies were buying up block after block and re-zoning for commercial use.
An anonymous donor bought all the property within a six-block radius of our house. There was
nothing left to do but pack and pray, but eviction notices never came. That donor provided each
family with alternative housing while crews rebuilt the neighborhood one house at a time. The only
thing the donor asked of the residents was to help in the rebuilding process and learn a trade. The
donor arranged for low-interest-rate loans so any resident who wanted to stay could buy the property
at a fair market value.
I like to think I got this job on my own merit and the hard work I put in on Mom’s new house and
all the neighbors' homes, but I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for Harper. She hasn’t
changed much over the years. She’s as much a support system now as she was back then. She’s never
said it outright, but I know she put in a good word for me with her boss, her fiancée, and our
neighborhood’s saving grace. Ezra Langford’s one hell of a man.
I’m not the kind of man who shows up on Ezra Langford’s radar. But I do know a thing or two
about poverty, food insecurity, and housing instability. I can’t walk away from my background. It
would be selfish to pursue my dreams while others worry about their next meal or where they’ll
sleep.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that the worksite is on the outskirts of Cranberry Corner, recently
recognized as one of the most festive holiday stops in the state. It’s also home to my cousin, Parker
Knowles, owner of Nerdy Bookworm and dabbler in gathering gossip. Harper definitely had a hand
in Ezra signing off on this project. There are too many coincidences to think otherwise.
I won’t let Harper or Ezra down. I have a job to do, and that starts now.
 CHUNKY MONKEY
CHAPTER 2

***

Jonas
It’s brisk, with a cool breeze blowing in from the north. I tuck a case of beer under my arm and
flip my collar up to shield my neck from the cold. I don’t plan on staying long, but arriving empty-
handed is impolite.
I approach the house and follow the path in the footsteps of those who arrived ahead of me.
Music, laughter, and voices fill the night air. I push through the unlocked gate and find Justice’s
shindig in full party mode.
When Justice invited me to his home to meet the crew, I assumed it’d be a quiet affair. This is
anything but a run-of-the-mill gathering of hardened roughnecks. Patio heaters dot the stone patio
surrounding a pool and fire pit. Justice flips burgers on an open grill. A redhead stands behind the bar
smiling as she slings drinks to a few guests sitting on stools.
The woman catches my eye. Her smile brightens. She wipes her hands on a towel as she rounds
the bar. She nudges Justice with her hip, and together, they meet me halfway across the pavers.
“Glad you could make it.” Justice shakes my hand. “Jonas, meet Gabby, my better half.”
“Good to meet you both.” I reach for Gabby’s hand, but she leans forward, embracing me with a
welcoming hug. I’m at a loss for what to do with my free hand. Number one rule of any job; don’t hug
the boss's wife, girlfriend, sister, lover...basically any female with a remotely personal connection to
the man signing my paycheck.
“Did you find the place all right?” Gabby releases me and steps back. “I hope driving over tonight
wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. Justice said you’re staying close to the job site.”
“I don’t mind the drive. Can’t complain when your crew’s driving the half hour every morning.” I
remember the beer tucked beneath my arm, acutely aware that wine might have been more
appropriate. “I didn’t know what to bring...”
“Perfect. I’ll pop this in the cooler while Gabby gets you settled with something from the bar.”
Justice takes the case, and the three of us walk a short distance to the bar and grill area.
Gabby returns to her spot behind the bar while introducing me to the ladies seated on stools.
“Meet my besties. This is Lola, Avery, and...” she glances across the patio and points in the direction
of a group of people. “Darby. She’s the one in the red and white sweater.”
“Besties until Justice stole her from our sorority den across the street.” Avery lifts her beer.
“We’re a roomie short tonight.” Gabby pops the top off a beer and slides it across the bar to me.
“Jenna couldn’t make it?”
“Not feeling sociable.” Lola frowns, then twirls her stool toward Avery. “Something’s eating at
her. She suggested we visit MatchMakers, Inc.”
“Oh, no. Not that again.” Avery shakes her head vehemently. “That only went well for one of us
last time. I’m not interested in a repeat.”
Gabby shrugs her shoulders with a smile. “Guilty.” She follows her pleasure with furrowed
brows. “Is Jenna having man problems again?”
 Her eyes shift to me briefly. Her lips clamp shut in a tight line as she averts her eyes past me. A
firm hand grabs my shoulder, relieving me of the personal chatter and the awkward silence.
“Ladies.” Justice steers me away from the bar, but the warning glance he shoots the group of
women is unmistakable. Something’s awry. “Ready to meet the crew?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I let the odd change in conversation go. There’s no need to get involved
with office politics and idle gossip. The quicker introductions are out of the way, the faster I can call
it a night and get back to the job site for some after-hours work.
Justice whistles to get everyone’s attention. It pierces through the music and din of chatter. A
muffled hush falls over the crowd. It’s easy to pick out the construction crew. They’re physically fit
and brawny from swinging hammers and heavy lifting. I’m physically fit, but these guys have years of
hard labor tattooed on their bodies. I’m just getting started.
“Listen up. Jonas joins us from Langford Enterprises’ headquarters. Ezra Langford hand-picked
him to run the community outreach aspect of the project. We’ll have rookies on site in the coming
days, so make yourselves available if Jonas has any questions as we move into phase two.” Justice
pauses to glance at me. “Anything we should know to help your end go smoothly.”
Phase two involves volunteer participation. Community plays a huge role in rebuilding this type
of neighborhood. Participation builds trust, ownership, and pride for the residents who will occupy
the homes, often as first-time homeowners.
Mayor Stanton hosted a town hall meeting to discuss the project when Langford Enterprises
awarded the grant to Cranberry Corner. Parker’s been a massive help in getting the word out about
our need for volunteers. She posted flyers at local businesses and shared information about the
project on social media. Harper’s assistant gathered a roster of potential volunteers from the
homeowner applications. If I keep my nose to the grindstone, the project will be completed on time
and without a hitch.
“Our volunteers arrive with varying levels of skill and ability, but they’re usually willing to learn.
Please be patient with them. They work hard and strive to be useful.”
“I think we can accommodate all of that. Jonas reports directly to Langford Enterprises, but you
can shoot questions my way or directly to Jonas as they arise.” Justice slaps my back. “We’ll make a
Home Wrecker out of you soon enough. River, introduce Jonas around while I serve burgers, will
ya?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. That was quick. Not too bad. Justice returns to the grill, and chatter
quickly resumes. A burly, bearded man disengages from the woman he’s with and stalks toward me. If
River’s the welcome committee, everything that comes after this is a walk in the park.
“River Wilde. I’m one of the crew supervisors.” He gives my hand a sturdy shake, not bothering
with idle chit-chat. He cuts right to the chase. “Justice didn’t tell us much about you. Care to fill me
in? How long have you been in construction working for Ezra?”
I skip the personal details and hit the high notes. It doesn’t matter where I came from or where
I’ve picked up skills. The last thing I need is for anyone to think I’m not qualified or got my position
through nepotism. The job and people are what’s important.
“I’ve worked with the outreach program from its beginning stages. My construction knowledge
stems from hands-on work specific to the program.” The imposter demon sits on my shoulder,
whispering in my ear. You’re a fraud. “I’m good with a hammer and paintbrush but better with
organizing people and detail work.”
“Keep your focus on work, and you’ll do fine.”
 River’s eyes dart over my shoulder where Gabby and the single ladies sit at the bar. His gruff
tone doesn’t sit well with me, but I’ll reserve judgment until I get a better fix on the situation and who
and what I’m dealing with.
River doesn’t comment or ask anything further about what qualifies me for the job, and I don’t
offer more. He introduces me to the immediate crew I’ll work with for the next few months. They’re a
tight-knit bunch, welcoming, but they clearly have reservations about my qualifications for the job.
Maybe that’s the imposter syndrome talking.
I stick around for burgers and linger long enough to be sociable. I’m talked out and ready to
unwind when a newcomer to the yard catches my eye. A woman with blonde hair slips through the
side gate. She may have gone unnoticed, but the tan and red Winnie the Pooh onesie is difficult to
ignore. The hood shadows her face, but not enough to disguise her puffy, red eyes.
Vance is regaling our small group with an animated story when my attention shifts to the pajama-
clad woman approaching the bar. I’ve been itching to get out of here all night, but the rush to leave
doesn’t seem as urgent now. What circumstances lead a woman to arrive at a party dressed as a big
teddy bear?
She reaches the bar and slumps between Lola and Avery. They rally around her, pulling her in for
hugs.
The woman beside me brushes against my shoulder, too close for comfort. My eyes immediately
flash to Vance. It’s clear she’s with him, but he doesn’t seem to mind her friendly nature. He continues
his animated story without batting an eye at his girlfriend's proximity to me.
“That’s Jenna, roommate number four.” Rumer nods her head toward Winnie the Pooh. “She’s a
freak for Pooh Bear.”
What are the odds I’d run across two blondes in my life with an affinity for the esteemed bear and
his Hundred Acre Wood? And what are the odds they both have the same name? I eye the group of
ladies but can’t get a good look at the woman who could be tied to my past.
“What’s not to like about a bear who does nothing but eat honey and make time for friends?” I
muse while pondering how to get a better look at the blonde without being too obvious.
The sight of a grown woman arriving unfazed at a party in teddy bear pajamas causes a rumbling
in my tummy, much like the famed bear. Only I’m hungry for something other than honey and have no
right to feel such things.
“Oh, Jenna doesn’t do nothing. She’s the first to give her time and money when she sees a need.
She has a big heart with a tendency to trust the wrong people. Leaps before she thinks, you know.”
Rumer pinches her lips into a frown before continuing. “The guys are much more protective of her
after what happened last year. I don’t think she’s happy about that.”
“What happened?” I’m prying as my mind races to things that are none of my business. Did
someone hurt her? Is that why she’s not feeling sociable like Lola mentioned?
“She could’ve lost everything if Justice hadn’t intervened when he did.” Rumer’s eyes dart to
Vance. “The guy was no good. Justice saw right through him. Fired him on the spot before he could
shake Jenna down.”
“I don’t follow. Are Justice and Jenna siblings?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Though the Home Wreckers are a tight bunch. We’re all family, though
only a few are related by blood.” She shifts her attention as Vance wraps up his story to a roar of
laughter. The music gets louder, and a few couples take to dancing. “This is a safe haven for all the
women who come here, especially Gabby’s girlfriends. Justice doesn’t allow his crew to date any of
the women here. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”
 “I’m a Langford guy, not a Home Wrecker.” I’ve never been one to play by someone else’s rules
where my private life is concerned. I’m not inclined to start now, nor am I in the market to ruffle
feathers. “But I’m sure I’ll get wind of all the rules before I have a chance to break any.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Rumer smiles as she pats my arm, then grabs Vance by the elbow to
lead him to the open patio for a dance.
Rumer’s warning piques my interest. I’ve always been inclined to test the rules, but this is one
rule I should abide by to the letter. I have no business looking twice at a woman right now. I’m in no
position to pursue romantic relationships, no matter how fleeting. Maybe in a few years, when I’ve
proven myself worthy of the risk Harper and Ezra are taking on me.
When I’ve proven to myself that I’m more than a kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

***

Jenna
I should have gone with the girls to Gabby’s instead of watching sappy romance movies alone.
They do more harm than good when I’m alone with my thoughts. It’s always the same. I bawl my eyes
out when the couple gives in to the love that’s so obvious to everyone else.
Happy ever after, my ass. The movie couple gets a lifetime of fictional happiness, and I’m left
with a gaping hole in my heart wanting the same, only not fictional. Where’s my happy ever after?
At the bottom of a pint of Chunky Monkey, apparently.
I crowd in between Avery and Lola and flop my arms over their shoulders. They surround me
with welcoming, affectionate hugs. I’ve done my share of moping lately. They’ve been more than
patient with me, doling out hugs while wrangling in the I told you so’s.
“Aw, Pooh Bear. I’m glad you came out.” Lola strokes her hand over my forehead, removing the
hood that hides my tear-stained face. “He got the girl again, didn’t he?”
I nod, frowning. “Gets me every time.”
It’s silly, but I get invested in the characters’ happiness to the point of choking back tears. I want
to find love like in the movies. A passion that burns so deep it brands me for another. But that’s kind
of the problem. I fall too quickly and get blindsided when feelings aren’t reciprocated.
My sister, Eleanor, found love. Mom got a second chance with the love of her life after twenty-
something years of marriage. Why do I attract all the loser douchebags who use me like a tool? I’m a
homing pigeon for jackoffs and jerks.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Avery strokes my back.
I don’t know what I’d do without my positivity posse.
Gabby grabs the special bottle of tequila from under the bar and lines up a row of shot glasses.
Avery slides to the next seat, and I slump onto her stool, ready to drown my sorrows with a shot of
warm tequila.
“Whoa, wait for me.” Darby hightails it to the bar as Gabby slides another shot glass onto the
counter. “Did you get a load of the new guy?” She fans herself as she mouths, hot hot hot.
“Darby.” Gabby chastises her with a sharp tone. She widens her eyes as she nods toward me.
“We’re toasting here.”
“Yes, right.” Darby nudges Avery, giggling, unable to control herself. “But he is H O T.”
Gabby shoots her another warning glare as she raises her glass. We follow suit, reciting the toast
I’ve heard far too many times in the last several months, words of wisdom from Christopher Robin,
aka A. A. Milne.
 “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Cheers.”
We clink glasses and throw back our shots. I shudder as the liquid burns my throat with fire, then
slicks my belly with warmth. I slide my glass across the bar for Gabby to pour another round. I sling
it back and shiver as it glides down easier this time.
“Take that, douchebags and jerks.” Lola wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “May a colony
of fire ants march through their drawers and bite them in the balls.”
We crumple into a pile of giddy laughter. Being with friends gives me an instant adrenaline pick-
me-up. The tequila buzz helps, too.
“Pardon me for interrupting.” A thick, rich voice cuts through our laughter. Darby stifles a snort.
The man taps thick, long fingers on the bar, and all eyes focus on him. At least, I try to focus. He’s a
bit bleary, and my head’s a little fuzzy. “I’m headed out. Thank you for inviting me to your home,
Gabby.”
Darby wasn’t kidding. Even in a fog, he’s hot, and I’m feverish. Tequila slips into my
bloodstream, crowding the out-of-order radar that should be dinging inside my head. It clangs against
my heart, beating out an SOS to save me from a lifetime of loneliness and heartbreak.
“It’s a pleasure having you here, Jonas.” Gabby throws a bar towel over her shoulder. “Don’t
make yourself scarce. We do this every weekend.”
“Jonas?” It’s been ages, a million years ago. I blink rapidly, moistening my dry, scratchy eyes.
“Jonas...Knowles? From The Heights, the old neighborhood?”
His deep brown eyes meet mine. His brow creases, and he cocks his head. The corners of his
mouth give way to a sexy, magnetic smile. Tequila thrums through my veins and spreads across my
chest, tingling and tickling my fingertips and toes.
“Jenna Nichols.” My name rolls off his tongue smooth and decadent.
My heart races like I’m ten again, with him chasing me and me wanting to be caught. I catch a
glimpse of years past in his smile. His eyes glisten with crinkled time playing at the corners. My skin
flushes hot, and I’m caught off balance, light-headed and woozy, the same as when we were kids and
teenagers.
Jonas chased me around the neighborhood as if it were his job. But it was always more than the
chase for me. I wanted to be caught, but only by him. He’d chase me until I was breathless. That’s
when he’d finally lay his hands on me and tackle me to the ground. My heart would race and I’d
double over, hiding my pleasures at being caught.
Things got more complicated as we navigated puberty, but Jonas only had friendship in mind. He
kept me close but at arm’s length.
I slip off the stool and steady myself with a hand on Avery’s shoulder. Jonas’ face softens, blurring
the lines of time with a filtered, hazy lens. I step toward him, and the ground moves beneath me,
shaking and trembling.
“Jenna?” Gabby’s voice echoes in my ears, deafened by the ringing buzz that filters through my
brain. “You, okay?”
The scrape of metal on pavers sends a shiver up my spine. My palms sweat and my onesie sticks
to my clammy skin. My vision narrows as a dark figure rushes toward me.
A fuzzy dark aura blinds me to the light. My knees buckle, and strong hands grip beneath my arms
as I crumple. My stomach lurches as acid coats my throat. I temporarily lose control of my faculties
and hurl, unable to stop the liquid my body rejects. And then darkness envelops me in its safety net.
 BOSSY
CHAPTER 3

***

Jenna
The warm glow of the morning sun stretches across the landscape in a beautiful array of pink, red,
and yellow hues. The drive to Cranberry Corner is filled with equal parts anticipation and dread. I
shudder at the ridiculous scene I caused at Gabby’s when I lost my cookies. On Jonas, no less. I’ve
been itching to apologize and catch up with him. Hopefully, he’s not one to hold a grudge.
I pull into the developing neighborhood earmarked for low-income families. When Langford
Enterprises expanded its urban development grant program, Cranberry Corner was one of the first
small communities to receive funding. It couldn’t have come at a better time.
A commercial developer had an eye on the property with plans to build a luxury high-rise
timeshare, shopping center, and dining establishments. That kind of commercialism would wreck the
quiet, small-town vibe we’ve come to know and love. This neighborhood is a much better option. The
Home Wreckers have been working on the housing addition for months now.
A converted school bus sits at the far end of the street where the houses are mostly finished. The
RV resembles a vintage Blue Bird All American school bus, repainted in two-tone teal and cool gray.
It’s flanked by a black Jeep. It must be Jonas’ place. It’s exactly as Justice described when I picked up
Jonas’ laundered clothes last night.
Jonas always talked about traveling around the country. It makes sense he’d be living in something
resembling an RV. At least one of us followed our dream.
I check the review mirror, not liking what I see. No amount of makeup can cover the dark circles
under my eyes. I should have known better than to drown my sorrows in a pint of ice cream and
follow it up with tequila shots. Especially since I hadn’t eaten all day.
Ugh.
My gaze shifts to the freshly washed and neatly folded jeans and shirt nestled in the passenger
seat. Clean laundry won’t make amends, but it’s a start. I gather the clothes in my arms and wish I’d
brought coffee, donuts, or something breakfasty. Maybe I shouldn’t have come by so early and without
notice.
What if Jonas never wants to see me again?
Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I approach the bus. A healthy dose of anxiety settles in my
bones, causing my stomach to flip-flop. It’s nerves, that’s all. There won’t be a repeat of Friday night
in my future if it means never touching a shot of tequila again.
Chunky Monkey ice cream? Eh. I’ll keep that.
I rap at the glass door, holding my breath as I shift from one foot to the other, and gnaw at my lip.
Anything to calm the nerves churning in my gut. I listen intently with an ear close to the glass but am
greeted with silence. Maybe he’s checking homes and getting work sorted for Monday. I knock again
with waning confidence.
What if he’s ignoring me, hoping I’ll give up and go away?
 I back away from the door, unsure if I should bolt or continue knocking. I clutch his clothes to my
chest as I plan my getaway. Jonas might not want to see me, but at least he’ll have his clothes back. I
trudge across the gravel, heat climbing to my cheeks. Coming here was such a bad idea. I tug on the
Jeep’s door, but I’m met with resistance there, too.
“It’s locked.” A husky voice splits through the quiet morning like a hot knife through butter. “Here
to rob me?”
I spin on my heel and find Jonas standing in the bus’s doorway, shirtless and barefoot, wearing
nothing but a partially zipped pair of jeans with the button undone. My heart thuds against my chest
like a racehorse on the home stretch. My throat tightens as I struggle to rein in the wayward beat.
Jonas is eye candy for my sweet tooth.
“I...um...no. I brought your clothes.” My voice wavers, breathless and way too fan girlish. I take a
few steps toward the bus door, unable to take my eyes off his bedhead, tousled hair, and bubble-gum
pink lips. “I thought you might want them before work on Monday.”
He folds his arms over his bare chest, cradling his torso. His nipples pebble into tight buds,
reminding me of the chilly air. He steps off the landing onto the cold, hard gravel.
“Thanks for going to the trouble.” He takes a teetering step and winces as his toes clench the
rocks.
“Oh, I didn’t. I mean...Gabby washed them right away. I wasn’t in any shape to stand, let alone run
heavy machinery.” I laugh off the embarrassing debacle from Friday night and hurry to meet him,
acutely aware of the blood rushing through my veins to my body’s more sensitive regions. “It’s chilly,
and you’re shoeless. You should go back in before you catch a cold.”
I reach him before he takes another step.
“You sound like my mother.” A boyish grin streaks across his lips. It warms me from the inside
out, causing me to blush.
“Moms are smart that way.” I press the clothing to his chest. He unfolds his arms and grabs them.
His large hands rake across mine, slow and sure. A needy shiver scurries up my spine, causing me to
shake in my boots. I cover my recently awakened crush with a churlish grin and push against him to
gain a bit of distance. “In you go. I don’t want to catch myself on Justice’s bad side for getting the new
guy sick.”
“You always were bossy.” Jonas chuckles.
He grabs the doorframe and steps onto the landing. He leans his head back, peering into the bus.
His brow furrows. It occurs to me that Jonas’ lack of clothing is a sure sign he isn’t alone. Why would
he be? He’s good-looking and new to the area, a sure catch for any woman looking for a new face.
“I should get going...leave you to” –I gesture toward his home on wheels– “whatever you were
doing.”
I back up, stammering over my words. It’s none of my business what he’s doing half-naked on a
Sunday morning. It’s obvious he threw his jeans on in a hurry. My eyes follow the line of his chest to
the happy trail that disappears beneath the zipper. I catch my breath, imagining what Jonas Knowles
might look like fully naked.
My eyes dart back to his, and my cheeks flush hot for the umpteenth time. I take another step
backward, swallowing my pride and what’s left of my dignity.
“It’s good seeing you...I mean, not seeing, seeing you.” I fluster, gulping back embarrassment.
Good grief, it isn’t like I’ve never seen a man’s bare chest before. I take another step toward my car
before I lose my composure. “I’ll leave it at that and bid you good day.”
 I spin on the ball of my foot and the crunch of gravel grates on my antsy nerves like sandpaper.
I’m itchy and hot, flustered with regret and raging hormones. It’s been forever since I’ve seen Jonas,
but after all these years, the wild, silly, toe-tingling attraction bubbles to the surface as if time stood
still.
“Would you like to get some coffee or something?” I spin to face him, nearly losing my balance.
His wrinkled brow softens, and I’m right back in fourth grade, caught in the trap of his smile. “It’s a
shame for you to come all this way and not catch up.”
I should say no, but my body screams...YES!
“Sure, if I’m not keeping you from anything,” I hedge, tamping down eagerness and the desire to
peek inside his...bus.
“Give me a second to get dressed.” He grins without offering a clue about what or who’s inside
waiting for him.
He slips inside the bus, disappearing behind the closed double doors without inviting me in. It’s
all the answer I need.
He’s keeping me at a distance. I’m still in the friend zone.

***

Jonas
Running into Jenna at Justice and Gabby’s was a fluke at best. She and I grew up together, but in
the summer between middle and high school, she and her family packed up and moved away from the
neighborhood. I don’t blame her parents for wanting a better life for their family. The old
neighborhood wasn’t the best place for a growing family, especially one with young daughters.
Even at a young age, Jenna drew me in with her playful nature and tough-as-nails attitude. She
could handle herself, but something about her brought out the protector in me. Mom raised me to look
out for those who needed help and protection. Though Jenna was never in any real-world danger back
then, I took it upon myself to look after her.
I didn’t realize how much I needed Jenna until she was gone. I started mixing with the wrong
crowd. It wasn’t cool to hang with girls for friendship. Things shifted as soon as boys’ voices grew
deeper, and girls developed curvy. Girls were considered commodities on the street, goods for
consumption, not friendship. If it hadn’t been for Mom and Harper preaching the truth about women’s
worth and value, I might still be stuck living life like a two-bit thug.
I want to be a man people look to for comfort and help rather than contribute to the world’s
problems. The way things unfolded with Jenna the other night leads me to believe she’s already got
enough weight on her shoulders. Rumer’s warning about Justice’s rule regarding rubbing shoulders
with Jenna and the rest of Gabby’s friends is another glaring reminder of who I am and where I came
from. No matter how close Jenna and I were as kids, I can’t screw this job up by going rogue.
I shrug off the dirty jeans I worked most of the night in and pull on the clean ones Jenna returned. I
sift through a pile of discarded clothes and find a thermal shirt and long sleeve flannel. The place is a
wreck, much like my life has been. But the old Skoolie’s beginning to look more like a home. It isn’t
much, but it’s mine, something I’m proud of, even if it means I’m still a drifter finding my way.
Jenna’s leaning against the hood of her car when I emerge from the Skoolie. Her face has barely
aged, though it’s been years. Her Winnie the Pooh pajamas didn’t do her generous curves justice. It’s
damn lucky she hadn’t filled out like she has while in the old neighborhood. Keeping the goons away
from her would have been much more difficult.
 “You ready?” She glances up from her phone. Her eyes and nose crinkle from the sun rising
overhead. A smile widens her lips, and she appears tickled with a spark in her eye. She tips her
camera, and a flash of light catches me off guard. “Might want to do something about that bedhead
you’ve got going.”
I run my fingers through my hair and groan. The knock on the door jolted me from sleep. My mind
was on pulling on pants, not my hair.
“My cap’s in the Jeep. Coffee’s my treat. C’mon.” Jenna jogs to my side, and we amble the short
distance to the Jeep. I bump against her shoulder. “Since when are you the fashion police, miss
Winnie the Pooh?”
“Hey, Pooh Bear’s the bomb.” She whacks my arm with the back of her hand. Her rosy cheeks lift
with her pouty grin. “Name one life situation that a Pooh quote can’t fix.”
She bumps against me as we walk, sticking to me like glue, the same way as when we were kids.
Neither of us moves to disconnect. My heart lightens, and I throw an arm across her shoulders.
“What a surprise.” I pull her closer and squeeze as I tease. Her warmth radiates through me, and
my worries melt away for the moment. “You haven’t changed a bit, kid.”
“Oh, I’ve changed, Knowles.” She peers up at me with babydoll eyes, then pulls away as she
turns to face me while backing toward the Jeep’s passenger door. Heat spirals in my belly with the
bounce of her step. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
Indeed she isn’t. I smell trouble on the horizon.
 CONSPIRING
CHAPTER 4

***

Jenna
“So you finally did it.” I lick coffee foam from my upper lip.
Jonas’ eyes drop to my mouth. His gaze tugs at my gut and the tight ball of string encasing all my
worries. I flick my tongue over my lip again, enjoying his rapt attention.
“Did what exactly?” His deep voice seeps into my pores and picks at the frayed string in my gut.
It tugs at the knot holding my fears in place, and I’m uncertain if I mind coming undone.
“The bus. You talked about touring the country all the time when we were kids.” I pick at a donut
on a plate in the middle of the table. I’m not hungry, but being this close to Jonas makes me edgy. My
insides tingle and hum as if buzzed from too much kombucha or–my stomach churns–tequila. “What’s
it like picking up stakes and just taking off?”
“You’re the expert at that, not me.” He shakes his head, laughing off the curt remark. A tinge of
hurt or longing laces through his voice. His dark steely eyes pierce through me, soft yet commanding.
I lean back and warm my hands on the hot mug. “How do you figure?”
“It isn’t important.” He deflects my question, but the inflection in his voice makes me believe it
does matter. “The Skoolie is a work in progress, but I haven’t traveled much with it yet. This is its
maiden voyage.”
“Skoolie?”
“It’s slang for a renovated school bus. You know, Ken Kesey?” I shake my head. “He wrote One
Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and the following year he traveled cross-country in an old school bus
with ‘The Merry Pranksters.’ They were among some of the first and most famous Skoolie hippies,
but there are others like the Road Hog.”
“Are you a hippie or hipster, Jonas?” I smirk as I tease a smile from the corners of his mouth. It’s
a stunning smile, full of complexity.
“Neither. I’m a regular guy doing what I can to make a living and keep my head down.” He
slouches in his seat and stretches his legs under the table. His jeans brush against my ankles, but I
don’t shy away from the closeness. “What do you do around here? Are you a Home Wrecker
groupie?”
“Groupie? Pfft...as if.” I roll my eyes, not bothering to withhold my sarcasm. “We’re just one big
happy family. No fawning or drooling allowed.”
I run my finger around the rim of my coffee cup, irritation pooling in my gut. I’m so tired of being
treated with kid gloves. My brother, Samuel, doesn’t question me about who I’m dating or my life
choices. He cares but doesn’t interfere. I’m a capable adult. I wish everyone would treat me as such.
My mother’s done amazing things with her lottery winnings. I’m grateful she’s ensured my future
with the trust fund, but sometimes it’s a burden rather than a blessing. Money changes people. It’s
changed me. I used to know what I wanted and where I was going, but now I’m living in limbo
somewhere in the middle.
“Trouble in paradise?” Jonas nudges my leg with his.
 He was always easy to talk to. We had a chemistry that went beyond comfortable. At least for me.
I could tell him anything without fear of rejection. Back then, the only secret I couldn’t share was how
much I adored him. My secrets are different now, and sharing them comes at a higher cost. How can I
trust that someone can love me for who I am without them being blinded by dollar signs? Learning to
tread carefully and second guess my instincts have put the zap on my head.
“Life was less complicated when we were kids.” I glance at Jonas. His sharp eyes penetrate my
thoughts. He still carries the same boyish charm and charismatic smile that drew me to him years ago.
“I only had you and my brother to deal with then. Justice means well with his rules, but he and Gabby
are way too protective.”
“Protective, as in they wouldn’t be too happy with us meeting for coffee?” Jonas cocks an
eyebrow.
“You’ve already been warned, haven’t you?” I lean forward in disbelief.
“Something like that.” He smirks as he nods.
“Figures.” I shake my head, instantly losing my appetite for coffee and picking at donuts. “One itty
bitty incident.” I pinch my fingers together and scrunch my nose for emphasis. “I’m a grown woman. I
don’t need anyone running interference for me. Why can’t they see that?”
Jonas hooks his feet around my ankles and drags my chair forward as he straightens. He leans
over the table conspiratorially, glancing side to side with shifty eyes. It’s the look he’d don when we
conspired to buck the system, a.k.a. ditch class.
“It’s time to show them who you are, Jenna Nichols.” I lean over the table, meeting him in the
middle. A tickling thrill rolls through me as he cups his hands around mine. “And I’ve got a plan.”
“Yes!” I giggle.
Jonas presses his forehead against mine, meeting my laugh with an adorable smile. Before I have
time to think, I react.
My lips are on his.

***

Jonas
Jenna stares back at me, filled with glee. She rolls her forehead and her lashes flutter closed. She
captures my lips with hers. The soft caress throws me off balance. I lean into the kiss, allowing
myself one second to enjoy it before pulling away.
Her eyes pop open, wide-eyed and hungry. I sit quietly still, wanting to devour her, yet unable to
breach the inch of space between us. No matter how brief the kiss or unprepared for it I am, Jenna’s
lips on mine are a thousand times better than I imagined. My heart races, wanting more than it should.
I’ve waited most of my life for this kiss, but why did it have to happen now? My future depends
upon not screwing things up. Justice isn’t technically my boss, but professional courtesy prompts me
to abide by his rules for the time being. At least until I can discuss things with him. Jenna and I have a
history together. I’m someone she can trust. At least, I hope she trusts me.
“I’m so sorry.” She stammers as she jerks her head away from me. I keep her hands firmly in
mine, unwilling to let her go. “I didn’t mean...it was an accident...a reaction. I got carried away in my
excitement...”
“Don’t be sorry, Jenna. You’re allowed to feel excited and any other damn feeling you want.” I
rub my thumb over her hand. “And don’t say it didn’t mean anything.”
 I hope to God there was intention behind her kiss. Something more than getting carried away with
excitement. There sure as hell was in the little I gave back. I’m not privy to the details of her itty bitty
incident, but whatever happened has thrown her confidence off balance. That’s not like the Jenna I
knew. That Jenna was a free spirit, daring, and always up for a challenge.
“I’ve totally messed things up.” She sulks back in her chair, eyes focused on our hands, refusing to
look me in the eye.
“You haven’t messed anything up, Jenna. I’m not going anywhere.” I squeeze her hands, resolute
in my decision. “I won’t allow anyone to dictate how we spend time together.”
A faint smile plays over her lips. Her eyelashes feather beneath her brow as she looks up
sheepishly and nods. God, she’s the angel I need to save me from a torturously lonely life. After I
fight the demons of my past.
“You said you have a plan.” Her voice squeaks.
“The best way to change people’s perception of who you are is to show them.” I know this from
experience. It takes more than words to prove who we are. It takes action. Proving my worth is what
I’ve been trying to do my whole life.
Jenna clears the knot in her throat and straightens her shoulders. Her shy, coy smile brightens.
That’s the Jenna I know and love. “Let’s show them what we’re made of, Jonas.”
“That’s the spirit.” I admire Jenna’s willingness to put her trust in me. It’s time I put my trust in
someone other than myself, too. “I’m not proud of some of the choices I made in the past. My life
could have gone in a different direction if it weren’t for Ezra. When he rebuilt the old neighborhood,
he changed the course of my life for the better. He gave me a chance to choose a better life and make a
difference in the world.”
Jenna listens intently, laser-focused on my eyes. Would she cringe if she knew how dark my world
became when she moved away?
“I’ve worked on Ezra’s crews for a while, but my sister went out on a limb for me with this job. I
can’t screw this up.” My heart beats erratically against my ribs as I fight against the demon telling me
I’m not good enough. Not good enough for honest work, friendship, or love. “I need to prove I’m
worth the risk they took believing in me.”
“I believe in you, Jonas.” Jenna slides her hands from between mine and folds her fingertips into
my palms. “I want to help.”
“We’ll help each other.” I squeeze her hands. We were thick as thieves when we were kids. The
true test of friendship is picking back up where we left off as if time never lapsed. “Do you mind
getting your hands dirty?”
“Are you kidding?” She slides her elbows along the table’s surface, bringing our linked hands to
rest at her chin. Her plump lips perch atop my knuckle as she studies me with fluttering lashes and a
flirtatious grin. “I’m a huge fan of getting dirty.”
Damn. She’ll be the ruin of me, and I’ll die a happy man.
 TRUST ISSUES
CHAPTER 5

***

Jenna
Jonas teases my senses with his magnetic smile. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, but
he makes it easy to pick up where we left off. He brings out the playfulness in me that’s been
misplaced for some time.
“There’s something I want to show you.” His smile widens. “If you don’t mind braving the
elements, that is.
I’d like him to show me where that happy trail I spied earlier leads, but my gut tells me that’s not
what he’s offering...for now.
“Is it part of your plan?”
“It is.”
“Then I’m game.” Who am I kidding? I followed Jonas around like a little lost puppy when we
were kids. He’s lucky I’m not handcuffing myself to his side now. “Where to?”
“Back to the job site.” He tugs my hands when he scoots his chair away from the table, and I
willingly follow his lead.
We grab coffees to go and drive back to the Skoolie. I’m mostly convinced he isn’t hiding a lover
inside, but he doesn’t invite me in when he grabs a set of keys from inside. I’m curious but tamp down
the urge to pry.
We walk comfortably, side by side, following the street, passing houses in various stages of
completion, from poured cement slabs to those framed with two-by-fours. Jonas keeps a friendly yet
respectful distance from me. I want to slide my hand into his like we were at the coffee shop, but I
understand his predicament, working on Justice’s job site. It doesn’t change the fact we’re a team, just
like when we were kids.
Whatever he has planned will fix everything. I know it.
“What do you want out of life, Jenna?” He fingers through keys until he finds the one he’s looking
for and inserts it into the lock of the first semi-completed home.
“The same as anyone else, I guess.” His question takes me off guard. What do I want? Life in
limbo is not where I want to be now or five to ten years from now. “The man, the ring, a house with a
picket fence, and two-point-five kids. Oh, and a dog.”
I’m pleased with myself even though it’s a flippant answer. It’s generic, funny, and off the cuff. I’ll
know what I want when I find it. Right?
“I’m serious.” He pauses in the doorway. His brows pinch together when he turns to face me.
“What do you want deep down right here?”
He gently taps my chest with his fingers, prompting my heart to thump wildly beneath them. Right
this second, I’d like Jonas to breathe for me. My shallow breaths come slow and low with him
touching me, even if it is through layers of thermals.
“I don’t know. Except...I want to make a difference. I don’t want to grow old and die without a
legacy, something people will remember me for. I don’t want notoriety. I want to build something that
matters.”
I don’t know where the epiphany comes from, but it leaves me unsettled and sad. I’m empty like
before when I tried filling the gaping hole in my chest with Chunky Monkey and tequila. I want to do
something with my life. Be someone others look up to. But I’m stuck, unsure of myself. That
uncertainty gets reinforced every day by roommates that care too much and friends that try to keep me
in a cocoon, safe from harm.
“I want to be like my mom. She’s making a difference, doing work that’s meaningful beyond
herself. She funds women’s shelters, soup kitchens, and homeless shelters. She’s accomplished so
many great things since she won the lottery. No one knows all the ways she helps people, but I do.
And I’ve seen how it makes her happy and free. I want that, too.”
Jonas stares at me like I’m delusional or have lost my mind. He pulls me inside the empty,
unfinished house and closes the door.
“Your mom won the lottery?”
This is why my friends rally around me. Because I can’t keep my mouth shut. But Jonas is
different. He isn’t a freeloader or after me for money. Heck, he might not be after me at all. We’re just
two friends catching up. That’s all.
“A while back. But I shouldn’t have said anything.” I hook my fingers around Jonas’ arm and beg
him with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell Justice or anyone else on the crew I told you. I’ll never
hear the end of it.”
“You can trust me, Jenna.”
My heart wants to believe him, but my brain rings the alarm bell.
You can trust me. That’s what the last guy said.

***

Jonas
Jenna’s a puzzle. But the pieces of why her friends and the Home Wreckers are so protective
begin to fall into place. She’s lucky to have people who care about her as much as they do. But
stifling her isn’t the answer. It’s destroyed her confidence. That’s where we start.
“Your mom was always a smart lady. Doing things for others gets us out of our heads, forcing us
to focus on someone other than ourselves.” Jenna’s broken spirit wounds me in a way physical pain
never could. I’d love to kiss away her scars, but there are more important things to consider. Namely,
what’s festering beneath Jenna’s skin. “Helping others is what this building program is all about. It’s
dirty, hard work, but it builds character and confidence. You’re a great fit for what we’re doing here.”
“You want me to work on a construction site?” Jenna’s lashes flutter rapidly as she blinks.
“Not just any construction site.” I grin, hopeful she’ll not shy away from the opportunity to create
real change in people’s lives. “This one. Here, with me.”
“Jonas. I’m not the handiest hammer in the toolbox. It’s sheer luck I know a flathead screwdriver
from a Phillips-head.” Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. “Avery suggested I use a level and
stud finder when I hung pictures in the living room. I thought she meant I should find a studly dude to
help hang them.”
“At least you know what a screwdriver is.” I pull her into my arms and squeeze her as I chuckle.
“Do you know how popular the hardware store would be if that’s what a stud finder really did?”
Her lips spread into a lovely, playful smile. “It’d be a woman’s superstore playground.”
 “Is that what you want, Jenna?” My chest expands as she melts into my body, warming my chest as
she thaws my sinful heart. “A stud from the hardware store?”
Her lips curl as she slides her hands into my jacket. Her fingers tickle along my sides and clutch
my lower back. I pull her closer, ignoring the warning in my gut to keep Jenna at a distance.
“I don’t need a shopping trip to find what I’m looking for.” She rises on her toes, closing the
space between us. “I hope money can’t buy what I’m looking for.”
“Money’s overrated.” I lean into her and capture her lips with mine.
I don’t hold anything back as I did before at the coffee shop. The empty house offers protection
from prying eyes and personal judgment. Jenna gives herself wholly to the kiss, arching her neck,
crushing her body into mine, and clinging to me with her fingertips digging into my back.
Heat liquefies between us as the years spent apart melt away. I slip my tongue across the seam of
her plump lips, and she invites me into her sweet heat. She tastes of honey and caffeine, a glorious
mix of decadence and promise. Her floral shampoo and fruity lotion cling to my lungs. I scrape my
teeth along her lower lip and savor her hungry cry as it spills over my tongue.
We’re venturing into forbidden territory, and I’m sucked in with every lick, nip, and mewling cry
she offers me.
She tugs at my shirt, pulling the hem from my jeans. Her fingers slip up my back as she crushes
into my body. I drag my hands over her hips and grip her ass, pulling her into my bulge that aches with
insatiable need. She matches my craving with her own, grinding against me. My legs tingle as hair
prickles against the rough denim. The friction between us drives our course.
The faint slam of a car door draws my attention, and I’m hyper-aware of where this encounter is
headed. I pull away from Jenna, stilling her hips as she claws at my back.
“We can’t do this, Jenna. Not here.” I’m breathless as my heart pounds against my bones, brutal
and unforgiving. “Not like this.”
When I claim her body, it’ll be in a bed shrouded in privacy. Not in some filthy, gutted house that
someone could barge in unannounced. Jenna deserves more than a quick fuck driven by heat and
misguided circumstances. I can give her so much more than this. I will give her more.
“Don’t stop, Jonas. Please. I need this,” she pleads as she tugs at my shirt. “I need you.”
“Someone’s out there.” She stills as I take her hands, removing them from my body. “I won’t let
anyone catch us like this.”
“You mean, you don’t want anyone we know to catch us like this.” She straightens her shirt,
clearly miffed.
“That isn’t what I mean.” I reach for her arm and pull her to me. Her sad eyes betray the hurt that
lingers beneath the surface. I lay a possessive kiss on her lips, conveying how much I want her, then
seal the exchange with a promise. “What’s between us isn’t a spectator sport. When you come
undone, it’ll be a show for only me.”
“We’ll do things your way.” She nods in agreement while softly stroking her palm over my jaw.
Her glossy swollen lips curl into a shy smile. “But patience isn’t my strong suit.”
She’s feisty and tempting, but I can’t afford to be foolish. I need a few weeks on the job under my
belt before ruffling feathers.
 WARDROBE MALFUNCTION
CHAPTER 6

***

Jenna
I pull on a pair of stained, ripped jeans, a Winnie the Pooh long-sleeved thermal, and an old
flannel shirt with a tear in the breast pocket. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and slip on the Pooh
Bear winter beanie Lola gave me for Christmas last year. A pair of wool socks and weather-worn
boots later, and I’m ready to go for a day of hard labor.
I peek at my ensemble in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. It isn’t bad, but it won’t
hurt to add a few finishing touches, so I’m not a total train wreck coming in hot. I loosen a few strands
of hair around my face and quickly curl them with a flat iron, then dab on mascara and a thin coat of
lightly tinted lip balm. I stop mid-swipe and pucker my lips.
The kiss Jonas and I shared at the coffee shop was fleeting. But he set my soul on fire when we
kissed in the empty house. My heart raced, my toes curled, and the earth shifted beneath my feet. He
devoured me like a hungry man without sustenance for days, and I ate up every bit of it.
I’ve carried happiness in my heart for the last couple of days. No one can rob me of it.
“Whoa. Get a load of you.” Lola stuffs a bite of cereal into her mouth, slurping as she chews. “Is
it casual Wednesday?”
I prepped lunch last night, anticipating an audience in the kitchen this morning. The less time I
spend explaining where I’m going and why, the better.
“I’m not going in to work today. I asked for a few days off.” I grab an ice pack from the freezer
and nudge the door closed with my hip. I grab what’s left of the potato chips and keep my mouth shut.
I don’t have to explain myself.
“Then why the lunch?” Lola’s brows bunch into a wrinkled knot above the bridge of her nose. She
rinses her bowl and adds it to the semi-full dishwasher. “And what’s up with the mountain man gear?”
She eyes me suspiciously, knowing how difficult it is for me to keep secrets from her. My
inability to keep my mouth shut opens the door to trouble every time.
“Trying something new, that’s all.” I grab my bag and head toward the front door. “Nothing to see
here.”
“What are you up to?” Lola follows me out of the kitchen. “And why are you avoiding eye
contact? I can read you like a book, Jenna Nichols.”
“Good grief, woman. You sound like a mother hen.” Guilt creeps from my gut, tiptoes around my
heart, and sneaks up my throat. I throw on my puffer jacket, frustrated she won’t let this go. Am I so
transparent she can see right through me?
“It’s a guy, isn’t it?” I roll my eyes and let out an emotive sigh. She giggles, enjoying her sleuthing
victory. “I knew it. Tell me everything. Who is he? Where’d you meet? Where are you going?”
She teepees her fingers and twiddles the tips against one another. Her eager beaver enthusiasm is
almost catching. Almost. If Jonas were any other man, I’d spill the details.
“I’m doing my civic duty by volunteering to help good people have a decent and pleasant roof
over their heads.” My belligerent side rears its head, and I almost convince myself that my trek to the
construction site is all in the name of altruism. “You can come help if you like. They need all the
volunteers they can find.”
“They? You mean Jonas, don’t you? We were all there when Justice introduced him the other
night. I know he’s in charge of the volunteer program.” She cocks her head. Concern spreads across
her forehead as she folds her arms. “Is there something between you two? You’re not–”
“Jonas and I are friends.” Jonas is looking for a fresh beginning as much as I am, so I downplay
the details. It isn’t anyone else’s business how I choose to spend my time or who I choose to spend it
with. “We go way back.”
“That was a long time ago.” Lola plops her butt onto the arm of the sofa. “You know how Justice
feels about getting involved with–”
That does it. I snap.
“Has anyone asked how I feel? This is none of Justice’s business. I made a bad choice with one of
his crew once. One freaking time.” I emphasize my frustration, shaking a solitary finger in the air.
“That’s on me. My problem. No one else. I wish people were as concerned about my heart as they are
my bank account.”
A single hot tear rolls over my cheek. The happiness I’ve basked in for the last few days dwindles
as doubt and frustration take hold.
“Hey, it isn’t like that.” Lola hops from the sofa and wraps her arms around me. “We all care
about you. We don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
I know in my bones Jonas is one of the good guys. I can trust him. But there are no guarantees he
won’t break my heart.

***

Jonas
City inspectors approved the first house safe for volunteer workers earlier in the week. A fair
amount of people showed up to get started on the interior. We’ve spent two days taping things off and
priming the walls in preparation for painting.
I’m pleasantly surprised by the community’s involvement, especially during the weekday. The
people who need affordable housing the most often work more than one job. They pitch in as much as
possible, but it takes an entire community to get this kind of project moving. Luckily Cranberry
Corner and the surrounding small towns have big hearts.
I pop the lid off a five-gallon bucket of paint and pour it into a strainer bucket to begin prepping
the paint sprayer. The high-pitched whir of the machine muffles outside noise. Once the tank is primed
and ready, I turn it off and peel off my gloves. Volunteers should be arriving soon.
“Knock, knock.” I glance up from what I’m doing. Jenna stands patiently in the entryway, looking
adorable as ever. She smiles, and my entire morning brightens. “Didn’t want to startle you.”
“You made it.” I haven’t seen her since Sunday when we were interrupted by looky-loos. It’s a
shame being interrupted, but it was for the best. I need to think through things clearly. I can’t do that
with my lips on Jenna’s.
“Of course I made it. My boss gave me the rest of the week off.” She wanders around the room,
eyeing it from floor to ceiling. “Looks like we’re painting today.”
“Yep. I hope you’re handy with a paintbrush.” She stops close enough I could pull her in and wrap
my arms around her, but I keep my focus on the job. I distract myself and grab a one size fits all cotton
coverall from a box lying on the floor. “This will swallow you, but you’re gonna want to cover up.”
 “We’ll be twinning.” She unfolds the generic coveralls and shakes them out. “Not as glamorous as
my outfit, but it’ll do.”
“There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to change.” My mind wanders inappropriately,
imagining peeling off her clothes layer by layer.
She steps closer. Heat radiates off her body, and it takes all my willpower to keep my hands to
myself.
“Do I keep my pants on or strip to my underwear?” She snickers and steals a piece of my heart,
threatening my resolve to keep things professional between us until the job is done.
Clattering at the doorway distracts me before I do something stupid like haul her into the
bathroom and strip her down to her panties. I clear my throat, and Jenna follows my eye. She steps
back, hugging the coveralls to her chest.
“We found a few extra ladders you asked about.” Justice carries two ten-foot aluminum ladders
beneath his arm. River follows with two shorter step stools. He stops short when he spots Jenna.
“Jenna. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m volunteering.” Her eyes flit briefly to Justice before focusing on the floor. She brushes her
hand along the coveralls and glances at me with a furtive look. She’s cautious, wary. “I’m going to
change.”
It kills me that she’s unsure of herself. That’s not the Jenna I remember. Did she get involved with
one of Justice’s crew on the job site?
“Down the hall on the right.” I wait until she’s out of the room, then turn my attention to the men
staring after Jenna.
River cocks an eyebrow in a silent exchange with his boss.
“It’s starting to shape up in here.” Justice eyes the room and steps toward me with an extended
hand.
I brush off my hands and return the gesture. River hasn’t warmed to me, but from what I gather,
he’s a man of few words. He’s a professional to the letter, expecting the same from his crew. He
expects the same from me.
“I’m hoping to have the rest of the inside painted by the end of the day.” That all depends on the
number of volunteers and cooperative equipment. “Thanks for the extra supplies.”
“Keep the ladders as long as you need. Send a runner down the street if you need anything else.”
Justice and River move to the door. Justice pauses. “I’ll check in later to see how things are going
with volunteers.”
Justice’s subtle warning doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s clear all eyes are on me and how I proceed.
“Are they gone?” Jenna steps from the hallway into the living room. She cranes her neck as she
peers toward the front door. She clasps the front of the white cotton fabric, holding it closed tight
under her chin. The fabric pools around her ankles and sags from her shoulders in a shapeless mass.
She frowns. “I...uh...need some help. The zipper’s stuck.”
She releases the fabric, and my heart wields a thundering pound against my chest. Sweet Jesus,
I’m relieved when I catch a glimpse of a Winnie the Pooh printed shirt.
I run my hand over my jaw and inhale a deep breath hoping to get my raging heart in check. Jenna
spreads her arms and legs wide as if she’s about to be frisked, and heck, in different circumstances,
I’d be inclined to press her against the wall and oblige. But not here, not now.
“Runs a little big, doesn’t it?”
I step into her personal space and reach for the bottom of the zipper. It hangs squarely at the apex
of her thighs. I tug, but the zipper doesn’t budge. I tug again as she stares into my eyes, unflinching.
She makes no move to touch me, yet I feel her in my veins. Heat emanates from her body, warm and
glowing.
“Maybe you can eyeball it.” She smirks as her eyes drift down to my hands.
I glance over my shoulder toward the entry. The last thing I need is for Justice to walk in with my
hands on Jenna, no matter how innocent the situation. I bend down on one knee and work the zipper
while doing my best to ignore her womanly scent.
I tug on the cloth, frustrated and aroused. Her hips rock forward, and my pulse quickens.
“Stay still, Jenna.” I grit my teeth with the warning.
She rests her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. My fingers tremble as I yank on the metal
tab. Her hips lunge forward again. I close my eyes and rake in a deep breath, willing the zipper to
release before I break.
“Volunteers have arrived.” My cousin Parker’s voice cuts through my desperation at the exact
time the zipper cooperates. I jump to my feet and release the tab midway up Jenna’s torso. Parker
smirks. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”
“Wardrobe malfunction.” Jenna finishes zipping the coveralls shut and begins rolling up the
sleeves to her wrists.
“So that’s what they’re calling it now.” Parker folds her arms, grinning ear to ear.
“Geez, Parker.” My chest burns with each heartbeat. I swipe a hand over my neck and shake my
head. “Grab some gear. We’re wasting daylight.”
 GIRL POWER
CHAPTER 7

***

Jenna
Jonas doles out assignments, pairing me with his cousin, Parker. I recognize her from the Nerdy
Bookworm in town, but don’t know her personally. I usually go to the bookstore in Rolling Hills but
visit Cranberry Corner for author signings and special sales events.
“How do you know Jonas?” Parker cuts around a window with an angled trim brush while I
tackle the doorway trim. “He must have turned on the charm to talk you into this back-breaking work.”
“We went to school together until high school.” I’m not sure how much Jonas wants Parker to
know about his personal life, so I keep the facts to a minimum with the focus on my life. “My dad took
a job in Rolling Hills the summer after ninth grade. I didn’t know he was looking to move at the time.
He sprung it on us. Within a week, we were out of the noisy city and enjoying the quiet life in Rolling
Hills.”
“What does your dad do?” Parker stretches on tiptoes for the top of the window. She growls in
exasperation when she can’t reach the top. “Arg...This is not short people work.”
“Hold on. I’ll get a ladder.” I leave the room, happy to escape any personal family conversation.
The last thing I want to talk about is Dad. His hurry to move had everything to do with selfishness and
a woman other than my mother.
I grab one of the ladders River dropped off earlier and head back to the small bedroom Parker
and I are working in. Jonas backs out of a second bedroom with the paint sprayer in tow. We collide
in the narrow hallway with his back against my chest. Paint from his clothing transfers to mine. The
brief weight of his body against mine has my head spinning.
“Oops. Lucky I’m decked out in this stylish paint gear.” I make light of the run-in but still feel the
impression his body heat leaves on mine.
Jonas glances down the hall, then grins at me. “You’re kinda cute in that getup.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I eyeball him head to toe, deliberately and without reservation. He
could wear a gunny sack and look good enough to eat. I touch his arm affectionately, and he stiffens.
His reaction stings my heart. I quiet the ache, quelling my doubts with rationale. This is his
workplace, and we both have a job to do. “I better get this to Parker before she riots.”
I feign a smile and take a step, ready to get back to painting even if it is difficult to concentrate
with Jonas mere steps away from where I’m working.
“Jenna.” Jonas stops me with a hand on a ladder rung. His eyes burn dark and heated, but he
doesn’t betray his work ethic. “Let me get this for you.”
“Pfft. You think I can’t carry a little ole ladder?” I flex my free arm. “I’m building muscle here.
Don’t spoil my fun.”
I give him a genuine smile, which he returns. “Girl power.”
“Woman power.” I purse my lips and kiss the air, unable to help myself from teasing him. “Back
to work.”
 Parker’s moved on to the second window by the time I return. I set up the ladder and get back to
work on the doorframe.
“You and Jonas kept in touch all these years?” Parker picks the conversation back up, focusing on
Jonas and me again. I’m happy she’s moved away from my father, but not so sure I want to get into
anything regarding Jonas. “Not really. We bumped into each other the other night at Justice’s house.
Justice owns Home Wreckers Construction. He and one of my best friends live across the street from
my roommates and me.”
I’m rambling, but it gets my mind off the actual run-in event. I cringe, still embarrassed about
losing my–
“So you and Jonas hooked back up recently?” Her voice lilts innocently enough, but I’m instantly
on the defense.
“Oh, we haven’t hooked up. It wasn’t like that at all.” I fluster and swipe across the blue tape
protecting the door frame. My stomach erupts with a case of butterflies. My cheeks warm, and I’m
suddenly hot with too many layers of clothing. “We’re old friends catching up, that’s all.”
“Oh, of course.” Parker steps off the ladder and chuckles. Her eyes twinkle as her cheeks plump
with glee. “Wardrobe malfunctions happen to the best of us.”
If she knew the half of it. Wardrobe malfunctions and mishaps are the story of my life lately. I’ve
managed to get Jonas out of his clothes once, which was a less-than-stellar performance on my part.
“I threw up on him,” I blurt, then back the embarrassing truth with a lie. “This is penance.” But
helping out here is far from punishment. I love it.
“That’s one way to get a man’s attention.” She dips her brush into the paint bucket, then steps back
onto the ladder and takes a swipe across the crease at the top of the window. “Any man who can stand
the sight of a woman who’s hurled on him is a keeper.”
My cheeks flush hot, more embarrassed now than before. But Parker stuns me speechless as she
goes about painting unfazed.
“Jonas might downplay emotion at work, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. He can’t lie his
way out of a paper bag.” She glances over her shoulder at me and winks as she raises her brush. “I
guarantee you’re not just a blip on his radar.”
Any trace of reluctance and lack of trust leaves my body with my next breath.

***

Jonas
Connor O’Reilly, the lead architect from Arcs and Angles, stops by midafternoon. A young boy
wearing an orange vest and hard hat hurries beside him, wild-eyed and ready for action.
“Good to see you again, Jonas.” Connor carries a clipboard with specification details for each of
the homes in the subdivision. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing my helper. This is Christopher.”
“Wow! This is so cool!” The boy stands dutifully by Connor’s side.
“Not at all.” I tip the boy’s hard hat. “Take a look around, Christopher, if that’s all right with
Connor.”
“Can I?” He leans his head back so far, the oversized hat slips backward.
“Sure. Stay out of trouble, and don’t touch anything. Looks like wet paint.”
The boy scampers off to explore while Connor and I discuss business.
“It’s coming along nicely in here. You’re making great headway.” Connor tips his clipboard to
show me a few drawings. “Do you think you could pull something like this off in one of the spare
bedrooms? We want to create an office study here with plenty of shelving for books and a twin
Murphy bed behind the lower cabinetry for functionality.”
“Sure. That doesn’t look like it’ll be an issue.” I study the drawing. Langford Enterprises doesn’t
spare any expense in meeting the needs of the prospective occupants as long as it’s something within
reason. Customization is what I look forward to the most on these projects. It’s helped me learn how
to modify the Skoolie. “If we place hinges on this panel and insert drawer slides, we can create a
hideaway desktop. That’d cut down on furniture expenses for the new homeowner.”
“I like that idea.” Connor circles the area and makes notes. “Ezra has an open account at the
hardware store. Pick up any supplies there. Let me know if they don’t have what you need.”
“Will do.” I scribble notes on a piece of torn cardboard and stuff it in my coverall pocket. “I’ll
get started on this as soon as the paint dries.”
“Parker’s here. She let me help paint around the bottom of a window.” Christopher tears into the
room, bright-eyed with excitement. “Can we come back and help some more? Please?”
“That’s up to Jonas and your mom.” Connor raises his brows. “Do you have room for more
volunteers over the weekend?”
“The more, the merrier.”
“Yes!” Christopher fist-punches the air. “Can we find Finn next? I bet he’ll let me hammer
something.”
“Not today.” Connor pockets his mechanical pencil and rests his hand on Christopher’s shoulder.
“I’ve got to get back to the office. Ginger’s expecting you at the community center for the after-school
program.”
“All right.” Christopher rolls his head back with a loopy grin on his face. “Ginger always has
snacks.”
The kid’s lucky he has a male mentor in his life. Mom and Harper did their best, teaching my
brother and me how to be good men, but a male role model earlier in life would have been nice.
Someone to teach me how to tinker with cars, build stuff, and keep my nose clean when the going got
tough.
“Hey, wait up.” Parker rounds the corner as she unzips her coveralls and wiggles them down her
short legs. “Can I catch a ride into town? Killian’s stuck in a meeting, and I need to relieve Gillian at
the bookstore so she can get back to the antique shop.”
“No problem. Looks like you get the backseat, kiddo.” Connor slides the hard hat off
Christopher’s head and tousles his hair. “Thanks again, Jonas. See you, Saturday.”
“Anytime.”
“I like her. Don’t screw it up.” Parker nudges me as she slides past. She drops the cotton
coveralls in my hands and graces me with her signature sly grin. “Wardrobe malfunction, yeah, right.”
Her laugh carries through the brisk air, stopping only when she closes the car door.
A few hours later, when the sun’s setting, it’s time to wrap things up for the day. The last volunteer
leaves while Jenna stays behind to help me clean brushes.
“You did great today. Barely a speck of paint on you.” Can’t say the same for me. The paint
sprayer nozzle needs to be replaced. It sputtered and spat like a caged cat as I finished the last room.
“What do you think?”
“About the masterpiece you’re wearing or the house?” She grins as she dries her hands.
“Smartie.” I snatch the towel and snap it at her. She grabs it and tugs urging me closer. “The
house, the work.”
 “Watch it. I fight dirty.” She prefaces her warning with a healthy chortle. A sheen of sweat glistens
across her brow. “Is it weird if I kind of love it? I’ll be sore from all the stretching, but it feels great
moving around and seeing progress.”
“Not weird at all. Glad to hear it. You’re a natural.” She rolls her eyes. I wrap the towel around
her waist and pull her closer still. “I mean it. You’re getting your hands dirty and working that ladder
like a boss.”
“Never underestimate the power of a woman.” She has a satisfied glow about her that sinks into
my skin and tingles through my veins.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I shouldn’t behave unprofessionally on the job site, but the crew’s gone for the day. It’s unlikely
River or Justice will barge through the door. I lower my head and lift her chin as I wrap my arm
around her lower back. My lips graze hers in a youthful dance.
She wraps her arms around my neck and laces her fingers through my hair. Her fingers massage
my scalp, and the tingling continues, puckering my skin from head to toe.
“Mmm...that was nice,” she purrs as I rest my forehead to hers.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“You’ve got a lot I want to see.”
Her contagious smile spreads across my lips, and I take one more long, lingering kiss before
stealing her away into the night.
 BIGGER THAN A BREAD BOX
CHAPTER 8

***

Jenna
Jonas locks up the house for the night. It’s a beautiful evening with a comfortable, cool breeze. We
step onto the hard dirt yard and head toward the street.
“Where are we going?” I pull a set of keys from my pocket and dangle them in the air. “We can
take my car this time.”
“Let’s walk.” He grabs the keys from my hand and pockets them, then laces his fingers with mine.
I cozy to his side with an open heart and joy spreading through my bones. “I want to show you what
I’ve been working on in my spare time.”
We leave my car behind and walk the distance to his home on wheels. I’ve wanted a glimpse
inside since I first saw the place. It’s peaceful and quiet, with the setting sun’s warm glow spreading
across the neighborhood. A far cry from the din and dirt daily construction stirs up.
“Is it bigger than a bread box?” I tease, hoping for a peek inside Jonas’ inner sanctum.
“Bigger than a thousand bread boxes.” He chuckles and squeezes my hand as he bumps against my
hip and shoulder. “I want to show you where I live.”
“Ooh. I’ve been hoping for a peek inside.” I hug his arm as we walk. “I looked up Skoolies on the
internet after we met up the other day. There’s a whole cult thing surrounding these things. Owning
and outfitting one of them is like being part of some super club.”
We reach the Skoolie steps, and Jonas threads his key through the lock. He turns to face me before
opening the doors.
“No one’s been inside since I gutted the place.” Worry creases his brow. His vulnerability is
endearing. It tugs at my heartstrings and deepens my trust in him. “Be kind. It’s a work in progress.”
“I could never be anything but kind to you, Jonas.”
Jonas pushes open the door and steps inside. I follow, recalling any number of buses I found on
Pinterest. Each suited to life on the road. Is traveling the country still his dream, or is there room in
his plans for more?
A quiet hush falls over me when I take in my surroundings. I’m wide-eyed and stunned. His home
is nothing like I’d imagined, even after looking at bus interiors into the wee hours of Sunday night.
The craftsmanship is meticulous to the tiniest detail, with stained wood lining the ceiling, walls, and
floor.
“What do you think?” Jonas snatches a crumpled piece of clothing from a cushioned bench. He
tosses it to the driver’s seat and quickly yanks a curtain closed, hiding that area of the bus. “It’s not
finished.”
“It’s amazing.” I run my fingers over the length of a stainless steel countertop. The space feels
cozy but not claustrophobic. It fits his personality. Thoughtful and detail-oriented, but not overdone.
“I got the building bug on my first construction site, and things kind of snowballed from there.”
Jonas fidgets nervously. His eyes light up, and a boyish grin full of pride spreads across his face.
“There’s more I’d like to do, but this is the bones of it.”
 “You did all this? Nothing prefab?” I’m struck by his talent. I’ve only seen him in paint mode, but
that’s apparently a fraction of his skill set.
“Not a chance. This is where I hone my skill. See what works and what doesn’t. I’ve become
more aware of utilizing small spaces while outfitting the place.” He shuffles past me, opening hidden
storage areas. “If I had more time, the place would be done by now. I work on it between housing
projects and at the end of the work day.”
“No rest for the weary.” I lean my head to see what’s behind him, curious to learn more about the
man and what his creative mind and hands can do. “Mind if I have a look?”
“Help yourself. I’m still tiling the bathroom floor.” He guides me through the living space to a
narrow bathroom. “I couldn’t sleep after running into you Friday. I was up most of the night setting the
tile in here.”
“Oh, gee. I made a fool of myself.” I palm my face, still embarrassed at my less-than-stellar
performance. “Getting sick on a guy is the surest way to run him off. It’s like date two-hundred-to-
never-supposed-to-happen.”
Jonas slinks his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I’ll play doctor to your patient from
date number one.”
“Aww, that’s the sweetest, but I might swear off tequila forever.” I brush my hands over his chest,
enjoying the muscled terrain of his abs and pecs. “But not Chunky Monkey ice cream. Ice cream never
does a woman wrong.”
He smirks and lowers his lips to mine, hovering with a wisp of steamy breath lingering in the
space between us. “I’ll never do you wrong, Jenna.”
Liquid pools of heat form in his eyes, and I’m drowning in love, lust, and everything in between.
He captures my lips and sends my world spinning out of control. His reassuring words and
possessive kiss seal the deal. Any lingering doubt I have about trusting Jonas with all my secrets
fizzle as fire burns in my belly.
His fiery kiss brands my heart, marking me for life. I perch on tiptoe and press my body along his
length, needing to touch him more than my next breath. He grasps my ass with a firm hand, aligning my
hips with his.
His rigid cock bulges against me, hard and thick. I grind against him, greedy with need. My heart
pounds against my chest and echoes in my ears. Our breathing quickens with each lick and sip, tasting
and tempting each other until desire overwhelms me.
My fingers slink down his muscled torso to his belt buckle riding low at his hips. I tug the leather
from its loop and yank, freeing the end from the metal clasp. Jonas breaks the kiss, gasping as he stills
my quick fingers with his hand.
I choke back my embarrassment, mortified I’ve misread his intention. I’ve pushed him too far. My
cheeks burn, and I try to step away, but the confined space and his tight grip keep me rooted in place.
“I thought...I didn’t mean...” I stammer as my cheeks grow hotter by the second. “I did mean it, but
I didn’t mean to push.”
“Are you sure about this, Jenna?” Concern streaks across his brow.
“Wha...?” My mouth falls open, then I snap my lips shut as I process the situation. I’m confused as
I struggle to regain my composure, but my beating heart and throbbing sex aren’t ready to call it quits.
“I’m not playing games with you, Jonas. I’d never...” I jerk my hands, but he holds tight.
“I don’t want this to be a rebound thing or take advantage of the situation if you aren’t ready.” His
brow softens, and the sincerity in his voice soothes the raw spot in my heart that was cruelly trampled
by a lesser man. “I’ll help pick up your broken pieces, but I want all of you, not the leftovers of
someone else’s mess.”
“I wasn’t drowning my sorrows in ice cream over some loser. That mess is long gone.” I let a
sweet-talking fool take advantage of me. He paid the price when the guys got wind of it, and I’ve been
under everyone’s thumb ever since. Not anymore. “Everyone’s running around shielding me from life,
and I can’t breathe. While they’ve been saving me from myself, you’re teaching me to grow. You
listen to me, just like you always did. It’s what I’ve always loved about you.”
“The novelty of you has never worn off for me. I’ve always wanted you, Jenna.”
“But do you love me?”

***

Jonas
“I’ve loved you from the day we met. You ran free with your blonde pigtails bouncing in the wind,
never one to shy away from smelly boys and wild pranks.” I loosen my grip on her fingers and tuck a
wayward curl behind her ear. “You let me chase you until I was breathless.”
I tip her chin and soak in the beauty of her rosy lips and pert nose. I pull the beanie from her head
and tug the scrunchie holding her hair in place. I want her sprawled on my bed, naked and panting,
with her hair tickling my bare flesh.
“You’re shaking. Are you nervous?” My lips hover over hers with nothing but a thin veil of breath
between us. She trembles as her breath hitches. “We’ll take things slow.”
“I haven’t seen much action in a while.” Her hands find my hips and pull me closer.
“Me, neither.” I brush my lip over hers. “I don’t have time to chase skirts.”
“Are you chasing me again, like old times?” Her tongue darts out, swiping over her lower lip,
catching mine as she licks.
“Not at all.” Heat emanates from her body, reeling me in like bait. “I’m catching you and keeping
you this time.”
“Promise?” She tugs at my shirt, freeing it from the waistband. Her delicate fingers graze my hips
and lower back, circling until she’s back where she began with her fingers at my buckle.
“Promise.” I’ll love her until my dying breath if she will have me.
I nibble her lower lip, breathing her scent into my lungs. Breathing life into my soul. Her fingers
make quick work of my buckle and zipper, freeing the growing ache between my legs. I back her
against the wall, trapping her between my arms. She tilts her neck to the side as I nibble and suck,
dotting her pale skin with kisses, tasting her salty sweat, loving that she’s finally mine.
She slinks her hands into my pants. I gasp as her palm glides over my length, cradling me with a
firm yet tender touch. My flesh burns for her.
“Take me to bed, Jonas.”
She releases my cock and slinks her fingertips over my chest. Her breasts heave as she reaches
overhead. Her glassy eyes transfix on mine, and I find myself there. She’s always been the one, the
mirror to my soul, my redemption and savior.
I grip the hem of her flannel shirt and whisk it up her body, revealing a skimpy t-shirt bra that
barely holds her luscious curves in check. I pepper her neck and shoulder with kisses and draw a
finger down her cleavage. She mewls, and it’s music to my soul.
I flick the clasp behind her back. The weight of her breasts slip free from beneath the band. I slide
the thin fabric up her arms, revealing exquisite rosy buds, plump and ripe. She’s made for me.
 She squirms and cries out as I caress her breasts, then roll and pinch her nipples with my fingers,
manipulating her pleasure as the dull ache in my cock grows ravenous. I pull her nipple into my
mouth, sucking and licking the bud until she’s grinding into me, begging for more.
Her hands rake through my hair, scratching and tugging. I greedily fill my mouth with her breast,
feasting on her flesh, starving for the taste of her.
She slithers one hand between us and flips the button of her jeans. The crack of her zipper sends
goosebumps over my body. I release her nipple and shrug off my button-down, then my flannel. Her
hand disappears into her panties, and my heart thuds heavily against my chest.
She reaches for me with her free hand, fire and heat blazing in her eyes. I sink to my knees, unable
to think straight as her hand moves, bobbing up and down in circular motions beneath the fabric.
Fuck me.
I loop my thumbs inside the open zipper, pull back the flaps and yank her jeans and panty down
her legs until they pool at her feet. Her fingers glisten as they slide through her silken folds, slick and
wet. My fingers grip her hips, and she bucks forward. Her breasts bob and sway, jiggling with her
movement.
I drink in her heady arousal and grip her ass, dragging her from the wall. I lick between her
fingers and taste her tangy, sweet juices. My cock thickens and pulses, wanting to play.
“Come on my tongue, baby.” I kiss and suck, needing more of her. “Move your hand. I need to
taste you.”
She chokes out a whimper and drags her hand over her mound. She’s pink and ripe, slick and hot,
and I’m one hell of a lucky bastard.
I slide my tongue over her clit and slurp in the fragrant juice. She cries out and claws at my
shoulder and scalp while grinding against my mouth. I’m soaked with her arousal and high with her
pleasure as I lick, suckle, and kiss her sweet pussy.
Her hands grip my head like a vise. She comes hard against my lips. I continue sucking her
pulsing clit until she’s trembling, barely able to stand. Her body shakes as she crumbles against me. I
scoop her into my arms and carry her to my bed. She lies sprawled across the mattress with swollen,
bruised lips, wrecked hair, and trembling rosy flesh.
She’s my perfect hot mess.
Another random document with
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 man cannot speak but he judges himself. With
his will, or against his will, he draws his portrait to
the eye of his companions by every word. Every
opinion reacts on him who utters it. It is a thread-
ball thrown at a mark, but the other end remains
in the thrower’s bag. Or, rather, it is a harpoon
thrown at the whale, unwinding, as it flies, a coil of cord in the
boat, and, if the harpoon is not good, or not well thrown, it will
go nigh to cut the steersman in twain or to sink the boat.
You cannot do wrong without suffering wrong. “No man had
ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him,” said Burke.
The exclusive in fashionable life does not see that he excludes
himself from enjoyment, in the attempt to appropriate it. The
exclusionist in religion does not see that he shuts the door of
heaven on himself, in striving to shut out others. Treat men as
pawns and ninepins, and you shall suffer as well as they. If you
leave out their heart, you shall lose your own. The senses
would make things of all persons; of women, of children, of the
poor. The vulgar proverb, “I will get it from his purse or get it
from his skin,” is sound philosophy.
All infractions of love and equity in our social relations are
speedily punished. They are punished by Fear. Whilst I stand in
simple relations to my fellow-man, I have no displeasure in meeting
him. We meet as water meets water, or as two currents of air mix,
with perfect diffusion and inter-penetration of nature. But as soon as
there is any departure from simplicity and attempt at halfness, or
good for me that is not good for him, my neighbor feels the wrong;
he shrinks from me as far as I have shrunk from him; his eyes no
longer seek mine; there is war between us; there is hate in him and
fear in me.
All the old abuses in society, the great and universal and the petty
and particular, all unjust accumulations of property and power, are
avenged in the same manner. Fear is an instructor of great sagacity,
and the herald of all revolutions. One thing he always teaches: that
there is rottenness where he appears. He is a carrion crow, and
though you see not well what he hovers for, there is death
somewhere. Our property is timid, our laws are timid, our cultivated
classes are timid. Fear for ages has boded and mowed and gibbered
over government and property. That obscene bird is not there for
nothing. He indicates great wrongs which must be revised.
Of the like nature is that expectation of change which instantly
follows the suspension of our voluntary activity. The terror of
cloudless noon, the emerald of Polycrates, the awe of prosperity, the
instinct which leads every generous soul to impose on itself tasks of
a noble asceticism and vicarious virtue, are the tremblings of the
balance of justice through the heart and mind of man. ¶ Experienced
men of the world know very well that it is best to pay scot and lot as
they go along, and that a man often pays dear for a small frugality.
The borrower runs in his own debt. Has a man gained anything who
has received a hundred favors and rendered none? Has he gained
by borrowing, through indolence or cunning, his neighbor’s wares, or
horses, or money? There arises on the deed the instant
acknowledgment of benefit on the one part and of debt on the other;
that is, of superiority and inferiority. The transaction remains in the
memory of himself and his neighbor; and every new transaction
alters according to its nature their relation to each other. He may
soon come to see that he had better have broken his own bones
than to have ridden in his neighbor’s coach, and that “the highest
price he can pay for a thing is to ask for it.”
A wise man will extend this lesson to all parts of life, and know that it
is always the part of prudence to face every claimant, and pay every
just demand on your time, your talents, or your heart. Always pay;
for, first or last, you must pay your entire debt. Persons and events
may stand for a time between you and justice, but it is only a
postponement. You must pay at last your own debt. If you are wise,
you will dread a prosperity which only loads you with more. Benefit is
the end of nature. But for every benefit which you receive, a tax is
levied. He is great who confers the most benefits. He is base—and
that is the one base thing in the universe—to receive favors and
render none. In the order of nature we cannot render benefits to
those from whom we receive them, or only seldom. But the benefit
we receive must be rendered again, line for line, deed for deed, cent
for cent, to somebody. Beware of too much good staying in your
hand. It will fast corrupt and worm worms. Pay it away quickly in
some sort. ¶ Labor is watched over by the same pitiless laws.
Cheapest, say the prudent, is the dearest labor. What we buy in a
broom, a mat, a wagon, a knife, is some application of good sense to
a common want. It is best to pay in your land a skilful gardener, or to
buy good sense applied to gardening; in your sailor, good sense
applied to navigation; in the house, good sense applied to cooking,
sewing, serving; in your agent, good sense applied to accounts and
affairs. So do you multiply your presence, or spread yourself
throughout your estate. But because of the dual constitution of
things, in labor as in life there can be no cheating. The thief steals
from himself. The swindler swindles himself. For the real price of
labor is knowledge and virtue, whereof wealth and credit are signs.
These signs, like paper money, may be counterfeited or stolen, but
that which they represent, namely, knowledge and virtue, cannot be
counterfeited or stolen. These ends of labor cannot be answered but
by real exertions of the mind, and in obedience to pure motives. The
cheat, the defaulter, the gambler, cannot extort the benefit, cannot
extort the knowledge of material and moral nature which his honest
care and pains yield to the operative. The law of nature is, Do the
thing, and you shall have the power; but they who do not the thing
have not the power.
Human labor, through all its forms, from the sharpening of a stake to
the construction of a city or an epic, is one immense illustration of
the perfect compensation of the universe. Everywhere and always
this law is sublime. The absolute balance of Give and Take, the
doctrine that every thing has its price, and if that price is not paid, not
that thing, but something else, is obtained, and that it is impossible to
get anything without its price, is not less sublime in the columns of a
ledger than in the budgets of states, in the laws of light and
darkness, in all the action and reaction of nature. I cannot doubt that
the high laws which each man sees ever implicated in those
processes with which he is conversant, the stern ethics which
sparkle on his chisel-edge, which are measured out by his plumb
and foot-rule, which stand as manifest in the footing of the shop-bill
as in the history of a state,—do recommend to him his trade, and
though seldom named, exalt his business to his imagination.
The league between virtue and nature engages all things to assume
a hostile front to vice. The beautiful laws and substances of the world
persecute and whip the traitor. He finds that things are arranged for
truth and benefit, but there is no den in the wide world to hide a
rogue. Commit a crime, and the earth is made of glass. There is no
such thing as concealment. Commit a crime, and it seems as if a
coat of snow fell on the ground, such as reveals in the woods the
track of every partridge and fox and squirrel and mole. You cannot
recall the spoken word, you cannot wipe out the foot-track, you
cannot draw up the ladder, so as to leave no inlet or clew. Always
some damning circumstance transpires. The laws and substances of
nature, water, snow, wind, gravitation, become penalties to the thief.
On the other hand, the law holds with equal sureness for all right
action. Love, and you shall be loved. All love is mathematically just,
as much as the two sides of an algebraic equation. The good man
has absolute good, which, like fire, turns every thing to its own
nature, so that you cannot do him any harm; but as the royal armies
sent against Napoleon, when he approached, cast down their colors,
and from enemies became friends, so do disasters of all kinds, as
sickness, offence, poverty, prove benefactors.

“Winds blow and waters roll

Strength to the brave and power and deity,
Yet in themselves are nothing.”

¶ The good are befriended even by weakness and defect. As no

man had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him, so no
man had ever a defect that was not somewhere made useful to him.
The stag in the fable admired his horns and blamed his feet, but
when the hunter came, his feet saved him, and afterwards, caught in
the thicket, his horns destroyed him. Every man in his lifetime needs
to thank his faults. As no man thoroughly understands a truth until
first he has contended against it, so no man has a thorough
acquaintance with the hindrances or talents of men until he has
suffered from the one and seen the triumph of the other over his own
want of the same. Has he a defect of temper that unfits him to live in
society? Thereby he is driven to entertain himself alone and acquire
habits of self-help; and thus, like the wounded oyster, he mends his
shell with pearl.
Our strength grows out of our weakness. Not until we are pricked
and stung and sorely shot at, awakens the indignation which arms
itself with secret forces. A great man is always willing to be little.
Whilst he sits on the cushion of advantages, he goes to sleep. When
he is pushed, tormented, defeated, he has a chance to learn
something; he has been put on his wits, on his manhood; he has
gained facts; learns his ignorance; is cured of the insanity of conceit;
has got moderation and real skill. The wise man always throws
himself on the side of his assailants. It is more his interest than it is
theirs to find his weak point. The wound cicatrizes and falls off from
him like a dead skin, and when they would triumph, lo! he has
passed on invulnerable. Blame is safer than praise. I hate to be
defended in a newspaper. As long as all that is said, is said against
me, I feel a certain assurance of success. But as soon as honied
words of praise are spoken for me, I feel as one that lies unprotected
before his enemies. In general, every evil to which we do not
succumb is a benefactor. As the Sandwich Islander believes that the
strength and valor of the enemy he kills passes into himself, so we
gain the strength of the temptation we resist.
The same guards which protect us from disaster, defect and enmity,
defend us, if we will, from selfishness and fraud. Bolts and bars are
not the best of our institutions, nor is shrewdness in trade a mark of
wisdom. Men suffer all their life long under the foolish superstition
that they can be cheated. But it is as impossible for a man to be
cheated by any one but himself, as for a thing to be and not to be at
the same time. There is a third silent party to all our bargains. The
nature and soul of things takes on itself the guaranty of the fulfilment
of every contract, so that honest service cannot come to loss. If you
serve an ungrateful master, serve him the more. Put God in your
debt. Every stroke shall be repaid. The longer the payment is
withholden, the better for you; for compound interest on compound
interest is the rate and usage of this exchequer.
The history of persecution is a history of endeavors to cheat nature,
to make water run up hill, to twist a rope of sand. It makes no
difference whether the actors be many or one, a tyrant or a mob. A
mob is a society of bodies voluntarily bereaving themselves of
reason and traversing its work. The mob is man voluntarily
descending to the nature of the beast. Its fit hour of activity is night.
Its actions are insane, like its whole constitution. It persecutes a
principle; it would whip a right; it would tar and feather justice, by
inflicting fire and outrage upon the houses and persons of those who
have these. It resembles the prank of boys, who run with fire-engines
to put out the ruddy aurora streaming to the stars. The inviolate spirit
turns their spite against the wrongdoers. The martyr cannot be
dishonored. Every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame; every prison a
more illustrious abode; every burned book or house enlightens the
world; every suppressed or expunged word reverberates through the
earth from side to side. The minds of men are at last aroused;
reason looks out and justifies her own, and malice finds all her work
in vain. It is the whipper who is whipped, and the tyrant who is
undone.
Thus do all things preach the indifferency of circumstances. The man
is all. Every thing has two sides, a good and an evil. Every
advantage has its tax. I learn to be content. But the doctrine of
compensation is not the doctrine of indifferency. The thoughtless say,
on hearing these representations: “What boots it to do well? there is
one event to good and evil; if I gain any good, I must pay for it; if I
lose any good, I gain some other; all actions are indifferent.” ¶ There
is a deeper fact in the soul than compensation, to wit: its own nature.
The soul is not a compensation, but a life. The soul is. Under all this
running sea of circumstance, whose waters ebb and flow with perfect
balance, lies the aboriginal abyss of real Being. Existence, or God, is
not a relation or a part, but the whole. Being is the vast affirmative,
excluding negation, self-balanced, and swallowing up all relations,
parts and times within itself. Nature, truth, virtue, are the influx from
thence. Vice is the absence or departure of the same. Nothing,
Falsehood, may indeed stand as the great Night or shade on which,
as a background, the living universe paints itself forth; but no fact is
begotten by it; it cannot work, for it is not. It cannot work any good; it
cannot work any harm. It is harm, inasmuch as it is worse not to be
than to be.
We feel defrauded of the retribution due to evil acts, because the
criminal adheres to his vice and contumacy, and does not come to a
crisis or judgment anywhere in visible nature. There is no stunning
confutation of his nonsense before men and angels. Has he,
therefore, outwitted the law? Inasmuch as he carries the malignity
and the lie with him, he so far deceases from nature. In some
manner there will be a demonstration of the wrong to the
understanding also; but, should we not see it, this deadly deduction
makes square the eternal account. ¶ Neither can it be said, on the
other hand, that the gain of rectitude must be bought by any loss.
There is no penalty to virtue; no penalty to wisdom; they are proper
additions of being. In a virtuous action, I properly am; in a virtuous
act, I add to the world; I plant into deserts conquered from Chaos
and Nothing, and see the darkness receding on the limits of the
horizon. There can be no excess to love, none to knowledge, none
to beauty, when these attributes are considered in the purest sense.
The soul refuses all limits. It affirms in man always an Optimism,
never a Pessimism. ¶ His life is a progress, and not a station. His
instinct is trust. Our instinct uses “more” and “less” in application to
man, always of the presence of the soul, and not of its absence; the
brave man is greater than the coward; the true, the benevolent, the
wise, is more a man, and not less, than the fool and knave. There is,
therefore, no tax on the good of virtue, for that is the incoming of
God himself, or absolute existence, without any comparative. All
external good has its tax, and if it came without desert or sweat, has
no root in me, and the next wind will blow it away. But all the good of
nature is the soul’s, and may be had if paid for in nature’s lawful
coin, that is, by labor which the heart and the head allow. I no longer
wish to meet a good I do not earn; for example, to find a pot of
buried gold, knowing that it brings with it new responsibility. I do not
wish more external goods,—neither possessions, nor honors, nor
powers, nor persons. The gain is apparent; the tax is certain. But
there is no tax on the knowledge that the compensation exists, and
that it is not desirable to dig up treasure. Herein I rejoice with a
serene eternal peace. I contract the boundaries of possible mischief.
I learn the wisdom of St. Bernard: “Nothing can work me damage
except myself; the harm that I sustain, I carry about with me, and
never am a real sufferer but by my own fault.” ¶ In the nature of the
soul is the compensation for the inequalities of condition. The radical
tragedy of nature seems to be the distinction of More and Less. How
can Less not feel the pain; how not feel indignation or malevolence
towards More? Look at those who have less faculty, and one feels
sad, and knows not well what to make of it. Almost he shuns their
eye; he fears they will upbraid God. What should they do? It seems a
great injustice. But see the facts nearly, and these mountainous
inequalities vanish. Love reduces them as the sun melts the iceberg
in the sea. The heart and soul of all men being one, this bitterness of
His and Mine ceases. His is mine. I am my brother and my brother is
me. If I feel overshadowed and outdone by great neighbors, I can yet
love; I can still receive; and he that loveth, maketh his own the
grandeur he loves. Thereby I make the discovery that my brother is
my guardian, acting for me with the friendliest designs, and the
estate I so admired and envied is my own. It is the eternal nature of
the soul to appropriate and make all things its own. Jesus and
Shakespeare are fragments of the soul, and by love I conquer and
incorporate them in my own conscious domain. His virtue,—is not
that mine? His wit,—if it cannot be made mine, it is not wit.
Such, also, is the natural history of calamity. The changes, which
break up at short intervals the prosperity of men, are advertisements
of a nature whose law is growth. Evermore it is the order of nature to
grow; and every soul is, by this intrinsic necessity, quitting its whole
system of things, its friends and home and laws and faith, as the
shell-fish crawls out of its beautiful but stony case, because it no
longer admits of its growth, and slowly forms a new house. In
proportion to the vigor of the individual, these revolutions are
frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant, and all
worldly relations hang very loosely about him, becoming, as it were,
a transparent fluid membrane, through which the living form is
always seen, and not, as in most men, an indurated heterogeneous
fabric of many dates and of no settled character, in which the man is
imprisoned. Then there can be enlargement, and the man of to-day
scarcely recognizes the man of yesterday. And such should be the
outward biography of man in time, a putting off of dead
circumstances day by day, as he renews his raiment day by day. But
to us, in our lapsed estate, resting, not advancing, resisting, not co-
operating with the divine expansion, this growth comes by shocks.
We cannot part with our friends. We cannot let our angels go. We do
not see that they only go out that archangels may come in. We are
idolators of the old. We do not believe in the riches of the soul, in its
proper eternity and omnipresence. We do not believe there is any
force in to-day to rival or re-create that beautiful yesterday. We linger
in the ruins of the old tent where once we had bread and shelter and
organs, nor believe that the spirit can feed, cover, and nerve us
again. We cannot again find aught so dear, so sweet, so graceful.
But we sit and weep in vain. The voice of the Almighty saith, “Up and
onward forevermore!” We cannot stay amid the ruins. Neither will we
rely on the New; and so we walk ever with reverted eyes, like those
monsters who look backwards.
And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to the
understanding also, after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation,
a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of friends, seems at
the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the sure years reveal
the deep remedial force that underlies all facts. The death of a dear
friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation,
somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius; for it
commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an
epoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks
up a wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows
the formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character. It
permits or constrains the formation of new acquaintances and the
reception of new influences that prove of the first importance to the
next years; and the man or woman who would have remained a
sunny garden-flower, with no room for its roots and too much
sunshine for its head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect of
the gardener, is made the banian of the forest, yielding shade and
fruit to wide neighborhoods of men.
HERE ENDETH THE ENNOBLING ESSAY
ON COMPENSATION, AS WRITTEN BY
RALPH WALDO EMERSON, BORDERS
AND INITIALS DESIGNED BY ROYCROFT
ARTISTS, AND THE WHOLE DONE INTO A
PRINTED BOOK BY THE ROYCROFTERS,
AT THEIR SHOP WHICH IS IN EAST
AURORA, NEW YORK, U.S.A., IN
JANUARY, ANNO CHRISTI, MCMIV
 Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were not changed.
The purpose of the pilcrows (¶) in this book was unclear, so,
rather than treating them as indicating new paragraphs, they
have been left in the same places as in the original book.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
COMPENSATION ***

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