During lunch break, Devlin was sitting alone on the back deck. He didn’t want to make assumptions or get in the way.
Yeah, load of crap.
He wanted to get his hands back on Isobel so badly that the only safe answer was distance. Distance and—
“Who the f**k are you?” Michelle dropped a plate in his lap with a monster egg salad sandwich on a Kaiser roll and a large bag of vinegar and sea salt Kettle chips. She made a show of shaking the can of Coke hard before tossing it to him.
Then she dropped into the chair next to him with the same lunch, except he’d assume her can was unshaken, and crossed her red boots.
“Thanks, Red,” he set the unopened Coke aside carefully and bit into the sandwich. “Devlin Jones. Part-time movie fixer, do a little boat building, some specialty welding, whatever
