Description
Hiring Beckett Callahan to fix my porch? Smart.
Letting him stay after I tripped over his forgotten ladder and broke my ankle? Definitely less smart.
I write about fictional men like him.
Broody. Protective. Built like a lumberjack and hotter than sin.
I just didn't expect to fall for the real-life version.
We're opposites in every way.
He builds with his hands. I write about what hands like his could be doing.
He doesn't know I've been secretly writing him into my romance novel.
Or that he's the reason my steamy scenes now come with a fan and a tall glass of ice water.
Until he finds it.
Reads it.
And realizes I've been fantasizing about more than just a new deck.
And trust me, it's not just my ankle that's getting thoroughly wrecked.
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