Grace's POV
The sound of a hammer woke me at 5:45 AM.
I shot out of bed, heart racing. Who was on my property this early?
I grabbed my coat and rushed outside in my pajamas and boots. The cold hit my face like a punch, but I barely noticed because I was too focused on the BMW already parked in my driveway.
Ethan.
He was at the barn, on his knees, installing a new door. Tools spread out beside him. Fresh wood stacked neatly. Working like he'd been there for hours.
What are you doing? I demanded, marching over.
He didn't even look up. Fixing the door.
Your shift doesn't start until six-thirty.
I know. He measured a piece of wood, marked it with a pencil. The door was broken. So I'm fixing it.
With materials you bought yourself?
Yes.
Why?
Finally, he looked at me. Those gray eyes were calm, matter-of-fact. Because it needed fixing.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to stop, to leave, to stop confusing me with his helpfulness.
But the door did need fixing. Had needed it for months. And I couldn't afford the materials, let alone a handyman.
You don't have to do this, I said quietly.
I know. He turned back to his work. But I'm going to anyway.
I stood there, freezing in my pajamas, completely thrown off balance.
Marcus would have complained. Would have made a big show of doing me a favor, then held it over my head later. Remember when I fixed your door? You owe me.
But Ethan wasn't asking for anything. Wasn't even looking for a thank you.
He was just... fixing the door.
I'll make coffee, I muttered, retreating to the cottage.
Inside, I watched him through the window while the coffee brewed. Methodical. Careful. The morning light caught the angles of his face, the concentration in his expression. Like he'd done this before.
My stomach did a weird flip.
I looked away quickly, annoyed with myself. So what if he was good with his hands? So what if he looked... capable?
That didn't mean anything.
By the time his actual shift started, the barn door was perfect. Better than before.
Ethan moved on to his assigned work without a word. Feeding the animals. Cleaning enclosures. Checking water bowls.
I tried to focus on my own work. Honey needed monitoring—her puppies could come any day. The other animals needed care. And I had calls to make about the furnace situation.
But I kept watching Ethan.
He was different from yesterday. More comfortable. He moved through the sanctuary like he belonged there, talking softly to each animal as he worked. His voice was low, gentle. I found myself pausing just to listen to it.
Stop it, Grace.
Around noon, I found him sitting outside the rabbit enclosure with a book.
Not his phone. A book.
I moved closer, curious despite myself.
Veterinary Journal of Small Animal Medicine, I read over his shoulder. You're reading about rabbit nutrition?
Ethan closed the book, standing quickly. Too quickly. We were suddenly very close.
Close enough that I could see gold flecks in his gray eyes. Close enough to smell soap and something woodsy.
My breath caught.
One of your rabbits looks underweight, he said, his voice rougher than before. The brown one in the corner. I wanted to understand why.
My mouth fell open. You... researched rabbit care? On your own time?
Yes.
Why?
He looked at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because he's sick and I wanted to help.
Something in my chest cracked.
Community service workers didn't research animal care. They showed up, did their time, and left. They definitely didn't spend their lunch break reading veterinary journals.
And they definitely didn't stand this close, looking at me with eyes that made my knees weak.
I stepped back quickly. His name is Clover, I said, my voice shakier than I intended. He has a digestive issue. I've been treating him, but he's not gaining weight as fast as I'd like.
The journal mentioned a diet change. More timothy hay, less pellets. And adding pumpkin for fiber.
I stared at him. At this man who'd researched my rabbit's condition without being asked. Who stood in the cold reading veterinary journals. Who looked at me like—
No. Don't go there.
That's... that's exactly what I've been doing, I managed.
Good. He picked up his book. His fingers brushed mine as he did.
Lightning shot up my arm.
We both froze.
I should get back to work, he said, not moving.
Yeah. Me too. I didn't move either.
For three heartbeats, we just stood there. Close enough to touch. Both breathing too fast.
Then Ethan stepped back and walked away, leaving me standing there with my hand still tingling.
What was that?
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Ethan worked. I worked. We barely spoke ten words to each other.
But I couldn't stop watching him.
The way he moved—efficient, gentle. The way his shoulders flexed when he lifted feed bags. The way he talked to the animals like they understood him. The way he noticed everything: a loose fence post, a leaking water pipe, a dog limping slightly.
He wasn't just doing his time. He was paying attention.
And that terrified me.
Because I knew how to handle hostile people. Knew how to keep my walls up against men who wanted something from me.
But I didn't know how to handle someone who just... showed up. Who cared. Who fixed things without being asked.
Who made my heart race every time he looked at me.
That was dangerous.
At five o'clock, Maya's truck pulled into the driveway. She climbed out carrying two coffee cups and a grin.
Please tell me you have gossip, she said, handing me a cup. I've been dying to hear about—
She stopped mid-sentence, staring past me.
I turned to see Ethan working near the kennels, Thor's enclosure visible in the background.
Maya's eyes went wide. Who. Is. That?
The community service worker, I muttered.
That is not what community service workers usually look like. She whistled low. Grace. He's gorgeous.
My face heated. He's temporary.
Those arms are not temporary. Maya fanned herself dramatically. Does he have a—
Don't, I warned.
A girlfriend? A boyfriend? A complicated past involving international espionage?
Maya.
What? I'm just saying, if I were you, I'd
You'd what? Trust another man who's going to leave the second his time is up? My voice came out sharper than intended. I'm not doing this again.
Maya's expression softened. Grace. Not every guy is Marcus.
Maybe not. But every guy leaves eventually.
We stood in silence, watching Ethan work. He moved to a different enclosure, talking quietly to one of the dogs. Then he looked up.
And caught me watching him.
For three heartbeats, we just stared at each other across the sanctuary. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes made my stomach flip.
Heat crawled up my neck.
Then he looked away first, returning to his work.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Maya elbowed me gently. That man is trouble.
I know. My voice came out breathless.
Hot trouble.
I know.
And Grace? Maya's voice turned serious. He's looking at you like you're the only person in the world.
My heart did a stupid, dangerous flip.
No, he's not, I protested weakly.
Honey, I've watched enough people fall in love to recognize the signs. That man is halfway gone already. She squeezed my arm. The question is—are you brave enough to meet him halfway?
I can't
Can't? Or won't? Maya's eyes were kind but challenging. There's a difference.
She left twenty minutes later, but her words stayed behind, echoing in my head.
He's looking at you like you're the only person in the world.
Are you brave enough to meet him halfway?
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Ethan Kane.
About the way he fixed things without being asked. The way he researched rabbit nutrition on his lunch break. The way Biscuit trusted him instantly.
The way those gray eyes looked at me like he could see past every wall I'd built.
The way my hand had tingled when his fingers brushed mine.
Finally, I got up and walked to the window.
Ethan's car was still in the parking area.
But this time, I could see him clearly through the windshield.
Sleeping in the backseat, wrapped in blankets, using his jacket as a pillow.
My chest ached.
He wasn't staying at a hotel. Wasn't going home to some apartment.
He was living in his car.
And tomorrow morning, he'd wake up at 5:30 AM, buy materials with money he probably didn't have, and fix more things around my sanctuary.
Without asking for anything in return.
Except maybe he was asking for something. Something I'd sworn I'd never give again.
Trust.
Connection.
A chance.
Who was Ethan Kane?
And why did the thought of finding out make me feel terrified and hopeful and aware at the exact same time?
Why did my skin still tingle where he'd touched me?
Why couldn't I stop replaying the way he'd looked at me today—like I mattered, like I was worth showing up for?
I pressed my hand against the cold window and made myself face the truth I'd been avoiding all day.
Maya was right.
I was starting to fall for him.
And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.