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He picks up on the first ring. “Elana, everything okay?”
“Not particularly, no.” The water continues to rush out behind me. How much can this thing hold?
“I’ll be right over.” He hangs up before I can tell him what’s amiss, and the doorbell rings thirty seconds later.
“Did you drop everything and run over here?” I ask.
He nods and pushes past me, following the sound of the water. Wielding some large pipe, he heads straight for the broken pipe. The water slows and comes down to a trickle until it finally stops.
“Did you call your landlord?” Ryan asks.
“Of course. No answer, as usual.” I grab a waterlogged towel and wring it out in the kitchen sink before dropping it back on the floor to soak up more of the soapy liquid.
Ryan growls. “I’m giving this man a piece of my mind. What he’s doing with this place should be illegal.”
I’m thankful I never shared the man’s name or phone number with my new boss. The last thing I need is for him to go off on Mr. Jones. Despite the progress we’ve made the past few weeks, we’re not out of the woods yet. With my job up in the air, now is not the time to get evicted. “It’s not that bad. And even you have to admit the washing machine leaking was a fluke.”
Ryan puts his wrench on the counter and crouches down to help me mop up. “That faucet breaking wasn’t a fluke. The knob’s stripped, and those pipes should have been replaced years ago. Did you see how corroded they are? For all we know, it’s what messed up your washer. How old is it?”
“I have no idea. It came with the place.” I squeeze out another set of towels.
“In that case, it is his responsibility to fix or replace it.” He stands up and towers over me, dripping bath towel in hand.
“Right. Like that’s going to happen.” I join him, and our upper arms and shoulders touch as we both stand over the small kitchen sink. “You don’t have to do this. I’ve got it from here.”
“I know.” His voice is deep and extra gravely. Not in the way he sounds when he’s laying down the law at work. This is richer. Less menacing. And the sound sends shivers down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold soapy water running over my hands.
“I appreciate the help. Let me make it up to you with dinner.” We’ve shared plenty of meals these past two weeks, working late and running all over town, making sure the shoot runs as smoothly as possible.
“I’ll cook. Bring your laundry. You can use my washer and dryer. They both actually work.” Ryan drops his towels back on the floor to soak up the last of the water.
“Not much of a thank you for your help if you do all the cooking,” I say, struggling to put the words together with him so close.
“It would make me happy.” He stares into my eyes and reaches up, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I stop breathing, don’t dare to move. I fight the urge to let my eyes shut and tip my head back. Instead, I zero in on his lips, hoping he’ll grab me and kiss me the way he has every night in my dreams.
“You can bring dessert. Nothing too sweet.” He pulls his hand away from my face and turns. Without another word or a glance back, he walks out of my place and back into his house.
Chapter Four
Ryan
“Head in the game.” I stare in the rear-view mirror for emphasis before getting out of the car to meet with Pat Dorchester and a silent investor I wasn’t aware of until this morning when they called this meeting. I have a feeling I need to bring my A game, and that means getting Elana out of my mind. At least temporarily. It’s easier said than done, especially after dinner last night. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to kiss her when she showed up on my doorstep with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
“There you are, Matthews.” Pat Dorchester stands up when I walk up to the table at the coffee shop across town he wanted to meet at.
“How was the cruise?” I ask. The man has a nice tan, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that makes me doubt he relaxed during his time away.
“Fine, but too short, according to my wife. This is Thomas Bunker, my silent partner.” He motions to the guy sitting behind the table, sipping coffee.
My guess is that the guy isn’t all that silent if he’s at this meeting. “Ryan Matthews. Nice to meet you.”
I hold out my hand, and the man shakes it. “Call me Tom.” He launches into a series of questions about the progress we’ve made before I get a chance to sit down.
Over coffee and surprisingly good bagel sandwiches, I catch the two men up on the progress we’ve made these past few weeks.
“Everyone’s been giving it one hundred percent, and if you ask me, we’ll have the contracts for season two by the end of the month. They’d be stupid not to renew.” I sound more confident than I feel, but it’s the only shot we have.
