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“Sounds like a plan.” She hands me the filled glass. “Let’s take a look at the list and see where I can start on repairs.”
Daisy
I spend the rest of the day poking around the house, half assessing for renovations and half assessing for my own purposes. After dinner, I head for Tom’s shop to fix his door. Am I hoping to arrive after he’s done for the day? Yep, I am. I do see the store closed for the night. I head around the side to find a door held shut by an old chair. I move the chair, and the door swings open. Definitely broken. Inside, Tom sits on a stool, eating a sandwich while staring at an old minivan.
“Interesting choice of dinner companion,” I say as I walk in. “Is she holding up her end of the conversation?”
“She is not,” he says. “One might argue that I can manage both sides by myself, but in this case, I was really hoping she’d talk to me.”
“Huh.” I walk over and pat the ancient beast. “What’s her story?”
“Family heirloom.” He takes a swig of Coke. “A hand-me-down to a single mom with five kids who really needs this old lady up and running, and I cannot figure out why she isn’t.”
“Mysterious ailment.”
“Nah. Just old age—so many ailments that I don’t know which one is keeping her bedridden. The mom can’t afford service, so I offered to ‘take a look,’ hoping I could quietly fix a few things and get her running and then say, miracle of miracles, all she needed was a couple twists of the wrench, and she started right up. But the old girl’s got so much wrong with her that I can only start fixing things and work my way down the list.”
“Which the mom is going to figure out and not appreciate the charity.”
“Yep. It is a conundrum.”
“You could barter it out, like you’re doing with me.” I walk over and peer in the minivan window to see two child seats. “Any of her kids old enough to wield a broom without breaking child-labor laws?”
He smiles. “As a matter of fact, the oldest is twelve. Old enough for odd jobs. That’s a fine idea.”
“Speaking of bartered labor, I’m guessing that’s the door you want me working on?” I point at the one I came in.
“Nah, the broken one is much worse.” He catches my look and grins. “Kidding. Yep, that’s the one. It won’t close, as you can see. I’ve played with the hinges, and I think I just made it worse.”
“I’ll take a look, and you can go back to communing with the minivan.”
I’ve fixed the door.It was the hinges plus warping from the humidity. Well, I suspect the hinge issue came from Tom trying to fix it, but I don’t say that. With his help, I plane down the wood and adjust the hinges. When I’m ready to take my leave, he says, “I owe you a drink for that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Can I get you one anyway? I have cheese puffs.”
I smile. “How can I resist?” Which is true. I can’t think of a way to refuse without being rude. It isn’t as if I need to rush back to the house.
“Excellent. I will even show you my secret sunset-viewing spot.”
He opens a closet door at the back of the shop to reveal metal steps, and I’m about to joke about taking me to his room. If there was anything flirtatious in the invitation, I would make the joke. Not to reciprocate the flirting, but to force him to make a response—either insist that’s not his goal or test the waters. Either would give me the chance to shut him down before expectations rose above sea level. Yep, I know all the tricks.
There have been zero flirty vibes, though. He’s treated me exactly the way he did when we were kids—as a fellow human he likes hanging out with. His dad had taken our friendship as one more sign that his son wasn’t as masculine as he should be. And by “not masculine,” he meant “probably gay.” The flirting with Celeste suggests that’s not the case.
Either way, I don’t comment, and Tom leads me up. At the top, he swings open a hatch to let the evening light filter down, and I may emit a girlish squeal.
He grins down at me, and the falling light catches his hair, the red highlights glittering like sunset streaks in a dark sky. His eyes glitter, too, the warmest deep brown. Then there’s the smile. That smile is a crime against nature. It should belong to a less attractive man, the kind of guy who, when he smiles, you notice he’s not so bad-looking after all.
Nope, doesn’t matter. He can make my insides flutter and my heart skip and my body ignite, and it doesn’t change a damn thing. He’s off-limits and, better yet, not interested, thank God.
He climbs through the hatch, and I follow to find a bachelor hideout, complete with a recliner and a mini fridge powered through a very dicey power-cord setup.
He follows my gaze. “Uh, not exactly up to code?”
I shudder. “My own code isn’t going to let me walk away from that without begging you to let me fix it before the whole shop goes up in flames.”
“I accept your offer if you’ll let me help with the reno work over at Maeve’s place.”
