The Firefly Café

by Lily Everett

  “I hate this guy.”

  Penny grinned at him. “Don’t sweat it. Any woman who’s worth having would prefer a man like you, who makes an honest living working with his hands, over a guy who cats around enough to be a breeding ground for sexually transmitted diseases.”

  His eyes went wide, and Penny felt herself flush. Could she be any more awkward and obvious about her attraction?

  “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work! And, shoot, I’d better get to my other job. I wait tables at the Firefly Café,” she explained. “Hey, if you get peckish later, you should come over to the restaurant. The food isn’t fancy, but it’s delicious.”

  “Sounds great.” He stood there, bare chest gleaming and so, so distracting, with a smile lurking in the depths of those ocean-blue eyes.

  “Okay. Great,” Penny echoed, flustered by the way she couldn’t seem to look away from him. “So maybe I’ll see you later, um…”

  She stopped, shocked at herself. “Wow. Here you are, half nekkid in my powder room, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “Dylan,” he said at once. Sticking out a large, square-palmed hand, he cleared his throat. “And I can put my shirt back on, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Penny Little,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you. And please don’t put your shirt on!”

  The hint of a smile graduated to full-on wicked smirk. “No?”

  Face flaming with heat, Penny soldiered on. “I mean, because it’s all wet. At least let me wash it for you first.”

  And if he had to stay shirtless while his tee was stain treated, laundered, and dried on the line in the backyard, well. Sometimes life was hard.

  Grinning, Dylan picked up his shirt from the pedestal sink and stepped close enough to drape it around her shoulders, since her hands were still full of glass shards.

  “Thanks. Careful though,” he said, hoarse and deep. “It’s my favorite.”

  The dark scent of sweet tea and working man surrounded her, and Penny drank it in gratefully. “I’ll treat it like it’s one of my bosses’ custom-tailored silk suits,” she promised.

  “No worries,” he said, flashing that charming grin. She didn’t want it to be as effective as it was. “It’s been through worse than a tea bath. It’ll survive.”

  Great. The shirt would survive. But as Penny hightailed it out of the powder room and gasped in her first breath of non-Dylan-scented air in minutes, she wondered.

  Would she survive this house renovation with her sanity—and her heart—intact?

  Chapter 3

  The moment the front door closed behind Penny, Dylan had his phone in hand, fingers frantically touch-typing out a query to his middle brother’s frighteningly efficient personal assistant. If anyone had the scoop on the caretaker in charge of the Sanctuary Island house, it was Jessica Bell.

  But when the ringing of the phone clicked through to voice mail, it was Logan’s voice in his ear.

  “Jessica can’t come to the phone right now,” his brother intoned solemnly. “She’s too busy inserting herself into every aspect of my life and making sure I waste time eating and sleeping instead of working in my lab. When she’s ready to stop annoying me, she can have her phone back. Until then, leave a message, I guess. I certainly won’t be checking them or passing them along to her, though.”

  Dylan hung up before the beep. No extra info from Jessica, then. Fine, he’d have to figure out what Penny Little’s deal was the old-fashioned way—with a generous dose of charm.

  He didn’t question his desire to spend more time here, in this house with this woman, and without the heavy baggage of the reputation he’d recklessly built back in New York. Penny Little was interesting. Working on the house was surprisingly interesting, or at least satisfying.

  The whole thing felt like a vacation from the boring, predictable cynicism of his real life.

  So yeah, he hadn’t come clean about who he was. But seriously, as if he admitted to being the Bad Boy Billionaire Penny despised? That would end things in a hurry. No, he’d decided on the spur of the moment to play this out a little longer, and even though he felt an uncomfortable tickle of guilt at lying to Penny, he shrugged it off.

  He wasn’t hurting anyone. In fact, he was saving Penny from the embarrassment of realizing she’d bad-mouthed him and his entire family right to his face. Plus, Penny was getting the help she needed with the house repairs. Everybody won.

  Syrupy afternoon light was pouring through the newly polished windows by the time Dylan had made his way through the first quarter of the to-do list Penny had left. Some of the tasks were self-explanatory—it didn’t take a genius to wash a window, just a good ladder and a guy with zero fear of heights. For the rest, well, thank God for Google. And the local hardware store.

  He’d gotten a fair number of tips from the tall, athletic woman behind the counter. For instance, apparently crumpled-up newspaper was the only way to get glass clean with no streaking. She’d talked herself out of a sale with that one, since Dylan had been about to buy a bundle of microfiber cloths, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  This whole island couldn’t be more different from the urban rush of Manhattan. And Dylan had yet to see more of Sanctuary than the quaint “downtown” area bordering the town square where his grandparents’ house stood.

  As he located the leaky pipe under the kitchen sink—number five on The List—Dylan rolled his sore shoulders and admitted to himself that as unusual as the situation was, he’d needed this.

  Man, when he got back to Manhattan, he was asking for a refund from his personal trainer. The strenuous daily gym routine hadn’t prepared him for a full day of manual labor. Dylan’s muscles ached. But it was a good ache, a clean, pure soreness that let him know he’d used his body well today, and he’d likely sleep well that night.

  And something about the blend of mindless, repetitive actions like hammering the loose floorboards on the front porch back into place combined with figuring out the intricacies of nineteenth century plumbing had allowed him to completely tune out all the stress and drama he’d left behind in New York.

  With a contented sigh, Dylan wedged his shoulders into the under-counter cabinet hiding the leak and started tinkering.

  A thud from out in the kitchen behind him startled him into cracking his head on the edge of the cabinet. “Crap!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” The sharp male voice had Dylan backing out of the cabinet on his hands and knees, wincing against the sting of his bruised temple.

  A teenaged boy stood next to the oval eat-in kitchen table, hands on his hips and backpack on the floor beside his scuffed sneakers. That must have been the thud Dylan had heard.

  Who was this kid?

  “Well?” the boy said, narrowing his light hazel eyes and putting his big puppy paws on his skinny hips. Whoever he was, he was packing way more attitude than his lanky frame could back up. He had the weedy, gawky look of someone whose body was growing and changing so rapidly, he was having a hard time catching up to it.

  Dylan remembered how that felt. Remembered, too, the horrible awkwardness of being caught between childhood and manhood, teetering on the cusp and trying desperately not to fall on his face. The memory of how he’d coped with it all—badly—prompted Dylan to stand up straight and wipe his hands on his jeans.

  Holding out his still-smudged right hand, man to man, he said, “I’m Dylan. I’m the handyman. And you are?”

  The kid slowly reached out and shook Dylan’s hand. His scowl lightened a bit as he unconsciously squared his shoulders.

  “Answer my question first,” the kid said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Dylan tugged the creased, water-spotted list out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. “I’m the guy who’s been working his way through this list for the last seven hours. Does Penny Little know you hang out here when she’s at work?”

  Dylan and his high school buddies used to break into empty apartments to smok
e and raid the absent owner’s liquor cabinet. This kid, in his baggy polo shirt and too-short khakis didn’t exactly look the type, but you never knew.

  Giving Dylan a look that clearly communicated searing scorn, the kid said, “Uh, yeah. Since I live here.”

  The snark made Dylan bite down on a smile—sarcasm didn’t sit well on the young, unlined face, with those bright green-gold eyes. Eyes the same unusual color as Penny Little’s.

  With a sense of dawning comprehension, Dylan said, “You’re Penny’s … brother?”

  Another look of withering disgust. “No. I’m her son. Matthew.”

  Dylan blinked. “Wait. She’s married?”

  “Divorced.” Matthew crossed his arms over his thin chest belligerently. “You’re pretty slow.”

  “Hey! Give me a break. You’re what, sixteen? Penny looks—well, she can’t be old enough to have a teenaged son.”

  Those eyes he’d inherited from Penny became narrow and suspicious. “I meant you were slow because it’s taken you seven hours to get to the leaky sink.”

  Ah. Awkward. Dylan kept his expression serious with an effort. “I take pride in my work.”

  Raising his brows, Matthew said, “Oh, man. You are totally perving on my mom.”

  “What? No, I’m not,” Dylan denied, feeling his cheeks heat even though he didn’t know what he had to be embarrassed about.

  Clearly unconvinced, Matt made a grossed-out face. “Yeah, you are. You called her Penny, you noticed how she looked, asked if she’s single. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Look, kid.” Dylan raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry if it freaks you out, but your mom is an adult. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need you to protect her honor.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Matt jerked his chin in the direction of the door. “Since you’re leaving.”

  “What?”

  “You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”

  Dylan raised his brows. “Yeah? Your mom didn’t say anything about that to me. I wouldn’t want to leave the job half-finished.”

  “Not even half,” Matthew sneered. “But Mom isn’t here.”

  It sounded like he was grinding his teeth, and his deep voice cracked a little on here. Flushing angrily, he tilted his chin up in a way that reminded Dylan vividly of Penny.

  Raising his voice, Matthew grated out, “I’m the man of the house. Which makes me your boss, and I say you’re done.”

  A gasp from the other end of the kitchen had them both turning to face Penny, standing in the doorway. The starched pleats of her uniform had wilted over the course of the day, but her curly hair was as bouncy as ever.

  “Matthew Emmett Little! I didn’t raise you to be rude to guests in our home.”

  Matthew deflated like a pinpricked balloon, but his mouth went hard and flat. “It’s not our home, and he’s not a guest. He works here. Like you do.”

  Something around Penny’s tired eyes went taut, but her voice was calm as she said, “Even more reason to keep your sass to yourself. Dylan is here to do a job, and you will treat him with the same respect you’d expect in return.”

  Dylan shifted his weight, wishing he could crawl back under the kitchen sink to escape the awful tension strung between mother and son.

  But when Matthew broke and dropped his gaze away from his mother’s inflexible stare, he looked straight at Dylan. “I apologize,” Matthew said. “You’re just doing your job. But we don’t need your help.”

  “The Harringtons sent Dylan down here,” Penny told her son, coming into the kitchen to stand shoulder to shoulder with Dylan. “They hired him. It’s not up to us.”

  Matthew struggled visibly for a second, anger and embarrassment at war on his open, young face. “It should be. We’re the ones who live here most of the time! And I told you I would take care of all the stuff on this list, Mom. I can do it. And if I needed help, I could call Dad.”

  “Matty…” Penny pressed a hand to the bridge of her nose as if she felt a headache coming on.

  “Don’t call me Matty,” Matthew shouted, deep red suffusing his cheeks. “I’ve told you a million times, I hate that stupid baby name.”

  With that, he grabbed his backpack off the floor and all but ran out of the kitchen. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and down the hallway, punctuated by the slam of a door.

  Penny winced, then blew out a breath. “Sorry about that. I’ll see what I can do about getting you combat pay.”

  “Don’t give it another thought. Believe me, I’ve seen worse.” Dylan gave her an easy smile, wanting to lift some of the weight off of her slumped shoulders. “In fact, I was worse. Way, way worse.”

  “Matty—I mean, Matt.” She pressed her lips together as if chastising herself. “He’s a good boy. But ever since the divorce…”

  She cut herself off with a little laugh. “Listen to me rattle on. You don’t want to hear about our problems.”

  “Don’t stop on my account. I can’t promise any sage advice, but I’m happy to listen if you want to talk about it.” Shockingly, Dylan realized it was the truth. He saw a lot of himself in Matthew’s troubled eyes. And Penny—she tugged at something in him.

  “You don’t have to, just to be nice. I know there’s still a lot of work to finish.”

  “I’m never nice. Besides.” Dylan hitched his hip up on the kitchen counter beside the sink with a winning grin. “I’m due for a break. And maybe another shot at that iced tea? Although if we fumble this one, too, I’m out of luck. This is my last clean T-shirt.”

  Penny’s gaze sharpened on his face as if he’d just come into focus. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

  Freezing, Dylan’s brain went into an immediate, frantic tap dance trying to come up with a way to keep this going.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, stalling.

  A slow smile lit Penny’s round, apple-cheeked face as she sank down into one of the kitchen chairs. “I don’t care what you say, you’re the real deal. An actual nice man, hallelujah and praise be.”

  Relief and guilt made for a dizzying cocktail. Dylan grimaced at the galloping of his pulse. He was just starting to slough off the dirty skin of the Bad Boy Billionaire. He wasn’t ready to go back to being a Harrington yet—but even though it wasn’t hurting anyone, didn’t matter in any real way, he still didn’t like lying to Penny.

  “No,” he said quietly, meeting her warm, kind eyes as she handed him a glass full of sweet amber liquid. “I’m really not.”

  Chapter 4

  Under the cover of the table, Penny slipped off her shoes and flexed her exhausted feet. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet. Plenty of daylight left to get through the endless mountain of laundry and dirty dishes generated by a teenaged boy. But before her second shift started, Penny decided she’d allow herself a few moments to enjoy the strange intimacy that had sprung up between herself and this gorgeous stranger.

  “So you were saying, about your divorce?” He went back to tinkering with the kitchen sink, which somehow made it easier for Penny to open up.

  “It happened a few years ago now, but Matt’s still angry at me. The marriage didn’t just break up—we also left the town we were living in to start fresh here, on Sanctuary Island. The transition was hard on him.”

  “But not on you?”

  “It was my choice to leave.” Although there hadn’t been a choice. Not really. “Matt doesn’t understand why his whole life had to be uprooted, or why I cut off all contact with his father. Not that his father makes any effort to keep in touch with him, anyway—which, of course, Matt blames me for.”

  “He’s at a rough age.” Dylan shrugged, sympathetic and pragmatic at once. “You’re an easy target for all those hormones and emotions rocketing around his system, because you’re the one who’s here for him. Believe me, when I was his age, I was sure everything would be better if my older brothers would just come home and pay attention to me. It’s only now, looking back, that I see how wrong I was. And boy
, do I regret being such a jackass to people who were doing their best to look after me.”

  “So you’re saying to wait it out, and in ten years Matty will realize I wasn’t a crappy mother, after all?” Penny laughed, and was surprised to notice that the belly-twisting tension of yet another fight with her son had almost completely dissolved. “I actually feel better. You delivered on the sage advice, after all!”

  He laughed. “Well, I was once a teenage boy. I know how they think. I wasn’t so different from your son, in a lot of ways.” The smile slid off his face and those blue eyes turned serious. Speaking carefully, as if unsure how much to tell, Dylan said, “I was younger than Matt when I lost my father. Both my parents, actually.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Penny croaked around the sudden lump in her throat. It was her worst nightmare: that something would happen to her, and Matty would be left all alone.

  He shrugged. “I was lucky—my brothers and I had relatives who took us in, and they were wonderful. It could have been a lot worse. But I remember how it felt to be that age and looking around me to try to see what kind of man I wanted to be.”

  “That’s a huge part of why I left my husband,” Penny said, the truth pouring out of her. “Because I didn’t want Matty to look up to him as an example of how to be a man.”

  “I get that. Having no male role model is way better than having a bad one. Maybe I was lucky my brothers weren’t around more when I was a kid. I can’t imagine what I would have learned from them. My middle brother is a genius, but a total workaholic loner. And my oldest brother—well. I guess he could’ve taught me how to close off all emotion and go through life like a machine while trying to control everyone around me. Nah, I was better off making it up as I went along.”

  He snorted as if to say he was still making it up, and was pretty sure he was getting it wrong. Penny wanted to hug him so badly, she had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching out. “It seems to me like you did a pretty good job with that.”