by Dora Hiers
His phone buzzed with a text. He dug it out of his pocket.
Thank you again for replacing my faucet. That was so sweet of you.
With worry still dogging his chest, he texted back. You’re welcome. I’m worried about Trip. He hasn’t come home yet.
Several minutes lapsed, so he tossed the phone on the foyer table. Maybe she’d gone to bed. She liked to be at school a good thirty minutes before the kids arrived, and that was really early.
Finally, his phone vibrated with another text, and he snatched it off the table.
Did he let you know where he’d be?
No. When I came back from your place, he wasn’t here. And he isn’t responding to any of my texts or calls.
Back at the window, he lifted the curtain again. Relief warred with anger as headlights beamed against the house and a vehicle pulled into the driveway. Not a high enough profile to be his son’s truck, though.
He swung the front door open as the headlights flicked off. Bristol stepped out of her car and walked toward him. Dressed in a figure-hugging tank and very short shorts, a long cotton button-up shirt covered her arms but did nothing to hide the miles of tanned legs. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
Longing swelled, and a strange urge to run and meet her swamped him. He settled for opening his arms as she neared the front door, needing the comfort. Needing her.
She stepped right into them and wound her arms around his back, her cheek pressed against his chest so tightly that she could probably feel the wild hammering of his heart. “He’ll come home, Trace.”
The Lord knew exactly what he needed. The heavy sigh escaped his lungs and blew against her hair. He squeezed his eyes closed to utter a silent prayer. Please, Lord, let it be so. And thank You for bringing this sweet woman back into my life. I couldn’t do this full-time parent thing without You or her.
They stood like that for…he had no idea. But he didn’t want to move. A night breeze blew off the lake to swirl around their bare legs and lift strands of her hair to tickle his nose, her fresh and summery fragrance teasing his lungs, making him want…more.
So much more than just a single hug of comfort. More than just a few stolen moments at midnight. More than—
Whoa! Remember your no dating policy. You have enough on your plate learning to live with a teenage son and dealing with a major job change. You don’t need to add a relationship to the frying pan.
He reared back, dropped his arms to his sides and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her again. Tried hard not to wince at the hurt shimmering from her eyes.
A car pulled up and parked next to the curb. Trip untangled himself from the passenger side. A person waved from the driver’s seat, but Trace couldn’t make out who it was before the car sped away.
His son was finally home! Thank You, Lord!
Trace tracked his son’s movements. The long legs that cut across the lawn, the fingers that raked through the short hair, the exhaustion drooping his shoulders.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I—”
“Where were you tonight?” Even without Bristol’s gentle touch on his arm, he would’ve recognized the anger making his voice quiver.
Trip hiked his chin in the air but only for a second. He blew out a breath and scrubbed his face with a hand. “My truck broke down on Holler Mountain Road. No service.” He held up his phone, disgust distorting his normally calm expression. His arm twitched as if he might toss it out on the dark lawn but instead, he stuffed it back in his jeans pocket. “Lucky for me someone who knew Gramps came along and saw me walking. They were nice enough to give me a lift.”
Oh. He should’ve known something like this might happen. Remorse swamped him. First, that he’d allowed his anger to win over concern. Second, that he’d been the one to give Trip the old truck, knowing it needed some work. Third, that he’d put his son in such a vulnerable position.
He massaged his eyes, hiding his frustration with himself. Buck up, Tomlinson. You’re the adult. Blaming yourself won’t fix this. This is the time to show your son how to be a man.
Taking in a calming breath, he pressed a hand over Trip’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for losing my temper. And I promise I’ll swing by and get the truck first thing in the morning and take it in for service. I should’ve done that before I ever gave it to you to use.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Relief washed over Trip’s expression, and he flicked his head, acknowledging Bristol. “Evening, Ms. Owens. I’m sorry if I worried both of you.”
She pressed a hand against his son’s forearm. “I’m glad you made it home safely, Trip.”
Trip nodded, clamping his lips against their trembling. “Good night.”
“Good night, son.” Trace stared at the ground, every heavy footstep of his son’s convicting him. Why had he immediately jumped to conclusions and thought the worst?
Because that’s what he’d done. The worst. Getting his girlfriend pregnant and then not convincing Kendra that marriage was the best choice for raising their son. Because he hadn’t really wanted to marry her. So overwhelmed with grief over the death of his parents and sister, he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.
Guilt and grace raged a war in his head, but in his heart, he knew grace would win. Eventually.
A door slammed upstairs, and silence washed over them. He wanted to escape to his bedroom and bury his face in a pillow himself.
“Don’t blame yourself.” The words were spoken so quietly, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard them or just imagined it.
“All of it’s my fault. Why shouldn’t I blame myself?” he grumbled. “If I hadn’t given him that old truck—”
Bristol clamped her fingers around his upper arm and gave it a gentle shake. “You’re a good father, Trace Tomlinson. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”
“I should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt rather than judging him guilty without even hearing him out.”
“You’ll get there eventually. And he knows that you love him.”
Did his son know that? Really? Did Trace tell him often enough to make up for all the years they weren’t together? To redeem himself for all the times that he screwed up like tonight?
One thing he knew for certain. He’d messed up big time when he’d broken things off with Bristol. She’d dropped everything, probably given up more than a couple hours of sleep to come over tonight when he needed her. And she knew how to relate to Trip, better than he could ever hope for their father-son relationship. Why hadn’t he given her the benefit of the doubt two years ago?
Moonlight shimmered off her face and spotlighted the sincerity glowing from her eyes. She really believed him to be a good father.
“You’re beautiful, Bristol.” His voice came out hoarse from equal parts longing and regret.
She dipped her head, hiding her expression as she scuffed her flip flop against the wood decking on the porch. When she looked up, she pushed some hair out of her face, refusing to meet his gaze. “I…I’d better go.”
He didn’t try to argue. It was late, and he didn’t trust himself tonight. He was too vulnerable, not from grief like the night he shared with Kendra, but with need. And Bristol deserved someone who could be all in with her. Committed to a relationship. Committed to building a life together.
Too bad that couldn’t be him.
8
sorry to bother you, but can you give me a name for a reputable plumber?
Bristol’s text came in at seven thirty on a Friday night, nearly two weeks since the incident with Trip’s truck.
Two weeks of torture. Picking up the phone to call or text with an invitation to dinner and then setting it back down after the voice of reason spoke louder than the voice of hope.
What’s wrong?
I think I need a new toilet. It’s all in pieces now, and I can’t figure out how to put it back together again. YouTube fail. :(
He smiled, picturing the scene. The toilet guts scattered al
l over her bathroom floor. She would be standing in the middle of it, swiping at her face with frustration, smearing grease on her cheeks, her hair piled on top of her head.
Maybe she was even wearing those hot shorts again. He shook his head, dislodging that rogue thought. What kind do you like?
One that works?
He laughed, glad that Trip had left a few minutes ago for his date with Kiwi. Otherwise, he’d be explaining why he was grinning like a lovesick teenager over a few texts. Yeah, I can see how that would be helpful. Round or elongated?
Oh. Definitely elongated. The round ones are ridiculously tiny. Not sure why anyone would ever want one of those.
He nodded in agreement even though she couldn’t see him. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be over with a new one.
You don’t have to do that! I can schedule a plumber for tomorrow.
No worries. I can do it. Actually, he wanted nothing more than to see her tonight. That should’ve scared him, but it didn’t. Energy flowed through him when earlier he’d been content to stay home for the evening and call it an early night.
Okay, then. Thank you! Have you eaten already? I can scrounge up something for dinner.
His eyebrows lifted and a smile curved his lips as he scooped up his wallet and the key fob and slid them both in his pocket. He mashed the garage door opener and climbed in the truck, cranking the engine before he responded. Since when do you cook?
I didn’t say anything about cooking. ;)
He burst out laughing for the second time. OK. You take care of dinner, and I’ll bring the toilet.
Thank you, Trace. You’re a blessing.
A blessing? He’d never thought of himself that way before now. But, a half hour later, after muscling the box with the new toilet into her house and surveying the scene in the bathroom, parts of the toilet scattered all over the tight space, he understood why she’d call him that.
He leaned his head back and laughed. Really laughed. When was the last time he’d done that? What had Gramps said about him being happy? That his happiness would trickle down to his son.
“Three YouTube videos couldn’t help me put it back together.” Bristol stood in the doorway, boxing him in. Her fists planted on her shapely hips, she shook her head, frowning at the mess.
She wasn’t wearing the short shorts from the other night. But he decided he might like the blue camo tights even more. They hugged her shape, even magnified those long legs more than the shorts. A navy tank showed off her toned arms.
Suddenly the confined area in the back corner of her very feminine bedroom seemed…sweltering. He swiped at the sweat beading up on his forehead and blew out a breath.
“Sorry I don’t have air conditioning. I’ll get you some towels.” She disappeared from the doorway.
Thank You, Lord. His entire body wilted against the bathroom sink.
Oh, this woman! Did she know what she did to him?
After drawing in a couple deep breaths, he got to work, shoving all the pieces aside with his work boot. Crouching and hugging the old toilet, he twisted the water valve to shut off the water.
“Here you go.” Bristol appeared in the doorway and held out two towels. “One to wipe your face and the other in case of emergencies.”
“Emergencies? Isn’t that why you texted me? I’m a professional.” He took the shorter towel from her and swiped at his face before leaning over again, this time to disconnect the line attached to the tank.
A stream of water blasted him in the face, surprising him. Bristol squealed and backed away from the door. Squeezing his eyes closed against the vicious spray, blindly he held out his hand until he snagged the shut off valve and gave it a couple quick twists in the opposite direction.
Some professional. He must’ve turned it off and not on.
When the water finally stopped spewing, he reached for the towel looped around his neck and buried his face in it, not quite ready to face the music.
Silence stretched between them for several beats. Then…was that a snicker?
He braved a glance at her.
She was hiding a grin behind her hand. When she dropped her arm, humor spilled over in her voice and scrunched her cheeks. “So, about that towel?”
“I could use another one. And a heavy-duty garbage bag if you have one.”
“Coming right up.” She pivoted and disappeared, but he could hear her chuckling as she made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall.
Professional? Yeah, right. More like amateur, allowing himself to be distracted by that sweet smile and those long legs. He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made such a rookie mistake.
He snatched the bucket that he’d brought with him and started sponging out the water from the tank. When she came back carrying a fresh towel and the oversized trash bag, he was nearly ready to…
Explode.
Just being around her again resurrected all those conflicting feelings. Desire. Longing. Hope. Everything that had led him to break up with her.
“What can I do?”
Leave? So that he could finish this project without another stupid mistake? But what fun would be in that? Hadn’t he wanted to see her tonight?
“You can wipe everything down, if you don’t mind, while I hoist this old thing outside.”
“Sure.”
But when she squeezed into the tight space behind him, he realized that might not have been the best idea.
Swallowing hard, he shook out the bag with more force than he intended, the backlash like a whip to his face. Wincing, he scrubbed at his cheek, calling himself all sorts of fool for putting himself in this predicament. Lord, a little help here? I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but could You fix it? Soon? Bristol deserves someone who’s not broken like me. Someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage. Someone who can love her like she deserves.
A soft touch landed on his back. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Fine.” Well, he would be as soon as he could get out of this cramped space. Away from the occasional whiff of peaches and jasmine, resuscitating reminders of the sweet summer nights they’d shared. Away from the desire to wrap his arms around her instead of this stinky toilet. Away from the intense longing, so sharp, relentless even, to give in and see where a relationship would lead this time, the loud voice in his ear chanting that things were different now. That he was different.
At the exact second that he’d decided to surrender to the voice and turn around, she dropped her hand away from his back and knelt to wipe up the water.
Disappointment surged, but he knew he should be grateful as he rolled the top half of the plastic down. Thank You, Lord. That was a mighty quick answer to prayer.
Crouching, he circled the toilet and lifted it into the bag then cinched it at the top. He hoisted the heavy load, wrestling with it until he had a good hold. “Be right back. I’m going to dump this in the truck. Won’t take long to wrap things up here.”
Maybe by the time he returned, she’d be done mopping up his mess, and he could finish the task without those constant painful reminders of all he’d given up because of the mess he’d made of his life.
Like love and companionship with a special woman. More children, their laughter and joy filling the big and nearly empty house he’d built years ago, right after he’d started working for Gramps in the family business. Hoping a grand house would convince Kendra to give him—them—a chance.
But he didn’t deserve more children. Not when he’d failed his son when it counted the most, being there during Trip’s growing up years to help care for and nourish him into manhood. Now, he was paying the price, struggling to balance a demanding career with being a full-time parent during the challenging teen years.
And love?
He scoffed but it came out more like a snort as he muscled the toilet into the back of the truck.
How could he possibly consider a relationship now? Just when his son was firmly and soundly back in his life. That wou
ld steal even more precious time. Time that he wasn’t willing to spare.
****
“So, what do you think spooked him?” Frowning, Everlee nibbled on a fry much like a rabbit chewing on a carrot.
Gratitude for her friend swelled. On school days, Bristol only had thirty minutes for lunch. So, when Everlee had texted last night about bringing lunch today, Bristol had jumped on the chance to get outside for a few minutes.
The sun beat against her back, slowly warming up her arms after the deep freeze of the guidance area. Being able to enjoy the juicy hamburger from one of her favorite restaurants on the quiet patio outside the staff lounge was a nice change from the florescent lighting and the ham and cheese sandwich she would’ve packed for lunch.
School employees had no choice but to eat quickly, so she swallowed a generous bite of the burger and shook her head. “I have no idea. It was as if he changed into a different person after he came back inside from dragging the toilet to his truck.” The teasing and laughter had faded, leaving quiet and reserved in its place. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d begged off dinner, claiming he was tired after the long week.
Tired? Huh. She’d seen right past that excuse. For all his good qualities and intentions, the man still couldn’t commit. Even so, she’d insisted that he take home the entire delivery from Marionni's, his favorite Italian restaurant. She’d lost her appetite. And the hope that had ignited when he showed back up in her life.
Bristol wanted the old Trace back. Not the man who’d rejected her two years ago, but the one from recent days, his unchecked laughter tickling her ears, his love and concern for his son shimmering from his eyes, his kindness filling her heart.
Like bringing coffee and her favorite croissants and inviting her to church with his whole family. Replacing her leaky sink faucet and, instead of giving her a plumber’s name, actually coming over to take care of the mess she’d made of the toilet on a Friday night no less. Not just asking her for advice and help with his son, but actually following it.
Why was he toying with her heart like this? “I don’t understand any of it. If he isn’t interested in reviving our relationship, why invite me to dinner and church? When I texted him about the toilet issue, he could’ve just given me the name of a reputable plumber. Why did he come himself?”
