Miss Fix-It

by Hart, Emma

  “No!”

  “She’s forwarded him the bill. I got to enjoy a great dinner for free.”

  “How did she do that?”

  “Apparently, he booked on the website, and there’s small print that states the booking party is liable for the bill in the event of a date gone wrong. Well—probably not that, but enough to cover poor little women like me who get stuffed because the guy is a dick.”

  Mom shook her head and sighed. “At least Marcie has a plan in place for those dicks.”

  “Only because the last guy she dated thought their date would be free because it was at Coastal,” I reminded her. “Marcie thought he’d be gentleman enough to pay, but nope.”

  “I’m so glad I don’t have to date now,” Mom said. “I don’t think I could stand it. I’d likely be locked up for murder.”

  “You’ve been married to Dad for ten years next weekend. Isn’t that similar to jail?”

  She’d been drinking her wine when I’d said that, and she snorted, clapping her hand over her nose. I burst out laughing as she squealed and choked.

  “Damn it, Kali. How can I drink properly if you keep making me laugh?”

  I grinned.

  “And for the record, no, marriage is not like jail.” She paused. “Most of the time. At least in jail there’d be a rotation of whose turn it is to load the dishwasher.”

  “Mom, please. Every time Dad loads it, you redo it.”

  “It’s not my fault if he does it wrong. I keep hoping he’ll take the hint.”

  I tapped my finger against my chin. “Do you think if I wrote, “NOT THE SECRETARY” on my bio on the dating site people would get it?”

  “No. I think you should say you are the secretary, then shock them when you can build Ikea furniture without swearing.”

  “And without the instructions.”

  “That’s just cocky.”

  “Exactly.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her wine glass hid a smile. “Whoever marries you better have the patience of a saint, Kali Hancock.”

  “They’d better have more than the patience of a saint. I want the cock of a God, too.”

  She blinked at me for a moment. “Do you ever think I should be less of the best friend kind of parent and more of the “don’t speak like that” parent?”

  I twisted my lips in a wry smile. “You tried that once. It lasted a week.”

  “Maybe it’s time to try again.”

  “Fifty bucks says you last three days.”

  She tapped her fingers against her knee. “You’re right. Besides, you have your dad for that.”

  Once again, I grinned, thankful for having a mom and best friend wrapped into one.

  Chapter Two

  One week later

  Note to self: a girls’ night out the day before a consultation with a potential client was not the best idea I’d ever had.

  Neither was the vodka.

  Really, I knew better. Me and vodka weren’t friends. By this point in my life, I should have been able to say no the allure of any cocktail with it in—and I definitely shouldn’t be giving in to peer pressure when it’s the shots round.

  All things considered, I was a pretty lousy adult. But, hey. My best friend was back from a work trip that took her away for a month, and the night out had been planned long before I got Brantley Cooper’s email.

  Thankfully for me, right now, I’d drank enough water to quench the thirst of a herd of elephants, had scarfed down—ahem—three bagels, showered, and brushed my teeth at least five times to kill the alcohol grime the drinking session had left behind.

  I was feeling almost human. Almost.

  My professional head would take over when I walked inside the house. I had my toolbox, even though I didn’t think I would need it. It was mostly for the tape measure that I would undoubtedly lose if I took it out of the box.

  I was always losing the damn thing. I was about ready to buy them in bulk and store them in my basement.

  I swallowed a mouthful of water before I started up my truck. The bright-pin freshener swung from the rearview mirror as I pulled out of my driveway and away from my modest, two-story house.

  The address Brantley Cooper had given me wasn’t too far from my own house. A five minute drive, a ten minute or so walk, since you could cut through the park that separated our neighborhoods. I also knew it to be part of a block of houses that had mold issues ever since they were built. The original buyers had been given compensation for the problems it had caused, but that didn’t count when you were buying it from one of them.

  In other words, Brantley Cooper was in for the long—and potentially expensive—haul if he’d bought this house, and I was almost certain he had.

  I pulled onto his street. It was easy to pick out which house was his. Flattened boxes were piled on the grass by the mailbox, stacked somewhat haphazardly. I pulled up to the curb and killed my engine. Another drink of water and I grabbed my toolbox—and drill case, just in case—and headed for the front door.

  I rang the bell.

  A scream answered.

  I took a step back.

  “No, Ewwie!” a young voice shouted. “Nooooo!”

  “Eleanor. Elijah!” a deeper, gruffer voice said over the noise of them fighting. “Can you stop for two minutes so I can answer the door?”

  “But she said—”

  “But he—”

  The door swung open, revealing to me the man I presumed to be Brantley Cooper.

  Holy mother of orgasms.

  Dumbly, I stared at him. At the dark hair that curled over his forehead and ears. At the turquoise-blue eyes that were currently sizing me up. At the sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the stubbled jaw…The arms that looked like they could lift a tank over his head.

  “Can I help you?” he said in a low voice that I could hear over the unruly fighting in the house behind him.

  My mouth was too dry to answer.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I have an appointment in…” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Any moment, actually, and I have to sort my kids, so…”

  “Mr. Cooper?” Thank god. Hi again, voice. Nice of you to show up.

  He stopped, mid-turn, and peered at me. “Yes…”

  I held out my hand. “Kali Hancock. I’m here to consult with you on your children’s rooms?”

  “Kali Hancock.” He said my name slowly, rolling it around his mouth as if he were trying it on for size.

  Deep, rumbly, and…suspicious.

  Here we go again.

  “The K. Hancock I’ve been emailing with?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Is it common for your company to send someone who isn’t the builder for the consultation?”

  I took a deep breath and motioned to the toolbox by my feet. “Not at all. I am the builder.”

  He stared at me, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. I could see the exact moment understanding settled, because his eyebrows shot up and his lips parted oh-so-invitingly.

  Damn it, no. I didn’t get attracted to stereotypical people like him.

  Someone needed to tell my vagina that.

  “You’re the builder,” he finally said, slowly.

  A gut-wrenching scream came from inside the house.

  Brantley Cooper shook his head. “I’m sorry—come in. I’ll be a minute.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up my toolbox and drill and stepped into the hallway. There wasn’t a lot of room—he’d either downsized tremendously or he’d failed to unpack a lot of stuff. How long had he been here for?

  “Eleanor, Elijah, that’s enough.” He clapped his hands in the next room.

  I leaned to the side so I could see through the door.

  What? I was nosy. How else did I find stuff out?

  He stood in front of two children, a boy and a girl. Despite the fact the little girl—Eleanor—was an inch taller than her brother, Elijah, it was obvious they were twins.

  How?

&nbs
p; They both had hair that was a golden-brown color that glinted almost copper in the sunlight that streamed through the window behind Brantley. They both stood in identical positions, too. Legs apart, arms folded, and the scowls that marred their adorable little faces… Well, you could have merged photos of those expressions, and you wouldn’t be able to tell, even down to the freckles that appeared to dot their noses.

  “I mean it,” Brantley said. “The builder is here to talk about your bedrooms. I’ll send her home if you aren’t going to behave yourselves.”

  In perfect sync, they dropped their arms, and their scowls changed into horrified expressions.

  “No, Daddy!” Eleanor rushed to him and tugged on his jeans. “No, no, no, I need my pwincess woom!”

  “No!” Elijah copied his sister. “I need my superhewo woom.”

  “No, I need—”

  “I need you to stop shouting,” Brantley said, extracting the twins from him. “Next time, you’re both in time out, do you hear me?”

  Two pairs of wide eyes gazed up at him, and golden-brown hair bobbed as they nodded in unison.

  Man. That was creepy as fuck.

  “Now,” he continued. “I want you both to sit down with the paint charts and pick out the color of your walls.” He pulled two charts off the practically-empty bookcase to the side of him and handed them one each. “I’m going upstairs with Ms. Hancock, and the second I hear fighting is the second Ellie gets the superhero room and Eli gets the princess one. Okay?”

  If Ellie looked horrified, Eli was positively beside himself at the possibility.

  Never had I seen two children sit down and stare at paint charts so intently in my entire life.

  Brantley blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, joining me back in the hallway. “Sorry. We just moved from Denver, and this is a bit of a change for them. No preschool, they lost their nanny, my parents aren’t around anymore… It’s hard.”

  No mention of their mom.

  Hmm.

  Was he single?

  Damn it, Kali. Put your thirsty vagina back in its cage.

  “Don’t worry.” I smiled. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  He glanced back in the living room. “While they’re still quiet? Absolutely. I doubt it’ll last long.”

  I swallowed a laugh and grabbed my things. I’d been here less than five minutes, and already I could tell that was totally true.

  I followed him upstairs, and I swear, I tried not to look at his ass. It was literally a mantra inside my head.

  Don’t look at his ass. Don’t look at his ass. Don’t look at his ass.

  It didn’t work. It was hard not to look at his ass. It was round and peachy and goddamn it, I was a heathen!

  What was going on here? Was it a hangover effect?

  That was it.

  It was a lingering, painful trace of that fucking vodka.

  Still…It was a really, really great ass. And I was an ass girl. And an arm girl. And an eye girl. And a mouth girl. And a cock-like-a-god girl.

  Basically, I was easy to please unless you spoke like a cock.

  “…really worked,” Brantley said, reaching the top of the stairs.

  Oh, shit. I hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “Good.” Was that the right thing to say? Goddamn his mesmerizing ass.

  “Yes—the mold on the walls is almost completely gone, but I think it’s just staining now.” He pushed open a door. “This is Ellie’s room. Her’s was a little worse than Eli’s.”

  I stepped inside the room after him. The pictures really hadn’t done it justice—the paper was ripping, the floor was in desperate need of an overhaul, and the windows still held the signs of the mold in the way it was etched into the edges of the windows.

  I put down my things and went to take a closer look. “It’s just staining,” I confirmed. “I need to look more, but I think it’s just black mold, which is a problem all the houses in this neighborhood have.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The original contractors screwed something up, but since you bought from someone else and not them, management is on you.”

  “Great,” he drawled. “Is there anything you can do for it?”

  “Honestly,” I said, turning around. “If it’s just surface mold, no. It really is just management. Making sure the room is aired out—especially in colder months—and that you give the windows a wipe down with the solution you already used.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “Well, since I’m painting… There is a mixture you can get that you can put into paint. It won’t help the windows, but it’ll counteract the mold trying to form on the walls.”

  “Can you buy that?” His turquoise blue gaze settled on me intently.

  “I can, but…” I paused. “It can be expensive, and if you need it for more than one room…”

  “I can, but…” I paused. “It can be expensive, and if you need it for more than one room…”

  “I can write you the deposit check today.”

  Well, that changed things. “I can order it as soon as it’s cashed.”

  He nodded. “Perfect. Shall we see Eli’s room?”

  I nodded and followed him, feeling like one of those stupid bobby-head dogs people put in their cars.

  Eli’s room was much the same as Ellie’s in terms of what it needed. New floors, new walls, mold treatment. That was all standard, though. It was everything else I needed to know that wasn’t.

  “What else are you thinking? I can see you’re hoping for more than just a bit of paint and new carpet fitted.”

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “How did you know?”

  “It’s my job to know.”

  He motioned toward the stairs. “I need to check the twins. Can I make you a coffee?”

  “Sure.” We both went down. By some miracle, at least judging by his relieved sigh, the twins were quiet and still picking their paint colors. Who knew it was such a complicated job for such tiny people?

  He led me into the kitchen and waved his hand at the table. “Take a—hold on.” He shifted two boxes from a chair and put them by the back door. “Sorry. Unpacking is damn hard with two kids around.”

  “Are you by yourself?”

  He nodded briskly and turned on the coffee machine.

  “You don’t have family here?” I frowned. Nobody moved to Rock Bay if they didn’t have family here.

  He gripped the edge of the counter. “No family. The twins’ mom passed away two and a half years ago.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Nothing came out.

  Oh, that’s right. Nothing came out because my foot was in my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally managed to eke out. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He waved his arm dismissively, setting a mug in front of me. “Two and a half years is a long time.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally managed to eke out. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He waved his arm dismissively, setting a mug in front of me. “Two and a half years is a long time. You didn’t know. I can see why you asked. Rock Bay is a little…quieter…than I’d expected.”

  A wry smile assured me he wasn’t too annoyed at my questioning.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Please,” I said. “Sorry. I’m a little nosy and sometimes have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth and chewing on my toes.”

  “Hopefully not literally.”

  “Not since I was at least three.”

  He half-grinned. “Got any tips to stop that? Eli is a fan of his toenails.”

  I wrinkled my nose up. “Oh, gosh.”

  Brantley pulled his mug from the machine and sat opposite me. He piled three sugars and a dash of cream into his coffee, then smiled again. “If somebody had warned me how gross kids are, I might have reconsidered.”

  “Well, that’s the reason I’m not a kid person,” I admitted. “I can’t deal with the toenails thing.”


  “Ellie doesn’t do it, so there’s that.”

  “Yeah, no. Have you ever been a teenage girl?”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure I haven’t.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Well, my apologies for what will happen to you in ten years.”

  “Thanks.” He fought an even wider smile. “So, the other stuff for their rooms…”

  “Sure. Go on ahead.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my Notes app.

  He glanced at it with a quirked eyebrow, but didn’t acknowledge it otherwise. “The rooms aren’t huge, so I’d like to get them a higher bed, but not a really high one.”

  Technical.

  “A mid-sleeper? With room for a desk or something underneath?”

  “That’s it, but I think Ellie would prefer a dress-up wardrobe with space for books, and Eli would prefer a “bat-cave” type thing.”

  I smiled and nodded as I tapped that onto the app. “I can definitely do that. My dad is an excellent carpenter, and he’d be thrilled to take on that challenge.”

  “Really? He’s a carpenter?”

  “Family business.” My smiled turned wry. “Don’t think you’re the first person to be confused when I show up.”

  “The K.Hancock throws you, that’s for sure.”

  I sucked my lip between my teeth so I didn’t grin even wider. “Is there any other furniture you’d like built? Dad can build beds to match anything you’d be buying from a store.”

  “I actually have their furniture. I planned to build it, but then the mold…Then parenting happened, and I’m starting to feel like I’ll never have time.”

  I held up my hands. “Don’t worry. I can handle that for you, too. All I’ll need is you to get me photos of the furniture or links to them. I’ll pass it on to my father.” I paused. “You know that’s a little extra, right? The beds.”

  He nodded. “It’s fine. They’ve had a rough time, and I want them to be happy.”

  Something deep inside me warmed at that statement. “Why don’t you give me your phone number? I can pass all this onto Dad, and he can call you with a quote.”

  “Sure. Do you mind?” He pointed to my phone.

  I brought up the contacts and hit the button for a new one.