“We can stop arguing about you moving a shelf anytime you want.”

I’ve already filed this guy under Jerks I Want to Junk Punch. I hope someone puts Veet in his shampoo and all that luxurious, thick hair falls out. The thought of that alone makes me feel better. “I mean the noise, smartass.”

The corners of his mouth turn up slowly until he’s full on smiling. Dammit. Of course he has great teeth and a beautiful smile to go with his stupidly handsome face. All he probably has to do is flash that smile and people move shelves for him without a second thought. They probably move entire walls. And drop their damn panties, too.

He lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I guess it depends on how long you want to stand here, bickering with me. I could do this all day, but that means I’m not working, and if I’m not working the enclosure isn’t getting built. So it’s entirely up to you how long it takes.” His smile widens, likely at my appalled expression. “I’d offer to set you up with a pair of safety boots so you can keep having a go at me, but I’m not all that interested in putting a saw or a nail gun in your hands. I have a feeling it might be me you’d try to nail to the wall.”

I flash him a less than friendly smile. “I meant how long do you expect these renovations to take?” I don’t want them to interfere with my grand opening next week.

“Dunno. I’d say at least a couple of weeks, but it all depends on how often you decide to come over and give me shit.”

“So now you’re the one being inconvenienced, is that it?”

All he does is stand there with his arms crossed, wearing a telling smirk.

“Well thanks so much for making more work for me. It’s not like I don’t have enough to do right now. And I sincerely hope you’re insulating that wall because I sure don’t want an axe coming through it like some kind of B-rated horror movie!”

I spin on my heel and try to yank the door open with a dramatic flair, but of course the stupid wind-suction means I have to use both hands, which completely ruins the impact.

Once the suction seal is broken, the door flies open and I stumble back, almost landing on the filthy floor. I don’t look back as I regain my composure, straighten my spine and exit his crappy pub.

“It was really nice to meet you, Blaire,” he calls out after me, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’m Ronan Knight, by the way, thanks for asking, and for being so understanding about the renos!”

Well, now the name of the bar makes sense. Of course he has a super hipster, but also highly masculine name that’s just as sexy as he is. Jerk.

He rattles the box with the broken glass. “Hey! You forgot your unicorn dreams!”

I consider flipping him the bird, but that would mean stooping to his level and I’m unwilling to play his game. “Kiss my cupcake!” I shout over my shoulder, wishing my wit had kicked in earlier. I stalk angrily down the sidewalk and nearly lose my footing for what seems like the hundredth time this morning when I step in something slippery. I glance down and gag, then tip my chin up to the sky. “Seriously?”

Of course I stepped in the dog-doo.

Because today hasn’t been ruined enough by my new jerk of a neighbor.

I remove the offending shoe—the yellow flower is stuck to the bottom—and try not to breathe in the noxious odor. Daphne looks up from the bar where she’s currently on her phone posting photos when I hobble back into my shop, my soiled shoe dangling from my finger.

Daphne’s expression is somewhere between incredulous and questioning as she gives me a quick once-over. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend Blaire?”

“What?”

“Since when do you go around confronting complete strangers?”

She makes a good point. “Since I don’t have enough money to replace that stupid glass. Everything I have is tied up in here.” I wave my poopy shoe around. “I need this place to do well, Daph. I want to prove I can succeed on my own—with your help, obviously, and Paul’s—but this needs to work out. I can’t go to my family for help. They’re too…”

“Crazy? Meddling? Impossible to deal with?” Daphne suggests.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I gotta say, this new, bolder you is something I can definitely get used to. You’re finally growing into your lady balls.” She grins and nods to the shoe still dangling from my finger. “What happened?”

“I stepped in crap. Literally.”

“Next door?”

“No. Out there.” I motion to the sidewalk and hobble-weave my way through the tables all the way to the back door. I throw it open angrily and debate whether I should toss the shoe. I leave it outside, fairly confident no one is going to touch it.

I wash my hands before I return barefoot and still very much annoyed. Especially when the banging starts up again, and it seems like it’s even more vigorous than it was before.

“So what’s going on over there?”

“The lumberjerk next door is putting in an axe-throwing enclosure.”

Daphne’s eyes flare. “Lumberjerk?”

“He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt, wandering around with an axe. And get this: His name is Ronan, totally a hipster, right? He probably changed it from something far more pedestrian, like Robert or Bill. His hair looks like it’s styled with pomade. All he was missing was the lumber-beard and the black-rimmed glasses.”

Daphne holds up a hand. “Wait. Flannel in August?” Daphne asks. I’m glad she seems appropriately horrified by that fashion travesty.

“Or maybe it was plaid and I’m making up the flannel part. Regardless, he was wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt with another shirt under it. In August. Totally ridiculous. And he’s a completely condescending jerk! Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me I should move my shelf because he’s putting in an axe-throwing enclosure? Who even likes throwing axes other than barbarians?”

“Uh, axe throwing is pretty popular these days.”

I give her a look that tells her how much I don’t appreciate her opinion on this. Or the fact that she is most certainly correct. “That’s not the point. The point is he’s inconveniencing me by using our adjoining wall for his freaking axe throwing! Why should I have to move my glassware for him? Moving that shelf means I’ll have to adjust the entire layout. What a selfish bastard.”

“Or do you mean shelf-ish bastard?” Daphne grins, and I fight one of my own.

“That was ridiculously lame.”

“And yet, still funny.”

I roll my eyes. “I need to tackle the shelf.”

“Leave the shelf where it is.”

“Why? We can’t even put anything on it. Or hang stuff from that freaking wall if Lumberjerk is going to be throwing axes at it. And there’s still a bar in there! How can they serve alcohol and wield axes? That seems outlandishly unsafe.”

“There’s protocol. And inspections.”

I tap my lip, considering my options. “Inspections?”

Daphne shakes her head and raises a hand. “Don’t start a war before you’ve even opened your doors, Blaire.”

“You didn’t meet him. He’s a grade-A a-hole extraordinaire.” Although, she does have a point. “I’ll tuck that piece of information in my pocket in case I need it.”