“Ouch!” I grunted. Had I seriously run into a wall again?
“Good morning, Miss Wheeler,” Rhett returned, unmoved after I barreled into his back like the car in a crash test.
Definitelynota wall.
My cheeks flamed for what felt like the seventieth time in twenty-four hours. Of course my straightlaced, stony-faced handyman had to witness my inherent chaos firsthand. “Please just call me Georgie,” I replied and tucked my hair behind both ears.
He was early.
Earlier than what Ithoughtwas early. Which was, admittedly, being on time.
Edging around him toward the door of Marigold’s, he was silent as I shoved the key in the lock and wiggled it. I sighed. It wasn’t budging. Shouldering the wood frame, I crammed the key in again and jostled the handle.
Rhett cleared his throat. “If I may.” He extended his palm, features completely unreadable.
I swallowed my frustration, offered him a sunny smile, and handed him the key while I stepped aside. Propping my hands on my hips, I watched with disguised annoyance as he gingerly slid the key in and turned the lock. The door opened with a wail. But itopened. I quickly picked up my scowl before he could see.
He held it ajar for me, stooping for his tool bag before following me inside. No further words passed between us as I readied the shop.
Rhett hardly made a sound—aside from the floorboards that shifted beneath each heavy footstep—as he moved from one faulty or crumbling area of the shop to the next. I watered the ferns by the windowsill and the hanging Monstera. He prodded the mysterious water stained patch of drywall on my ceiling with the end of his measuring tape. I propped the door open. He peered up at the awning and took several pictures of the bent arm.
I was sitting behind the counter, face in my hands, having watched him for what felt like hours. Two thingswere percolating in my mind: I wasn’t too sure how much of Marigold’s would be left standing after he ceased with his poking, and this wouldn’t be survivable without coffee.
“I’m going to grab some coffee from the Morning Bell,” I announced, slinging my tote bag over my shoulder. Rhett didn’t move from his crouched spot in the corner as he jabbed the floor with the end of his stylus. “Do you… want anything?” I added.
He looked up then, the first vestiges of interest shining in his eyes. “Black coffee. Please.”
My nose wrinkled. Rhett’s eyebrows drew together.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, caught off-guard by his sudden articulation. “It’s just, uh… interesting.” I narrowly avoided saying “disgusting”.
Rhett shrugged and returned to his work.
I hustled out the door, a growing smile on my face as I marched across the road. That cup of sweet, icy goodness was arguably the best part of my day. I always thought Rachel was the weirdo for drinking coffee devoid of any sugar. It turned out, she wasn’t the only weirdo I knew.
A few people were already scattered across the shop when the bell announced my entrance.
“For a moment there, I thought you weren’t coming in,” Rachel mused, pushing off the counter beside the espresso machine. “I was about to check outside and see if the sky was falling.”
Sighing, I plopped my bag onto the counter and retrieved my wallet. “Funny. I didn’t sleep at all last night. And I have a…guestover at the shop.”
She leaned forward and dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Do tell.”
“It’s a long story—but… he’s fixing up Marigold’s.” I slipped my credit card out and waved it. “This should work, by the way.”
Rachel frowned at it.
“I… please?” Glancing around the shop, I whispered, “I can’t deal with any moresympathyright now.”
Rachel drew a long breath and reluctantly took it from me. We had an unspoken understanding. She was an open ear that didn’t guilt me when I refused help, and I never brought up the fact that her best friend, Ben, was hopelessly in love with her. I tried once. It didn’t go so well.
“Your usual?”
“And a black coffee.” The words made me grimace.
Rachel laughed as she rang me up and returned the card. “Your handyman has taste.”
