The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(22)
“Brett and I were going to fix things around here.” His tone calmed slightly.
Fiona turned to Brett who had also entered the living room by that point. “I didn’t know you were good with tools. How long has this been going on? I may need you to come over to my place and fix a few things.”
Brett’s upper lip appeared to be sweating.
“Since he was about thirteen, I think,” Gavin said, all tension gone and a repressed smile replacing it. Hissy fit finished.
“Wow, that long?” Fiona replied.
“Goddammit!” shouted Brett. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He slapped a five-dollar bill into Gavin’s already outstretched hand and stormed off to the kitchen. “Anybody want a beer?” he called out behind him.
If you haven’t already guessed, I am in no way, shape, or form a “tidy” person. When I know company is coming over, I stuff everything in my bedroom or a closet. When I do laundry, only about thirty percent of it ever gets folded and finds its way to a dresser drawer. When I cook a meal, which I don’t do as often as I should, I first need to wash the knife and cutting board because they are still sitting in the sink from last night’s meal prep. Essentially, I was freaking the hell out the next morning in anticipation of Nate’s arrival.
Expecting that he would probably want to check out the entire house, I was left with very few options for stashing my mess. Sure, he’d seen the kitchen and living room the night before, but I’d cleared those out before Fiona had arrived—although why I even bothered doing that for her anymore was beyond me. She was well aware of my cluttered and chaotic “decorating” style. When everyone was over last night, there had been no fewer than six pairs of Rocco’s shoes crammed into the pantry, not to mention the unopened mail behind a potted plant and the giant pile of toys and clothes on my bed (or, more recently, my floor, since I’d shoved them all off before I went to sleep last night). So today I spent the entire morning alternately chugging Diet Coke and doing my best to make the house look like it didn’t belong on an episode of Hoarders. A twinge of guilt almost penetrated when Rocco came out of his room and asked what was going on with his bed.
“I made it,” I told him, assuming this was explanation enough.
“Huh?”
“You know, I tucked the sheets in the sides and arranged the comforter and pillow and stuff.”
“I don’t get it. They’re just gonna get all pulled out when I go to bed tonight.”
My kid was a genius.
“Exactly.” I kissed him on the head just as the dying doorbell wailed.
Shit, poop, shit! I wasn’t ready! I was all sweaty and I’m sure my hair was a disaster. I needed another shower after running around the house like an insane person. Well, too late now. Both hands rubbed at my cheeks.
Whatever. It wasn’t like I wanted to impress him or anything. Pshhh.
I trailed Rocco to the front door like I was approaching my execution and watched him turn the finicky knob. And there, standing on my front porch, was my executioner—all six foot whatever of him in a threadbare t-shirt designed to render women speechless and send urgent signals right to their hoo-has. His shirt impeccably showcased his muscular chest and arms, and a pair of worn army green cargo pants showcased, well, all of that. And then there was the face, which looked even more flawless than it had yesterday, if that were possible—and next to the dazzlingly panty-melting smile sat one perfect dimple. The freaking puppy had had a full spa day. How the hell was I going to resist a fluffy puppy with not just a giant pink bow but a fucking dimple?
“Hey, Rocco. Laney.” Nate pulled a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts out from behind his back. Of course he did. My stomach joined my lady bits in celebration.
“Doughnuts!” Rocco squealed.
“Will this buy my entry?” Nate asked.
“Come on in, Nate.” I stood aside and he handed the box of doughnuts to me. Hmm, apparently he didn’t want any. He bent down and picked up a bag I hadn’t noticed by his booted foot. I assumed it held his tools and supplies. He followed Rocco and me to the kitchen, closing the front door behind him.
“So you did fix it,” he observed of the knob.
“Kind of.” I twisted my mouth to the side, resigned to letting him have his way with my, um, house.
“I brought a replacement anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”
Rocco was already at the table stuffing his face with a doughnut, bits of glaze sticking to his cheeks and chin.
My kitchen was super cute, but I could see Nate’s eyes assessing it the night before and I doubted he appreciated the awesomeness of my shabby chic table and my vintage fridge. I had to admit the linoleum needed to go, and in my dreams I’d get granite countertops and maybe even an island. But the kitchen as a whole was actually quite roomy, and nobody could argue against the big picture window that gave a primo view of the backyard. I’d dressed it in flowy white cotton curtains with turquoise tie-backs to match my table. I thought it looked amazing.
Rocco finished swallowing his last bite and spotted Nate’s bag. “You got tools?”
“Sure do. I’m going to fix a few things for your mom. Maybe you can help me out.” Nate leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. I checked my chin for drool.
Rocco looked to me and then back to Nate. “I don’t know if I’d be comf-ter-ble with that.” Nose twitch.