Nobody Does It Better(10)
“I know, but I wanted to say hi and thank you. Also, hurry on in. It’s snowing. And yes, I know I just pointed out the obvious.” Then she adds with a sexy little pout, “But that’s because I’m a helpful snow bunny.”
Laughing, and liking that she’s using her nickname, I look up at the sky as it tosses flakes at us like confetti. “It is indeed snowing. As much as I’d like to trade more snow names with you, let me tend to the gutters first since, well, I don’t imagine you want to have it on your conscience if I have to climb up on the roof later in a blinding snowstorm, during which I trip, tumble to the ground, and am left to the coyotes as night falls.”
“But I bet you’d be a tasty icicle for coyotes,” she says, and I’ll hang my hat on that one adjective—tasty—as I claw my way out of snowman zone.
“I make a very good popsicle.”
Her eyes dance with mischief, and I’m ready to pump a fist. From snowman to something you suck on in twenty seconds flat. Go me.
“I’ll open the garage. Everything you’ll need is in there. Gramps said he had a chimney sweep come out at the end of the summer, so I don’t think you need to worry about the full works. But can you check and make sure there’s not a dead raccoon in there?”
I give a tip of the cap. “Raccoon inspection, at your service.”
“And while you’re inspecting the chimney, I’ll stock up on the items that shall not be named for Perri and Derek.” She drops her voice to an alluring whisper. “Seductive body wash. Tropical island-scented lotion. Sexy candles.”
I shudder, slamming my hands over my ears. Vanessa laughs, her smile wide and bright.
When I let go of my ears, she points to the house. “And after I do all the womanly stuff, how about I whip up a delicious hot chocolate? I picked up supplies at the market, and you’re definitely going to need warming up.”
I’d like to warm her up, all night long.
“Count me in.”
7
Shaw
An hour and a half later, I’m finished with the roof detail, and the sun is dropping in the sky.
Carefully, I climb down the ladder, set the tools neatly in the garage, and return to the porch. Beneath the fine dusting of flakes are pine needles and dried leaves, so I grab the broom I spotted in the garage and sweep those up, then I do the steps too.
Nothing wrong with going above and beyond.
Satisfied with my labors so far and hopeful about their ability to impress a woman—since that’s key in any manual labor—I stomp the snow off my work boots and rap on the door.
A few seconds later, Vanessa opens it, the hinges squealing in misery. “One, you don’t have to knock. Two, I think the door needs a little oil.”
I smile mischievously, unable to resist the low-hanging fruit. “Nothing wrong with a little lube now and then.”
She snickers, shaking her head in amusement.
Guess I can’t quite dial down the banter all the way. But who wants an off-switch on a dirty mind anyway?
I find the WD-40, oil up the hinges, and return the can to the garage once more. Then I tug open the newly silent door, dusting snowflakes off my hair.
Vanessa scurries over. “Wait. You still have some snowflakes on you.” Reaching up, she lightly swipes a hand over my head.
Why, thank you, manual labor. Thank you very much.
“I think you missed a spot.” I tap the back of my skull.
With a smile, she brushes her hand against me once more. I nearly purr. I might even arch my back.
I head inside, shed my coat, remove my boots, and issue a report. “The gutters are cleaned, the chimney is topped off with a quick brushing, and as a special bonus just for you, there are no raccoon bodies inside it.”
She breathes a big sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Not just for us, but for the wildlife.”
“It’s best for everyone if the raccoons get to keep being bandits.” I lift my nose, catching a whiff of something. “What did you do in here? It smells like . . .” As I step into the spacious living room, I sniff a little more, trying to detect the scent. “Like juniper and sage maybe? Hey, are you secretly a Starbucks barista whipping up juniper lattes?”
She shuts the door behind me, reaching for my coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. “As a matter of fact, in the last hour, I’ve converted this cabin into a clandestine Starbucks. Be prepared for an onslaught of lumberjacks and wood nymphs.”
“You don’t say?”
“Word is there are plenty of both around here.”
“I was aware of lumberjacks, but wood nymphs who like coffee drinks? That’s news to me.”
“Have you had those juniper lattes? They’re incredible.”
“You won’t get any argument from me.”
She arches a brow. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who orders a juniper latte. How did you wind up with one?” Then her face darkens, and she shakes her head. “That was a stupid question. You probably had one on a date.”
She spins around, heading for the kitchen, and I need to dispel that notion right now, even though I am savoring the hint of jealousy in the word date. “I didn’t have one on a date. Mrs. Jansen bought me one when I helped her fix a broken pipe in her yarn shop.”