The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(23)

Nate looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable himself. I’m sure he had been anticipating drawing Rocco out with the offer of doughnuts and tools, but leave it to my kid to throw him for a loop.

“It’s okay, buddy. You can do what you want,” I told my son, knowing that pushing Rocco was never the best plan. “But can you thank Nate for the doughnuts and then go wash your hands and face in the bathroom?”

“Thank you for the doughnuts,” he recited and then dashed off to the bathroom.

Nate and I stood facing each other in silence. He finally pushed off the counter and said, “So, you mind if I take a look around the place?”

“Help yourself. It’s not big enough to require a tour so have at it.” Fingers crossed he wouldn’t open any closets.

He smiled for some reason and kept looking at me. Did I have something on my face? There was that dimple again and my lower belly started singing gospel hymns. He turned and headed for the hallway.

I craned my neck to watch him go far enough away before I pounced on the doughnut box and shoved half of a delicious treat in my mouth. Oh, yum.

A few minutes (and doughnuts) later, Nate returned. I discreetly ran a hand over my lips to hide any evidence and gave him my own smile. Nothing to see here.

He directed his thumb back toward the hall with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you know your kid is in the bathroom singing about penises?”

Kill me now.

“Ah, ‘The Wiener Song.’ A perennial favorite.” Gavin unexpectedly appeared behind Nate.

A bit startled, Nate turned to face him and then stuck out a hand. “Hey, Gavin. Good to see you, man.” They exchanged macho pleasantries.

“Laney said you’re gonna help her with a few things around the house. You don’t really have to do that, man,” Gavin told his boss.

“Oh, no, I’m happy to. I was telling your sister last night that I haven’t gotten my hands dirty in weeks and I’ve got an itch for it.” That wasn’t precisely what he’d said. It seemed Fiona wasn’t the only one dropping double entendre around here. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too.

“Okay, man, it’s your funeral. I would stay and help you guys out but I’m supposed to meet my buddy at the gym.” He hiked up his backpack over one shoulder. “Later.” He passed by Nate, and before passing by me he discreetly pointed two fingers first to his eyes and then to mine. I flipped him off.



“What’s that one for?” Despite his earlier reservations, it turned out Rocco could not resist the lure of power tools. As soon as the electric drill had uttered its first growl, Rocco was glued to Nate’s side. I, on the other hand, was standing back but still enjoying the view and another Diet Coke.

“This is a Phillips head screwdriver.” They were finishing installing the new knob and deadbolt on the front door. “You use it to screw in this kind of screw.” He showed him the small screw in his hand.

“Can I hold it? What if you need to take a screw out? Do you use a different tool? Are there other ones named after people? There’s a kid in my class named Philip.”

Nate seemed a bit frazzled, no doubt trying to figure out how to answer four questions at once.

“I forgot to tell you.” I approached. “Talking to Rocco is like attending a press conference. There will always be one more question.”

He laughed and looked up from his position on the floor. Damn, he was handsome. My hand itched to reach out and touch his hair.

“Redirection and distraction are your friends,” I said. “And if all else fails, pulling a quarter out of his ear is a crowd-pleaser.”

“Noted,” he replied, still smiling, and went back to work on the door. “So, Laney, you never said last night—what is it you do for a living? I know you work in an office …”

“Oh, right.” I leaned against the wall next to the front door. I suck at small talk. “You know those new chips on credit cards that protect all your information?”

“Sure. I heard everyone was switching over to those. You program those?”

“No. But you know how some credit card machines still make you swipe instead of using the chip? Well, there are companies whose job it is to convert all the machines so everyone has to use the chip. That’s what my company does.”

“And you somehow make that happen?” He lowered the screwdriver again.

Rocco, clearly bored by the interruption in the action, wandered down the hallway away from us, probably to disrobe or make up a new song about vaginas.

“No. But I write technical procedures for the people who devise the actual procedures to make that happen.” Oh God, could I possibly be any more boring?

“So, you’re like the woman behind the curtain.” It was sweet how he was trying to make me sound more interesting than I am.

“More like I’m the woman who transforms geek-speak into normal-person-speak.”

He finished with the screwing (ha!) and stood to face me so I had to look up. His lips were curved upward and there was that damn dimple. “Ah, so you’re a translator. That probably comes in handy in many areas,” he mused. “Perhaps you could use your skills to help me understand women.”

“No can do.” I shook my head, feeling a little light-headed at his closeness. “Our jobs as women are to exist as enigmas whose sole purpose is to render men absolutely perplexed. Help me understand men, though, and I may be able to crack a bit of the code for you.” Oh crap, was I flirting?