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She hadn’t stepped away and he could hear the voice of a boy on the cusp of becoming a man at the other end of the line. “Mom, I think you should come home. Grandpa and I were doing some work in the bathroom and… mistakes were made.”
Tracy’s lightly golden skin paled at his words. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Is Dad okay?”
“We’re fine, but…” the boy’s voice cracked. “There’s a lot of water. And Grandpa’s cussing, like, a lot.”
A sense of purpose filled him, replacing the bumbling, silent, broken fool who’d been sitting there, waiting for something to happen. Well, something was happening now with a big, neon, flashing sign that pointed to him and read, “Off your ass and on your feet, soldier. Your woman needs help.”
He didn’t know when he’d become the kind of man who let the world pass him by while he sat around with his thumb up his ass, but that shit stopped now.
Cutter slugged back what was in his cup before he rose and took the pot out of her suddenly trembling grasp to set it on the table. She was fumbling with the tie of her apron when he lifted the phone from her fingers and held it so they could both talk.
“Hey, Aidan. My name’s Cutter and I’m going to drive your mom home. I’ve been working construction for a few years, so why don’t you tell me a little more about what you guys were doing and what happened?”
He was only inches away from her, his body instinctively cradling hers to cover and support as he inhaled her scent ? coffee and sweet pastry and warm vanilla. His blood heated with the temptation to put his lips on hers and feast, but there were more immediate needs at hand.
Tracy turned in his almost-embrace and, just like in his dreams, dropped her forehead to his shoulder for a moment.
In that second, Cutter found his place in the world.
The boy’s voice faded as he skimmed his lips over her hair, breathing her in until that scent embedded itself in his brain. His mutilated right hand rose to fit itself into the subtle dip at her waist and for just that moment, everything was perfect.
Then she raised her head and nodded, bringing them back to reality and the crisis unfolding on the phone.
It was the work of minutes for her to remove her apron and hand off control to the cheerful young woman behind the counter.
“Go, Tracy,” said the woman, the blue streaks in her hair gleaming. “I’ve got this. You go take care of things at home.”
“Thanks Miri.” Tracy pressed the other woman’s hands. “I don’t know how long this’ll take.”
“Don’t worry. You made me a manager for a reason. Now go.” The blue haired girl waved her boss to the door, where Cutter waited. “Take good care of her, mister.”
“I promise,” he answered, knowing that he meant far more than she asked.
They were waved out of the cafe with good wishes from the regular customers. The woman he’d come to feel protective about was important to them and it made him proud of what she’d achieved here.
Cutter ushered Tracy to his pick-up and steadied her as she climbed in. As she reached for the seat belt, he laid his hand on her thigh and let it rest there lightly. “You good?”
She took a deep breath, which he watched in discreet admiration, and nodded. The seat belt clicked and she covered his hand with her own, squeezing lightly. “I’m good. Thank you, Cutter.”
As they drove, he called Anya Saddaf, his boss at Tower Construction.
“Hey Anya.”
“Cutter.” Anya had served in the Navy before she joined Tower as project manager. For a small woman, she was tough enough to handle the rough men who made up the construction crews without backing down. She was low-key terrifying, and Cutter respected the hell out of her. “You’re usually in by now. Everything okay?”
“Got a bit of an emergency and I don’t know yet how long it’ll be.”
Tracy leaned forward and reached out to touch his knee. “Hi Anya, it’s Tracy Navarro.”
“Is everything all right?” asked his boss.
“I’m not sure yet. I just got a call from Aidan. He and Dad were going to do some work on the bathroom before they went camping for the weekend, but he called and said there was water everywhere. Cutter’s driving me home and we’ll see what’s happening.”
“Gotcha. Well, we’re still waiting for the last load of drywall to get here to replace the one that showed up with mold, so it’s a lot of hurry up and wait onsite. Don’t worry about coming in today, although the guys will miss your cheerful, smiling face.”
He snorted. Yup, that was him. Mr. Good Times on the job.
“Have you ever seen him smile?” asked Tracy, relaxing enough to banter with Anya.
