Page 95 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

“Don’t press your luck, Sunshine.”

His hands settled at my waist and his fingers flexed, and his lips curled in a half-grin. “No luck needed.”

I narrowed my eyes, as I fought a smile. “Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not smug.”

“You’re extremely smug.”

“Maybe you like smug.”

“Maybe I tolerate smug because it comes with abs.”

He kissed me again, quick and smiling this time, before stepping away.

I caught the front of his shirt. “Are you coming inside?”

“In a minute.”

He reached for his screwdriver again.

I groaned. “Dean.”

“Just one more thing I need to check.”

I suppressed an internal sigh. “You said that yesterday.”

“And your kitchen faucet doesn’t leak anymore,” he reasoned.

Leak?

Now who was being dramatic?

“It dripped twice a day,” I reasoned.

“And now it doesn’t.”

I watched him turn back toward the porch light, and affection rolled through me, warm and familiar.

That was Dean. He noticed things. Then he fixed them.

The porch light. The faucet. Maverick’s bike. The loose railing. The drawer in my kitchen that was sticking.

If something in my life was broken, Dean showed up with a toolbox, a plan, and the absolute certainty that he could make it better. And I loved that about him. I loved the way he took care of Maverick. I loved the way he took care of me. But sometimes, in the quiet corners of my brain where old insecurities liked to set up camp, I wondered if maybe he loved being needed more than he loved me.

Dean was a fixer.

A rescuer.

The guy who flew in when everything went to hell and somehow made the impossible look manageable. And my life had certainly given him plenty of opportunities to play hero.

What happened when I didn't need saving anymore?

“Hey,” I said.

He glanced over at me. “Yeah?”

“You know you don’t have to do all this, right?”