Hold Me Close: A Cinnamon Roll Box Set

by Talia Hibbert

  “I’m sure you did,” said Hannah Kabbah. “But she’s unavailable at present.”

  Worry spiked. “Is she okay? Did she hurt herself?” Truthfully, it was only a matter of time before an enormous stack of comics collapsed on top of her.

  Hannah’s flinty gaze softened slightly. “She’s—”

  Then Ruth’s voice interrupted, grumpy as fuck and almost angelic to Evan’s ears. “Hannah! Is it the plumber?”

  Hannah’s jaw set. He knew why. If she said no, Ruth would want to know who it was. If she said yes, Ruth would expect said plumber to appear.

  “Need a hand?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes and shrugged. It was such a Ruth sort of gesture that he found himself feeling fond of a woman he didn’t know.

  “I can take a look,” he said. “If you let me in.”

  “What do you know about plumbing?”

  “A fair bit.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, because it wasn’t a very specific answer.

  Before Hannah could respond, Ruth appeared. As soon as she saw him, her face lit up.

  She hid it, of course, almost instantly—but not fast enough. He saw the beginnings of a smile, saw her eyes dance, for the split-second before she locked her emotions away.

  “Evan,” she said, her voice carefully neutral.

  Even though he’d planned to play it cool, even though Hannah’s eyes were boring into him like twin drills, he grinned. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  She smiled back reluctantly, shrugging beneath the enormous, green thing she was swathed in. “A towel. More effectively than you do, I might add.”

  Between them, Hannah made a strangled sort of choking noise.

  Ruth’s smile faded. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice suddenly formal, “but whatever you need—”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “Whatever you need,” she repeated firmly, “will have to wait a while. I’m all tied up, as you can see.” Ruth cast a significant glance at her sister. Evan’s heart swelled, because he could tell that Ruth thought she was being extremely subtle. Her weighted tone and speaking looks actually had all the subtlety of a dying hippopotamus. She was, in a word, adorable.

  “If you’re having plumbing trouble,” he said, taking in her damp hair, “I could take a look.”

  Ruth wavered. She grimaced. Then she said, “The shower spit something vile at me. I really need a wash.”

  “Use mine,” he said automatically.

  Hannah made yet another garbled sound and sagged against the doorframe. She appeared to be having some sort of aneurysm. He ignored her.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Ruth murmured.

  “Yes, you could. Use mine, and I’ll look at your shower until the plumber gets here. I might be able to help.”

  After a long, long pause, and a flurry of hilariously obvious eye contact between the sisters, Ruth said, “Okay.”

  Hannah said, “Ruth, love—”

  And Evan said, “That’s settled.”

  Hannah Kabbah’s constant hovering reminded Evan, strangely, of his mother.

  She loomed in the doorway while he took a look at Ruth’s shower. Judging by the brown sludge gathering at the plughole, Ruth hadn’t been joking when she said it spat something vile. He was glad to know, thanks to the clunking of his own pipes through the wall, that she was having a long, hot shower right now.

  Hannah cleared her throat for the third time in the last thirty seconds, and Evan stifled a sigh. He’d done his best, but he simply hadn’t been raised to ignore a woman.

  Turning to look at Hannah’s oddly familiar face, he said, “Everything okay?”

  She looked as if she’d been waiting, just waiting, for him to ask.

  Straightening her spine, glaring down at him as a goddess might glare down on unworthy mortals, she said, “What are your intentions with my sister?”

  Evan smiled. “You might want to keep your voice down. These walls are very thin.”

  Hannah looked horrified. “How thin?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She crossed her arms over her heaving chest. Evan bit his tongue, fighting back laughter. This was great. It was like watching Ruth get flustered times a thousand. How did such tiny women hold so much emotion?

  “You’re friends with Daniel Burne,” she finally whispered, accusation making the words a hiss.

  Evan stiffened, the smile wiped from his face. “I certainly am not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’ve been seen together multiple times.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you, the town spymaster?”

  “I know what I need to know,” she said primly. “And I need to know why a man like you is sniffing around my sister.”

  Evan sighed as he unscrewed Ruth’s showerhead “I am not sniffing around your sister. I am spending time with my neighbour, who is also a friend, because it makes me happy.”

  “And what does Daniel think about that?” she demanded.

  “What is he, her husband? I don’t give a shit. Why is everyone in this town so obsessed with Daniel Burne?” His mind distantly registered the fact that his pipes had stopped clunking. Ruth was out of the shower. He glared at the wall and muttered, “That wasn’t long enough.”

  “You’re telling me,” Hannah tutted. “She didn’t even take the Dettol.”

  He frowned. “Dettol?”

  And she threw his own words back at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Finally stepping fully into the bathroom, she approached him. Her gaze was still wary, her arms still folded. He wondered if all Kabbah women were this skittish, or if it just happened around him.

  “Ruth isn’t what she seems,” Hannah murmured, her voice low. “She is very… fragile.”

  Evan stared. “She seems fragile.”

  “Hm. Most people don’t tend to notice that.”

  “Most people,” Evan said, “have their heads up their arses. I’m not one of them. I care about Ruth.”

  Hannah gave him a wry smile. “Lots of people care about Ruth. None of them treat her very well.”

  “I treat her just fine,” he said, his voice mild. “Ask her.”

  Hannah didn’t reply. The silence was deafening, and when he studied her face he found clear uncertainty there.

  “You can’t ask her?” he prompted. “You know everything about everyone in this town, but you can’t ask your sister about me?”

  Hannah shrugged, but the look in her eyes was anything but casual. “She’ll lie. She’s a good liar.”

  “She’s a terrible liar. You just have to know what to look for.”

  The front door opened and a loud voice carried down the hall, interrupting what had turned out to be a rather illuminating conversation.

  “I thought you were Hannah, you know,” the strange voice boomed. “You always did look just like twins.”

  He heard Ruth murmur something in response.

  “Yes, well, never mind that. How are you, anyway? I haven’t seen you in an age! My Penny’s always harping on about missing you at the library—”

  With a scoff of disgust, Hannah marched out of the bathroom. Then she cried with exaggerated pleasure, “Mr. Clarke! There you are!”

  “Hannah!” the man said. “You’re here and all, are you? You know, I always tell the missus, I say, it’s so nice how them Kabbah girls stick together. Our lads are always at each other’s throats. They—”

  An older man with grey, balding hair appeared in the bathroom door. He pulled up short at the sight of Evan, his mouth hanging open mid-monologue. Behind him, both Ruth and Hannah hovered anxiously. Ruth was clean again, wearing fresh pyjamas. Her cheeks were shiny. Evan wanted to kiss them.

  Inappropriate thought. Move on.

  He rose from his crouch by the plug hole and wiped a hand on his jeans, then held it out to Mr. Clarke—who, it seemed, was the plumber. “Hi,” he said. “Evan Miller. I live next door.”

  “I know who you are, lad,” the p
lumber said, his tone gruff. “My sister’s already called me about some strapping blonde feller who stormed out of her shop. Newcomer, she says. She’s taken against ye.”

  Evan wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.

  The plumber’s face broke into a sudden smile. He grasped Evan’s hand and shook firmly and said, “Any man who pisses off my sister is a friend of mine. Or any woman, for that matter.” He turned back to look at the girls.

  Hannah said, her voice a hell of a lot sweeter than it had been with Evan, “We appreciate you coming out yourself, Mr. Clarke.”

  The man grunted. “Them lads of mine is alright, but thick as pig shit. Don’t know who’s worth respect. Let’s have a look ‘ere, then. You checked the valve, have you, my lad?”

  Evan looked down at the copper pieces in his hand. “Oh, yeah. Nothing there. I just—”

  “No worries. I already know what it is.”

  “You do?”

  He turned a wry look back at the sisters. “Oh, aye. I come out to a Kabbah girl once every six months at least.” He winked conspiratorially and lowered his voice, as if Ruth and Hannah weren’t standing a metre away. “I don’t know how they’ve got any hair on their heads, the amount that gets down the plug hole.”

  “Mr. Clarke!” Hannah gasped in clearly feigned outrage. When Evan looked up, she was smiling.

  Ruth was gone.

  While Clarke sorted out the shower, Evan was unceremoniously frogmarched to the door by Hannah. He didn’t expect so much as fervently hope that Ruth might appear out of nowhere and demand that he stay.

  Ruth did not appear.

  “Thank you very much for your help,” Hannah said as she held the front door open, “but we have things in hand now.”

  He crossed his arms and tried to think of a reasonable excuse to ignore her. “Where’s Ruth? I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  Hannah didn’t respond; she just gave him A Look. Kabbah women, it turned out, were very good at looking.

  “I told you,” he said stubbornly, “I care about her. Why’d she disappear?”

  “Because too many people talking at once makes her anxious,” Hannah said briskly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she leaned in and whispered, “and because Mr. Clarke is a terrible gossip.”

  Evan frowned. “He seems like a nice guy.”

  “He’s one of the few people who doesn’t treat Ruth like shit. Or me, for that matter. But it doesn’t change the fact that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for a mountain of gold—so by this time tomorrow, the whole town will know that she came out of your flat like it was nothing, while you fiddled with her shower.” She made this sound like an accusation of adultery.

  Evan almost rolled his eyes. Ruth was rubbing off on him. “I don’t see how that’s particularly incriminating.”

  “Right,” Hannah said with icy sweetness. “Because Ruth really needs the town talking about her love life.”

  “I—pardon?”

  Hannah gave a snort of disgust. “Men.”

  That, apparently, was her version of goodbye. She jerked her head toward the door, and Evan, in a haze of confused worry, went.

  She shut it carefully behind him. He supposed, if she slammed it the way she so clearly wanted to, it’d be more fodder for Mr. Clarke’s rumour mill.

  20

  “I’ll be leaving early again,” Zach said. “But I’m hoping to finish the wall piece. I don’t want you doing that.”

  “You mean I’m not capable of doing that.” Zach was the artist. Evan’s work was purely functional.

  He checked the oxygen valve in his cooling blowtorch before setting it down and pulling off his goggles. If Zach was hovering around, it was time to take a break.

  Sure enough, the other man was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest. Waiting.

  “Don’t kill yourself over it,” Evan continued. “If you finish, you finish. If you don’t, leave it to me.”

  “I leave everything to you,” Zach murmured. Trying to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice. Evan knew that the bitterness wasn’t for him.

  “You can’t do everything. You know, I…” This was the part where Evan explained his own past, where Zach finally understood why Evan cared so fucking much about this. But the words seemed too big and sharp to push out of his throat. They hurt on the way up.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. He was saved from confession by an unlikely source.

  Daniel Burne shoved his broad shoulders past Zach, jarring the other man without hesitation. He stormed over to Evan as if they were meeting on the battlefield, his pretty face twisted.

  “Miller,” he spat, jabbing a finger in the air. Evan eyed that finger with annoyance. He had a sudden and strong desire to snap it in two.

  Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “What?”

  Daniel blinked—as if a response of any kind was so unexpected that it had thrown off his rant. “I... You...” After a moment’s floundering, he refocused. “You don’t listen too good, do you?”

  “Actually,” Evan said, “I listen very well. I am an excellent soldier.” But you are not my superior.

  “You’re not any kind of soldier here,” Daniel sneered. “You’re a subject. And I’m the fucking king.”

  Evan’s brows rose at the sheer teenage immaturity of that statement. Daniel didn’t seem even slightly embarrassed by the words that had just come out of his mouth. Fascinating.

  “I thought I told you about that girl,” Daniel snapped.

  Ah. So this was about Ruth. Evan pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. He dug his short nails into his own flesh, out of sight. Call it a pre-emptive measure. Because he was 100% sure that he was about to lose his fucking temper.

  “You did,” Evan said. “I ignored you.”

  He still remembered Daniel’s words, the day they’d bumped into Ruth. “You’re really pissed? Over a girl like her?”

  Daniel came forward, green eyes blazing as he invaded Evan’s space. All his insistent charm was gone now, as if it had never existed. “I’m warning you,” he spat. “Stay away. You don’t mess with a girl like her, not while you work for Burne & Co. She’s bad fucking news and my father agrees.”

  Evan felt like he’d been treading water easily, only for an undercurrent to catch him without warning. My father agrees. What the hell did that mean? Was Daniel threatening his job? Was Mr. Burne threatening his job?

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Evan demanded, his patience slipping. In the doorway, he saw Zach, eyes wide and head shaking frantically. The message was clear. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t.

  Evan was too pissed off to listen. His rational mind screamed that this job was a dream come true, and positions in his specialism were hard to find, and he couldn’t just move somewhere else and start over. He ignored his rational mind the same way he ignored Zach.

  “Are you jealous?” he asked Daniel. “Is that what this is?” Because suddenly, that was exactly how it seemed.

  Daniel sneered. “Why the fuck would I be jealous of that? Half the town’s had her.”

  “You sent the flowers, didn’t you?”

  That wiped the smirk off Daniel’s face. He stuttered—actually stuttered—“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you fucking do.” Evan stepped closer, crowding Daniel right the fuck back, fury flooding him. Everything was coming together, now. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “You want her,” he said. “You had her, and now you don’t, and you want her.”

  Which meant that Daniel… Daniel was Ruth’s ex. The guy she was kind of with. The guy who hurt her.

  “You’re delusional,” Daniel choked out. “I wouldn’t touch that bitch if you paid me.”

  Evan barely heard him. He was remembering, with dawning horror, everything Daniel had ever said about Ruth—said to Ruth—and the way she hesitated before touchin
g anyone, and the look on her face when she’d seen those fucking flowers.

  “I’m just looking out for you, mate,” Daniel said. His tone was reasonable now, soothing. He stepped back. “You know you’ll catch something, laying down with that.”

  It was Zach who caught Evan’s flying fist, stopping its trajectory toward Daniel’s smug face. It was Zach who filled Evan’s blurring world, forcing himself between the two warring men.

  “You have to calm down,” he gritted out, his eyes burning into Evan’s. He wrapped a hand around the back of Evan’s neck and squeezed, hard. “Listen to me. Listen to me. Calm. Down.”

  Evan became gradually aware of the speed of his laboured breathing and the frantic pound of his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to count to ten. Then he counted back from ten to one.

  By the time he’d regained control, Daniel was gone.

  Thank God.

  Zach stepped back, eyeing Evan wearily. “You good?”

  “I’m fine.” He ran a hand over his face as if that would hide the lie. “Jesus. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

  The other man shook his dark head. “Come with me.”

  Zach led him into the break room and shoved him into a chair, his hand hard on Evan’s shoulder. Hard enough to chase away the last dizzying dregs of rage.

  “Take a breath,” Zach ordered. His voice, the familiar cadence of a command, soothed Evan. “I don’t know what that was about,” Zach said, “but I do know that beating the shit out of the boss’s son is not a good idea. For many, many reasons.”

  Evan bore those words in mind, tightening his grip on his composure. “I know. I... thank you. For stopping me.”

  “Stop thanking me. We both know I owe you more than that.”

  Their gazes met for a moment. Just long enough for Evan to see more gratitude in the other man’s eyes than he’d ever expected.

  It made Evan uncomfortable, when people thought they ‘owed’ him. He didn’t do the right thing for credit. He did it because he had to.

  “You want a cuppa?” Zach asked suddenly.