by Brynn Hale
“That seems cheap,” she says.
I tip my head. “I can go back to the original quote, if you want.”
“No. No! I mean, I’m surprised. If…if you can do it for that, I can afford it for sure. And maybe two out of the three of us can eat this month.” She winks and it’s the first time a woman has ever done that to me. I feel like Cupid’s tagged me in the move.
“We can’t have you starving.” I start writing up the contract while she straightens family pictures in the long hallway, her ass popping out of her leggings and the neck of her sweatshirt falling off her shoulder.
I can imagine taking her out for a nice meal. I bet she’d order an actual meal instead of a side salad and diet soda. I’ve seen it too many times. Want to impress me? Eat a 24 oz ribeye, baked potato, and a piece of pie, but showing me that you don’t eat and are probably grumpy and lightheaded, that doesn’t make my cock rock.
And I can tell that Harlow works out. I’d say daily. And with—Are you listening Jillyn?—free weights. Solid muscles like that don’t come from yoga or barre. I tried both. I want to eat pretzels, not be one. And if I want to squeeze my ass muscles, I’ll be doing it in the privacy of my own home. I love that people find what works for them, but neither of those worked for me.
“Um…while you’re here, can you look at something else?” She stands close, her perfume coating the air between us.
“Sure. What’s up?”
She marches up the curved staircase and I follow.
“Watch that second to top step, it’s loose. This place is a money pit. It was Corbin’s dream to re-do every inch, but it’s just so big. I can’t do it myself. And my writing has dried up since his death.”
“You’re a writer?” I ask as she stops outside of a doorway.
“I was.” She continues into the room.
Obviously, it’s her bedroom. It’s decorated in floral patterns. But I don’t hate it. It’s inviting and it smells like her. Like flowers. Imagine that.
“What do you write?”
“Romance.”
“Really? What’s your pen name and subgenre?”
She steps through a second door. “How do you know about pen names and subgenres?”
“My friend’s wife writes romance.” I look around the bathroom. It’s been remodeled, crisp whites and dark woods. It’s a little more masculine than the bedroom. A full glass shower with two directional heads and a rain shower head in the middle is impressive. “Like that shower.”
“Thanks Corbin did it before he left. It was one of his last projects. What’s her pen name, first?” She leans back against the granite countertop.
“Rei—”
“Silk…” we say together.
“You know her?” I wait to hear why I’m in this bathroom. From what I can tell it was stripped to studs and nothing is out of place. And then I hear it. I lift the top off of the toilet.
“Yeah, that. I can’t get it to stop. At first I thought it was Corbin’s ghost, but then I realized he wouldn’t be that annoying. He was frustrating sometimes, but not infuriating. That is infuriating. And of course I know Rei Silk. She’s always on the leading edge of trends. I love her books.”
“Okay, now your pen name so I can tell her to read something of yours.”
Her jaw drops open. “I don’t want to say now because I’m like low B-list to her top A-list.”
I squat and turn off the water, glancing back to her. “Oh, come on…”
“Nope.” She shakes her head slowly, popping the word from those gloriously red and full lips.
“I bet I can figure it out.”
“You’re not asking the kids. They find it incredibly embarrassing what I do and would rather believe that I’m working at a brothel.”
I examine the inner workings of the toilet. I hate this plastic shit. It’s an instigator of the The Rebellion. “You have a faulty ballcock valve.”
“Ballcock,” she giggles.
I laugh. “You are definitely a romance writer. My friend’s wife has the dirtiest, gutter-mind of anyone that I know.”
“Well, good luck finding out my pen name, cause I’m not going to tell you.”
I stand, wash my hands off while she is right next to me. I wipe them off and hold out my hand. “Challenge accepted, Harlow Kincaid.” She reaches out and I pull back slightly. “But, if I figure it out, you go on a date with me.”
She looked at the hand. “Do you date all your customers, Copper?”
“Not all. Just the ones who need a new ballcock.”
Four
Harlow
He’s amusing. Definitely different than Corbin. Corbin was all business. He could barely unwind, and his military training kept him standing at attention. Always working. I can’t remember the last time we had a date. It was…
Nope. Can’t remember.
My stomach flutters, but I trap the butterflies in a net of the past. I stand up straight. “You’ll never figure it out, so this is a null bet.” I shake his hand.
“We’ll see.” He heads back downstairs, and I follow. The man is solid from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “I’ll be back this afternoon to fix the running toilet and I’ll get the water restorers out this morning. I’ll get the units for the install ordered, but it’ll take a couple of days to get them in since it’s Friday. I have to get to the office and get a handle on staffing for the day.”
“Okay, so cold showers?”
The side of his mouth rises in this cocky smirk that I can only imagine kissing off of his face. I can see what’s coming.
“If you need to shower, you’re welcome to use mine.”
“I can go to my sister-in-law’s but thank you for letting Arya and Roan use yours. I really appreciate that, Copper.”
“You’re welcome. Probably be late afternoon before make it back.”
“Would you like to have dinner with us?” Every molecule of my body stops moving. Why the hell did I say that?
His head tips. “Sure. That would be nice. Been a while since I had a family dinner.”
“Well, actually, the kids will be out. Roan has football, he’s injured right now, so can’t play, and Arya has drama practice.” I roll my eyes. “Actually, Arya has a lot of drama…period.”
“Didn’t grow up with a sister, so I can’t say I know for sure, but I think she seemed…normal?”
“I’m sure it is, but why does she have to be so normal?”
His wide smile makes me think of days when I did the same free and willingly. Three years is a long time not to smile. I put on the “brave face” smile that everyone expected, but most days a smile felt like a giant hurdle.
“You want me to text you when I’m on my way?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
My skin tingles. That was one thing that I’d begged Corbin to do and he just couldn’t do it. We’d ended up agreeing that it wasn’t his thing. But I always liked knowing he was safe.
Until he wasn’t.
“That would be great. Can I?” I motion to his phone.
He unlocks it and hands it over. The background screen is the default screen. That tells me things about Copper. Either he has no one in his life that makes him want to change it, or maybe it’s a company phone.
“Company phone?” I ask while standing on the bottom step. It makes my 5’4” height just under his height.
“Nope, it’s my direct phone. You call it, and you’ll get me, Harlow.”
I send myself a text to have his number. I don’t want this to feel like something important, but I can’t help it. It’s more interaction than I’ve had with a man for a long time and part of me has hope. Too much hope.
“Later.” He gives me one last smile before he heads out.
The front door closes and I sink to the stairs.
What have I done?
“The kids aren’t going to be upset.” My sister-in-law tries to calm me down, but my nerves aren’t listening to her. They’re listening to the ro
lling thoughts in my head.
Her girlfriend Vivian hands me a cup of coffee. “Decaf.”
I nod in agreement. I don’t need to be more freaked out by a caffeine OD.
“Arya still kisses Corbin’s picture every night before bed. Roan has his memorial flag hanging on his wall and says something to it before he heads off to a football or basketball game. Hell, most days I still wear my wedding ring!” I pull out the chain that has my diamond on it from under my shirt.
Jill’s face becomes sullen. She purses her lips and looks to Vivian. “I can’t say that I don’t think about him often still, too, Harlow, but Corbin lived large so we will remember him. Service to others was the breath in his lungs. I never thought it would happen, but we know he died giving his life for his fellow soldiers. And most of all, he wouldn’t want you not living. That was his gift, to annoy people into living.”
It was true. He’d fended off fire while his soldiers found shelter. He’d saved half a dozen men and women. He was the reason I started writing. He put the love into my books. Hell, he kind of put the vivacity into the sex scenes. He inspired me. But I’d never tell anyone about the sex scenes. Although this morning I’d already plotted out a new series and gotten a good start on a novel. It was more effort than I’d expended on writing in a long time.
“What’s this guy’s name?” Vivian asks stretching out on the couch with her feet in Jill’s lap.
“Copper…” I pause. “I don’t remember his last name.”
Vivian sits up quickly. “Copper? Jilly, don’t you have—”
Jill grabs Viv’s hand. “That’s an interesting name? And he’s a plumber? I bet he’d like to lay some pipe, Harlow.” Her eyebrows flicker with the words.
A genuine smile comes over my face. Not like I haven’t thought about it. The planned sex scenes in my book were like flash fires of lust in my head.
I take a sip of the hot liquid. “And oh…my…God. Jill, the man’s body, even you’d be impressed. I’ve never written a character that perfect because until seeing him, I didn’t think a human like that existed. Plus, readers would probably never believe a character was that god-like anyway. They like the flaws and issues. Perfection is unrealistic, or it was until today.”
“You think Copper is perfect?” Jill asks, winding her fingers into Vivian’s.
“Every man has baggage and issues, but he looked and acted pretty damn perfect to me.”
“We all try to look perfect on the outside sometimes and when we need to.” She stares into me.
Jill knows how hard I’ve tried to keep it together. She was the only one I’d actually broken down to.
“Maybe just a one-night stand to get the pipes cleaned out?” Vivian asks taking a sip of her… water? Vivian’s known for drinking coffee five minutes before bed.
“Might be fun…” Jill adds.
“What’s up with the water, Viv?” I sit up from slouching in the chair when they look at each other and Jill touches Vivian’s stomach. “You’re expecting?” My voice shakes coming out. “Please tell me I’m going to be an aunt.”
“You’re going to be an aunt. Now, it’s really early so we’re still cautious, but yeah, the sixth time’s the charm, apparently.”
I jump from the chair and give each a long hug, brushing away my happy tears with the edges of the sleeves on my long T-shirt. “I didn’t even know you were trying again.”
“Well…” Jill raises her shoulders, her blue eyes, the same as Corbin’s lighting up. “This was a little surprise from a trip into Vegas.”
My mouth drops open. “Ménage?”
“All we needed was a little of the natural method.” Jill raises and lowers her shoulders.
“Are you going to tell the guy?” Not that it’s any of my business, but I feel like he should know.
Vivian nods. “Already contacted him. He’s cool with it and will sign over his rights. We said he could stay involved, but he already has a kid and isn’t looking to be a dad again.”
“Wow.”
Vivian rolls over to face me. “Yeah, even more wow, he lives here in Kildare.”
“So you might see him?”
“We see him all the time. He goes to Graffiti Street gym,” Jill says with a smirk.
“Won’t that be weird?”
“Nope. It was a night that we’ll never forget and we’ll be forever grateful to him.”
“Are you going to tell me his name?” I ask.
“Nope,” they said together.
“Hey, I told you my guy’s name.” I suck in a quick breath and my heart races. “I…I didn’t mean it that way! Don’t look at me like that!”
They both laugh.
Jill cackles. “Yeah, I think you did. That Freudian slip says a lot, sis.”
Maybe it does…
Five
Copper
I get off early and head to the gym. I’m feeling the need to work off some tension and I’m not going to plan on releasing it any other way than pounding on the weights. I’m on my third bench press set and a familiar face moves into my field of vision.
“Copper, I didn’t expect you to be in here today? Have a bad day?” Jillyn grabs the bar and guides the movement. “Give me five more.” Always demanding more and more.
I grunt at her, but for some reason I feel the need to do as she says.
“Not a bad day. Actually, it’s been…inspiring.”
“That’s good to hear. Four.” She counts down. “I really thought you wouldn’t be able to walk today.”
“Yeah, speaking of that, maybe less beast mode next time.” That’s what she calls her work outs—the Beast Mode.
“I can back it down ten percent, but no promises on any less.”
“Great.” I’ll be 90% exhausted next time.
My friend Leif joins us. “Hey, Copper. Jill, you have a minute?”
“Sure. Just give us…two.”
I grunt through that press and know I’m almost burned out. I give him a chin jut. “How’s it going, Leif?”
“Maybe meet up for a drink this weekend?”
“Graffiti?” I ask through gritted teeth. Our buddy Zale owns the Graffiti Street Bar and we’ve made it our second home. I do one more press and Jillyn pulls it up when I’m struggling. “Thank for the assist.”
“Sounds good.” Leif runs a hand through his hair.
“You ready?” she asks Leif.
“Later, Copper,” he mumbles and I’m concerned.
I get a weird vibe from Leif and that’s not good. He’s been through hell the last two years. He’s technically a friend of Hemi’s, but when I moved to Kildare, he became my friend, too, and I helped Hemi and Zale get him through a really rough time. It’s the way in this group. Whether or not you want to belong, they make you feel like you do…so you do.
I move onto a couple of other machines and then notice the time. I shower quickly, throw some clothes on, and head out with wet hair. My foot presses on the accelerator a little harder than I need it to, and I have to make real mental effort to stop from speeding.
I run by my house to grab my car instead of the company truck. I hit the garage door opener and there’s nothing. I hop out of the truck and try again. Great. Just another thing to add to the list. I know how Harlow feels. The list can feel never ending.
Homeownership fell into my lap. I was doing a plumbing job and the previous owner, a widower who was moving to be near his son in Wyoming, said he was going to put it up for sale. I asked if he was interested in a private sale. He jumped at the chance and gave me an excellent price. I started with a nice chunk of equity. I didn’t have an inspection done, imaging whatever was wrong I would be able to take care of it. Turns out…should’ve had the inspection. He’d top-coated everything. The only thing that was in good condition was the kitchen that he’d had remodeled in the late 90s. It wasn’t my style, but I’m not really sure what my style is.
I walk to the front porch and lift the one planter. No key. Great. Bre
aking into my own house. Then I remember the old owner telling me that one of the rocks in the succulent garden is a fake one with an extra key. I start lifting rocks, shaking them and probably looking like I’m having a nervous breakdown. I finally find one that rattles. The key falls into my hand and I’m inside. I glance to the coffee table and crack up.
Wouldn’t have expected less from you Roan. But you and I will need to chat.
I pull out my phone.
Copper: I’ll be there in ten minutes.
I grab a bottle of red wine from the kitchen and head to my bedroom. I spritz on a little cologne, and my gaze darts to the nightstand. If I have a condom, I’m just being smart right? Maybe. But maybe I’m also be fucking presumptuous. Maybe Harlow is just having me over for dinner as a friend. Being nice. And my brain needs to cool the fuck down.
I will be fixing the toilet after all.
I open the drawer and stare inside.
Better safe, than sorry.
Nine minutes later, I park on the street about three houses down. These houses didn’t come with front driveways and I’m not sure there’s one in the back off of the alleyway.
Harlow answers the front door and my chest burns. She’s curled her hair, the long waves gathered on one side of her neck, the other side open and looking perfect for some attention. She’s wearing an off the shoulder white dress with some type of sewed on flowers trailing over her right breast, down her stomach, and to the bottom of the thigh-brushing skirt.
“Copper, come in.”
I carry the wine in the curve of my arm and set my tools down before I lift it and hold it out like a sommelier. “For you.”
“Awww. Thank you. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate the gesture. And since we’re having pasta with red clam sauce it’ll go perfect. I’m Italian, if you couldn’t tell.”
“That’s cool. Okay, so I’ll go fix the toilet.”
She sets the wine on the ten-seat dining room table. “I’ve got the sauce going and the salad’s made, can I come watch?” she asks, her cheeks so pink that I wonder if she’s been kissed by the sun today.
