Page 63 of Sincerely, Mr. Braden

My father’s eyes narrow. “Braden? Your boss?”

“My client,” I correct, heat rising on my cheeks.

He scoffs. “Like that’s any better.”

“Dad, please.”

Seth extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

My father eyes his hand before shaking it. “Sure it is,” he grumbles. “So what’s the client doing in my kitchen?” He lifts his chin to Seth. “You always make house calls for business?”

“No, sir. I’ve never been lucky enough to meet anyone like Taylor who made me want to.” Seth’s lips curve up in the easy smile that I would have bet would put anyone at ease, except my father’s expression doesn’t soften. It hardens.

“Damn right you’re lucky,” my father says. “She’s one of a kind, and don’t you forget it.”

“Dad,” I say, surprised by the threat and also sort of warmed by it.

“It’s okay. I respect a man who protects his daughter,” Seth says, as patient as ever. Then he meets my father’s scrutinizing gaze with a steady, kind one.

My father mumbles something. The wrench slips from his hand and clanks to the floor. “Son of a—” he mutters, reaching for it, but he fumbles it again.

“Dad, why don’t you go rest, and I’ll call the plumber.”

“I don’t need a damn plumber,” he snaps, leaning back under the sink.

Fighting my frustration, I try to keep my voice even. “You’re going to get worse instead of better if you keep this up.”

Seth crouches beside him, unbothered by my father’s glare. “What’s going on under there?”

“I’m watching a circus. What do you think is going on? I’m fixing a damn pipe.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Seth asks.

“I do, actually,” my father grits out, and lies back. When he lifts the wrench, it slips from his fingers, barely missing his face.

“Dad!” I gasp.

“I’m fine.” He snags the wrench again and tries to unscrew something. Barney whines, sticking his nose under the other side of the sink. My father struggles with the wrench and curses.

“Sure you don’t want a hand?” Seth asks gently. “I’ve had to fix a few of these before. They can be tricky.”

My father grunts. “This isn’t like fixing a deal.”

“It sure isn’t. It’s ten times more difficult, but when you grow up without running water, you learn to treasure it when you get it.”

My father’s hand stills, and he eyes Seth, his jaw tight. The tool slips again, but he catches it, muttering to himself.

I crouch to look at him under the sink and put one arm around him. “Dad, why don’t you let me do it—”

“I said I’m fine.” His tone is cutting but tired.

Seth hands him the wrench. “Looks like the nut is stripped.”

My father grunts. “Been wrestling with it for half an hour.”

“They’re a nightmare when they’re stripped. Mind if I give it a shot? My grandfather showed me a trick when I was a kid. Been using it ever since,” Seth says.

My father hesitates, working his jaw. “Is your grandfather a plumber?”