My Perfect Fix (The Fix Book 4)

by Carey Heywood

  Besides, it’s not the food so much as getting out and being around people. I want to have a conversation around something other than a watering schedule on new seed.

  Shoving my phone in the pocket of my worn jeans, I grab my keys. Bar food isn’t as good as Mexican would have been, but if I can get some conversation on the side, it’ll do.

  There’s an Irish pub not far from my place. Looking over my shoulder as I back out of my drive, I head to it.

  With decent music, food, and beer prices, I’m not surprised to see the lot full of cars when I pull in. I might not be hanging out with the people I wanted to tonight, but quantity over quality will have to do.

  My path to the bar is delayed by a few extremely attractive women. Unfortunately, ones I’ve already either fooled around with or decided against spending time with. Because it would get back to my mom if I were rude, I play the friendly conversation game long enough to not come off as a jerk before excusing myself.

  I blame my having to leave them on hunger and wanting to get an order in. Speed is not one of the things this pub can brag about.

  Carla, a bartender I wouldn’t mind getting reacquainted with, moves to stand in front of me, her elbows resting on the smooth wooden surface of the bar.

  Asher built it years ago as a custom job. He might not leave his lake often, but coming here and sitting at his handiwork is almost like he’s here in spirit.

  Carla’s eyes roam over my face. “Hey stranger. What can I get for you?”

  I fake a pained expression. “Stranger? It’s been two weeks. I’ll take a draft of whatever you pick.”

  Grinning, she fills a glass for me. “Felt longer.”

  I lean forward and drag my finger down her arm. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

  Her breath hitches, and she doesn’t pull away. “That so?”

  “What time do you get off tonight?”

  The pink tip of her tongue darts out as she wets her lips. “Why, you offering me some company?”

  “If you want it.”

  “One o’clock.”

  I lift my chin. “It’s a date.”

  She shakes her head but does it grinning. “Only you would call it a date.”

  I lean closer. “What would you call it?”

  Pressing her tits to the bar top, she leans close enough for her lips to brush my earlobe. “I call it a fuck.”

  My lips tip up. “Pretty sure of yourself, now aren’t you?”

  “Well, I didn’t get a chance to suck you—”

  She stops mid-sentence when I pull out my phone.

  Leaning back and folding her arms across her fantastic breasts, she asks. “Am I boring you?”

  I turn my phone to show her the calculator app on my screen. “Nope. I was figuring out how many minutes there are until one.”

  Her annoyed look vanishes as her cheeks redden. “Gideon Thompson, you are too much.”

  Shoving my phone into my pocket I disagree. “I’m sure you remember, I’m just right.”

  She doesn’t argue. “So, how many minutes ‘til one?”

  I let my gaze slowly wander over her. “Two hundred and eighty-six.”

  “That’s a long time to wait.”

  I motion to one of the food menus laying on the bar top. “Food’s always slow. I figured I timed it about right.”

  She smirks. “All right Casanova, what’ll you have?”

  2

  Lucy

  The loud whirl of a lawn mower’s engine jolts me out of my sleep. I manage to blink one of my eyes half open to blearily try and focus on the window. Staring at the dim light filtering past the blinds, my other eye decides to open, or attempt to. It’s not even light out.

  What the hell is someone doing mowing a lawn at this hour? With groggy annoyance, I pat the bedside table in search of my phone. Finding it, I lift it enough to check the time.

  Seven-thirty.

  Seven-friggin-thirty in the friggin-morning.

  And, right below my window.

  Irritation melts my sleepiness away as I force myself up to a sitting position rubbing at my eyes.

  If possible, the mowing noise has gotten even louder. Are there two of them, or three?

  Was there some lawn mower meet up my grandfather had neglected to warn me about during the whole, guest towels are here and help yourself to anything in the fridge talk we had last night?

  Shoving back the comforter, I get out of bed, more frustration hitting me because my grandpa’s guest bed was not only the perfect combination of firm and soft, it was warm.

  Stomping my way to the front door, I prepare to unleash my wrath on whoever disturbed my sleep.

  Throwing open the front door, my eyes narrow on the riding lawnmower that comes into view. No wonder it sounded like a herd of mowers, this one is huge.

  Waving my hands above my head I try to get the attention of the dude riding it. When he turns to face me, I wonder if I’m still dreaming. There’s no way the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in real life is mowing my grandpa’s yard at seven thirty in the morning. It’s an effort not to look for the film crew. This guy looks like he’s filming an ad for cologne or tequila or something else that turns women on.

  His light brown hair is thick, early morning rays highlighting a subtle wave in it. He looks like he’s missed at least two haircuts. I’m grateful for it and the scruff that graces what might be the most perfect jawline in the history of jawlines.

  Whenever I see a remarkably attractive person, I consider my own looks. I’m not vain, I know some reality show isn’t clamoring to name me the world’s next great supermodel. That doesn’t mean I can’t turn heads. A good chunk of that probably comes from my red hair. For some reason, everyone notices the ginger. There’s a decent chance my hair, or at least the bits of hair that frame my face are sticking up in every direction. I won’t know until I look in a mirror. Crazy hair aside, I pray I don’t have any drool around my mouth. I was exhausted when I passed out last night so there’s no promising I didn’t.

  My PJs are cute though. The bottoms are a peachy orange with yellow cuffs and the matching tee is yellow with peachy orange writing with the words If I have five peach rings and you take two, what do you have? A black eye, you have a black eye spelled out on my chest.

  The mower slows before coming to a halt, the engine quieting. He pulls off these earmuff looking things and sets them on the steering wheel before pulling off his aviator shades.

  Even with half the yard between, I can tell they’re blue, not just blue, but the most vibrant sky blue I’ve ever seen.

  “Hello.”

  He said hello.

  I watch as he steps off the mower and comes toward me. “Hi.”

  His steps slow, one side of his mouth tipping up.

  I’ll be damned. He has dimples, or at least one dimple is visible through his scruff. I’m assuming if he smiled full-on, there’d be two.

  His shirt is damp at his neck and under his arms, little beads of sweat catching the early morning light making his skin glow. “Can I help you?”

  A pair of arms circle my waist and I jump.

  Hot lawn guy’s half smile vanishes.

  Derek, my boyfriend kisses my neck. Yes, my boyfriend who I love and still love while acknowledging the fact that the man standing in front of us remains the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in real life.

  Derek rests his chin on my shoulder, and he says, “She’s a terror in the morning. I’m guessing she was about to chew your head off about the noise.”

  I shrug.

  His steps begin again and as soon as he’s near he tugs off one of his work gloves and offers me his hand. “Are you Mr. Olson’s granddaughter?”

  Slipping my hand into his, I nod. His hand is large, engulfing mine in warmth.

  “Sorry about that. He mentioned you were coming to visit but didn’t say when. I didn’t think anyone was home. Mr. Olson goes to the Y on Tuesday mornings for the senior walking group.”

&n
bsp; I let go of his hand. “Senior walking group?”

  He grins, his lips stretching back to reveal even white teeth reminding me that I haven’t brushed mine yet. I press my lips together and watch as he shakes hands with Derek.

  “We flew in last night,” Derek explains.

  “I’ll swing back by later and finish up the yard.”

  I blink, then feel like a bitch for being pissed. “Don’t, we’re already up. It’d be silly to make you come back later.”

  He tilts his head to the side then gestures over his shoulder. “That’s my brother and sister-in-law’s place. It’s no trouble to come back later.”

  I’m not about to keep arguing with him so I lift my shoulders and let them drop. “Either way, nice meeting you.”

  His chin lifts a fraction of an inch. “Gideon.”

  I squint at him. “Huh?”

  He grins again. “My name is Gideon. Your grandfather mentioned you might be moving to Woodlake, figured I’d go ahead and introduce myself.”

  Derek stiffens behind me. “I’m Derek and she—”

  “Lu,” Gideon finishes for him.

  “Only her friends call her Lu, everyone else calls her Lucy.”

  Oh God, is this some pissing match?

  Gideon grins. “I’m friendly.”

  Derek’s arms tighten around me, meaning it’s time to defuse this bomb. “Well, see you around.”

  With a wave, I take a step back, pushing Derek with me. It takes a second for him to move backward, but when he does I waste no time closing the front door.

  Turning, I glance up at him. His expression is stony.

  Awesome.

  All I want to do is go back to bed but now I get to deal with whatever mood he’s in. “Want some breakfast?”

  He ignores my question. “Can you believe that guy?”

  I go for sleepy confusion. “The lawn mower guy?”

  Derek frowns. “He was flirting with you right in front of me.”

  “Pfft.” I move past him toward the kitchen. “He was not. You heard him. He has family who lives on the street so he was just being friendly.”

  Derek’s soft footfalls follow me. “I don’t think so.”

  Pulling open the pantry door, I inspect our options. “How does bran cereal sound?”

  When he doesn’t reply, I lean back to look around the door at him and find him making a face. Undaunted, I try the refrigerator next. “What about some scrambled eggs and toast?”

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  I close the door to the fridge and watch as he retreats, a pit settling in my belly.

  Our New Hampshire adventure is already off to a rough start.

  When I first broached the idea of moving from Denver to Woodlake with Derek, he was all in. Problem is, that was four months ago and the actual effort it takes to move cross country annoyed him. Our move stopped being about us and our future and has turned into him doing me a giant favor.

  This whole martyr persona he’s adopted is getting old.

  Yes, moving here was my idea. With my folks retiring to Florida, I didn’t like the idea of my grandpa being up here without any family nearby. With my recording studio equipment, I can work anywhere, and since Derek works for a retail chain with locations nationwide, it wasn’t hard for him to get a transfer.

  Denver was awesome but expensive. The cost of living is much lower in Woodlake.

  All of that sold Derek on us making this move an adventure we’d tackle together.

  We should be on my laptop looking for a cheap truck we can buy for the cash we made off of selling both of ours.

  Ugh.

  And, what was that jealous reaction he made to the guy mowing the lawn?

  One of the things I loved most about Derek was his confidence and how nothing ruffled his feathers. With this move, it’s more like everything ruffles them. Gone is the chill guy I fell for and in his place is a whiny asshole who’s either arguing or complaining.

  My gaze shifts to the front door when I hear it open.

  Moments later, my grandpa walks into the room.

  He has this uncanny knack of smiling with his lips turned down. “I expected you to sleep in.”

  I move his way and kiss the papery skin of his cheek. “Your lawn guy woke me up.”

  His thick brows go up. “That explains why the yard is half mowed. So, where’d you bury the body?”

  Okay, I may have a reputation for being a grouch in the morning, but I’ve never threatened violence, I don’t think.

  “Haha.”

  “Did he introduce himself?”

  I nod.

  “Good family, those Thompsons. Gideon’s got a reputation with the ladies but otherwise he’s a decent boy.”

  I decide against correcting him that whoever he was, he was all man. The reputation with the ladies part doesn’t surprise me. Those sky blue eyes and that easy smile have likely dropped many panties around here.

  “Other than waking me up, he seemed nice.”

  My grandpa chuckles and sets his cane by the doorway. It’s then I notice the bag he carries. I’d offer to take it, but it’d only offend him.

  Slowly shuffling to the kitchen table, he sets the bag down. “I picked up bagels.”

  My mouth waters. “Have you already eaten?”

  He gestures toward his pantry. “I have cereal in the morning.”

  I bite the inside of my lip wondering if it would be rude to grab one now.

  Grandpa shifts his attention from my face to the bag and back again. “Want me to toast one for you?”

  I grin and reach for the bag. “No thank you, I can toast it.”

  He pulls out a chair and sinks into it. “Start a pot while you’re at it.”

  His coffeemaker might be as old as I am. “You haven’t had a cup yet?”

  He scrunches his face, a look he might make if he were sucking on a lemon. “I have orange juice with breakfast.”

  Lifting my hands up I laugh. “I’m on it.”

  This is the first time I’ve ever served him in the kitchen. Growing up, I have countless memories of him or my grandma making me something to eat. He still has the same appliances, table, and plate set.

  Pulling a plate and two mugs down from the cabinet, my thumb brushes over the familiar daisy pattern on one of the mugs. Once everything’s going, I sit in the chair across from his.

  “Will your boyfriend be joining us?” His lip curls around the word boyfriend. Guess he’s not a fan.

  “I doubt it. After the lawn guy left he went back to bed.”

  “His name is Gideon.”

  “Huh?”

  My bagel pops out of the toaster and I jump up to grab it.

  My grandpa steeples his fingers before dropping one hand to tap on the table. “The lawn guy has a name, it’s Gideon.”

  With my back to him, my brows come together as I wonder what the big deal is. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  Derek can be somewhat of a snob. I hope it’s not wearing off on me that I’d assume my grandpa couldn’t be friends with a landscaper.

  “I’m friendly with his brother and his brother’s wife. They live in the white house across the street. I also know his mother and father. Though, most everyone in Woodlake knows the family since they’ve owned Thompson’s Hardware for years.”

  As he speaks, I prepare my bagel. My empty stomach prompts me to sneak a bite even though the coffee isn’t done yet.

  That bite down, I move my plate to the table and reclaim my chair. “I think I’ve been there, to Thompson’s Hardware.”

  He gives me his downward smile. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did on one of your visits.”

  “Is the landscaping company owned by the store?”

  He shakes his head. “Gideon’s the owner, and doing a fine job of it. He has a few employees and is in demand around town.”

  He’s the owner?

  “He can’t be that old to own his own business.”

  With a s
weep of his hand, he motions to the coffeemaker, letting me know it’s ready. “I expect he’s about your age, maybe a year older.”

  I move to fill both of our mugs and pass one to him. “If he’s the owner, why on earth would he be the one mowing your yard?”

  “There’s cream in the fridge,” he says, lifting the lid of a matching sugar dish that sits on a lazy Susan in the center of the table.

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  I stare at him. “If he’s mowing lawns, who’s running his business?”

  He drops a cube into his coffee and stirs it. “I don’t think he does all of the work himself. I’ve seen trucks around town with his logo on ‘em. Don’t know how many folks he’s got working for him but I’d wager more than a few.”

  Interesting, but time to change the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me you were part of a walking group?”

  Winking at me, he lifts his mug to his lips and blows away the tendril of steam that wafts above it. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, now can I?”

  Leaning in conspiratorially, I say, “It’s a secret? Oh, fill me in.”

  When his cheeks redden I about fall out of my chair from shock. I was only teasing before, maybe he does have a secret.

  His attention moves to the fridge. “It’s nothing interesting.”

  Which means it is extremely interesting. My eyes widen as I consider the possibility he met someone. It’s been years since my grandma passed. We all assumed when he showed no interest in dating after a few years, he’d stay that way.

  Grandma Tess was amazing but none of us want Grandpa Burt to be lonely. With the exception of his cane, he gets around okay.

  “Maybe I can come with you next week?”

  Shaking his head, he motions for me to eat. “Bagels taste the best when they’re still warm.”

  Taking a giant bite, I make a show of talking with my mouth full. “We can still chat.”

  Plucking a napkin from the holder on the lazy Susan, he throws it in my direction. “Still a heathen.”

  I laugh and nod my head, loving the way he smiles back at me. My grandpa might be my favorite person on the planet. Growing up, I would spend the summers here while my parents worked. It was like a free day camp.

  My parents and I lived in Merrimack, a town east of Woodlake. My dad worked in Boston while my mom worked in a hospital another town over.