Miss Fix-It

by Hart, Emma

  “No.” I stopped smack-bang in the middle of the aisle and pointed my finger at her. “No, absolutely not. Do not even go down that line of thinking.”

  She giggled, a fake, tinkly laugh tickling the air between us. “What line of thinking, honey? I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Work, Mom. It’s just work. Besides, I have a date on Saturday night.”

  She stopped and jerked her head toward me. “You do?”

  “Yes. I was giving up hope after a builder asked if we could hammer something else into the wall—”

  “Ha!” she barked out. “That’s a good one.”

  I shot her a withering look. “—When I got an email from a perfectly nice young man—”

  “You sound seventy.”

  “—Who might actually be worth two hours of my time.”

  She rolled her eyes, carefully laying eggs at the end of her cart. “Whatever you say, Kali. You know as well as I do you’ll reject him, too. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but unless you lower your expectations, I doubt you’ll ever find it.”

  “What’s the point of lowering my expectations? I’m worth more than that. Look at me. Anyone would be lucky to have me.”

  “Your self-confidence is admirable,” she admitted. “But you should make sure you don’t have paint in your hair before you proclaim that to the world.”

  I stopped. Again. “I don’t have paint in my hair…Do I?”

  Mom leaned over and picked a loose curl out from my low ponytail. “Right here.”

  I grabbed the same lock of hair and tugged it into my eyesight.

  Damn it. She was right. And the bright, white paint stood out like a sore damn thumb against the darkness of my hair.

  Sighing, I flicked it back over my shoulder. “Well, I can’t be perfect all the time.”

  “Yep,” she said to herself, grabbing a bottle of wine. “You’re your father’s daughter. No doubt about it.”

  I smirked at her back.

  Really…She shouldn’t have been surprised.

  I wasn’t.

  ***

  Friday came and went without fanfare. I didn’t see Brantley at all. That wasn’t ideal, since I’d taken over ordering the furniture for him to make sure Dad could match it, and it was all due for delivery the next day.

  A week ahead of my schedule.

  The house was still covered in boxes, and I was a total loss of what to do. There was nowhere to put it, as far as I knew. I had no idea what the garage was like or if there was any room there. It was obvious his cross-country move had been done by movers, so I had no idea how much stuff there was in this house.

  Saturday morning dawned bright and early. Too early. My mom had plied me with her homemade sangria at family dinner, and once again, I’d made bad choices.

  At least I didn’t have such a huge headache…This time.

  A text message at nine-thirty alerted me to the fact the furniture would be delivered in an hour. This was at odds—surprise, surprise—with the three-to-five p.m. window they’d originally given me when they’d told me it would be delivered early.

  Because why not? I loved getting my whole schedule screwed up twice.

  I filled my take-out coffee cup and tugged up my shorts. It was hot as hell outside, and I wasn’t happy about having to work today. I’d planned to not actually do a thing except help Dad with Ellie’s bed.

  I sighed as I got in my truck. I dialed Brantley’s number again, but the call rolled over to voicemail after ringing.

  Awesome. I loved showing up at client’s houses unannounced. Unexpected guests were about as enjoyable as a bout of hemorrhoids.

  God, I was pessimistic this morning.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up outside the Cooper house. His car was in the drive, and my stomach rolled as I got out of the car.

  I hoped that was because of last night’s sangria.

  Dear god, let it be the sangria.

  I grabbed my coffee before I shut the car door and went to the front door. It swung open before I could knock.

  “Kawi!” Ellie grinned. “Hiya!”

  “Ellie!” Brantley stalked out from the kitchen, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He fiddled with a t-shirt, turning it the right way around. “What have I told you—Kali. Hi.”

  I froze.

  Jesus, was there a part of this man that wasn’t completely delicious?

  I blinked several times as I took in the sight of his lean, toned torso. Perfect pecs, lightly shaded abs, a dangerous ‘v’ that teased way below the waistband of his sweats…

  He pulled on his t-shirt, covering up his body and forcing me to come back to the here and now.

  “Hi,” I said, shaking myself out of the daze. “Sorry—I tried to call, but you didn’t answer the phone.”

  “Inside,” he said to Ellie, grasping her by the shoulders and directing her to the front room. “Come in. Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him inside. “Eli was playing a game on it this morning and put it down somewhere safe, apparently.”

  “Ah.” I stepped inside and closed the door, then went with him to the kitchen. “I have a lot of safe places. Not entirely sure where any of them are, though.”

  He snorted, stirring in a mug. “If you were a four-year-old boy who had to give back your dad’s phone, where would you put it?”

  I blinked. “Where all lost change goes to die. Down the back of a sofa.”

  Brantley paused, mid-stir. “Hold that thought.”

  The spoon clinked against the countertop as he dropped it and went to the living room. I watched him go, my gaze dropping to his ass two too many times for it to be appropriate.

  Oh, whatever. Even once was inappropriate, but still.

  Gray sweatpants—sent from the gods for the viewing pleasure of women everywhere.

  “You’re a genius, Kali.” He returned, phone in hand. “You got a list of safe spaces for future reference?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “If I had a list, I’d know where to find all the stuff I’ve put somewhere sa—damn it. I just remembered where I put my credit card bill so I wouldn’t lose it.”

  His laugh was deep and rich. “Which is?”

  “My underwear drawer. That’s what I get for being lazy and not putting the laundry away.” I sighed and leaned against the counter. “Hold on, let me email myself that.”

  More laughter. “I’d offer you a coffee, but I see you came equipped.” He paused as I tucked my phone away. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to come either,” I replied. “But the furniture delivery company let me know they’re delivering today and not next week as planned.”

  He blew out a long breath and looked around helplessly. “Shit,” he whispered. “I have no idea where that’s gonna go.”

  “I called them, but it’s already on the truck and it’s gonna be here within the hour, so they refused to redeliver.”

  “Didn’t you specifically pick the date so it could go right upstairs?”

  “Yeah…Uh, as a sidenote, you should probably greet them when it gets here. I think the delivery note might be a warning about the crazy, angry lady who ordered it.” I bit the inside of my cheek when he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Off the professional record, my mom might have plied me with sangria last night and they contacted me very early.”

  He stared at me, turquoise eyes shining as his lips curved into an oh-so-sexy smile. “You don’t look hungover.”

  “I’ll write to Sephora to thank them for their flawless coverage.”

  He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “All right—I think we can do this. Would you just give me a hand in the garage to move some stuff around to make room for it?”

  “Sure. I promise, I’ll get out of your hair as soon as it’s delivered and I’ve checked it all. It won’t take long.” I smiled.

  He held up his hands and backed toward the garage door. “Don’t worry—I pl
an to do nothing but try to get through some of these boxes. I figure we should have more than one cup in the cupboard at this point.”

  That was a hard fact to disagree with. “You do give off the impression you plan to leave at any minute.”

  “Yes, well, after meeting that damned cat at the grocery store, it’s tempting.”

  “Ah, you’ve made the acquaintance of Mr. Prickles.” I stepped into the garage. Fuck, it was like a sauna in here.

  Brantley whacked a unit on the wall. A light flashed and it whirred to life, instantly shooting out cold air. “Damn thing,” he muttered. “Prickles? I thought it was Pickles.”

  “It is.” I smiled. “Prickles suits him better.”

  He lifted his sweatpant leg up and showed me his ankle. An angry, red scratch decorated it. “No kidding.”

  “Did you step on his tail?” I glanced at the scratch before meeting his eyes again.

  “No, I dared to walk in front of him,” he said dryly.

  “Ah. Yes, such a thing will anger His Highness.”

  He snorted. “It might not have been my finest moment when I told Irma that if he scratched me again, I’d kick him.”

  “Been there, done that.” I nodded. “Accidentally, of course.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Of course.” We held eye contact for a minute—a minute that sent a shiver down my spine. “All right,” he said, breaking it and looking around the full garage. “I have no idea where to start.”

  I picked my way between boxes, going up onto my tiptoes and balancing so as not to knock over a precariously balanced stack. “Well, usually I’d be snarky and say we should start at the beginning, but there doesn’t appear to be one. Or a middle. Or an end.”

  His laugh echoed off the walls. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t recommend moving with twins. In hindsight, I wish I’d left them with my parents while I moved everything here.”

  “I can imagine.” I smiled and straightened a pile of boxes. “Okay. Let’s just shift some stuff around and see what room we can make.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Let me check on the twins, then I’ll start at this end.”

  “It is suspiciously quiet,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Exactly.” Brantley’s laugh lingered when he stepped back into the kitchen.

  I had no idea how he did it.

  I got started on moving the boxes. Some were light, so I stacked those first. They were labeled the most random things—towels, baby clothes, pillows, stuffed toys. It was chaos, to put it simply.

  Mind you, if I were him, it’d be chaos, too. I guess keeping tiny humans alive was more important than unpacking stuff.

  I shifted a box against the wall, hitting another in the process. I just about managed to grab it before it fell, and something clinked inside. This one wasn’t taped like the others, and my awkward grab of the box had the top gaping open.

  I set it down on top of another. More clinking came from inside it, and I paused.

  A part of me wanted to check it, but at the same time, it felt like a bit of an invasion of their privacy.

  I peered over my shoulder. Brantley was still in the house, so if I looked quickly…

  I opened the box before I could question myself. It was full of unwrapped photo frames and a couple of vases. Pulling the vases out to check over them, I dislodged the frames. One fell flat forward where the vases had been.

  I put them both on the floor and straightened the frame. Then, I paused. A young woman was in the photo, clutching two babies in her arms. I felt no recognition at looking at her face, so I pulled it out and looked at it properly.

  The babies were dressed in pink and blue, and as I looked over the photo, it dawned on me. This was the twins as babies—with their mom.

  She was beautiful. Short, honey-blond hair showed where the twins got their now-golden-brown locks from. Big eyes, a round face, light freckles on her nose.

  Yet, the twins looked nothing like her. Except for the freckles and the tint in their hair, they were both the double of Brantley.

  “Right, I can help now. Sorry. It’s like being a referee sometimes.”

  I jumped, dropping the frame. Thankfully, it fell into the box and not on the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Brantley asked, peering over the garage at me.

  “Yeah. I—” I stopped. “You, uh, you have frosting on your nose. Just here.” I rubbed the side of mine.

  “Shit.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Did I get it?”

  I nodded. “Should I ask?”

  His lips curled to the side. “Barbie and Iron Man got married. Apparently, Superman started a cake fight, and Batman took offense to it. Rainbow Dash tried to save her, and that’s apparently how frosting ended up all over the sofa.”

  “You had me up until Rainbow Dash.”

  “My Little Pony. Stupid names,” he murmured, then shook his head. “Thanks. For the frosting.” He tapped his nose. “How are you doing over there?”

  “Oh, I…” I paused. “I almost knocked this one over, then something sounded like it smashed, so I was just checking it over.”

  He frowned. “Did anything? Smash?

  “Oh, no.” I bent down and picked up one of the vases. “All fine.”

  He picked his way through the boxes the same way I had and joined me. I hesitated, holding the vase close to my chest as he reached for the top and opened it.

  Hesitantly, he picked up the photo. I peered up at him through my lashes, watching as a slight smile toyed with the edges of his mouth. “You’re probably wondering why there’s a whole box of photos of her, right?”

  “No,” I lied.

  He looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “I didn’t know all of them were of her, so I didn’t, but now I am,” I admitted.

  He laughed quietly, setting the frame back in the box. He took the vase from me, replaced it, and did the same with the other. Then, he folded the box flaps so it was completely closed.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s easier,” he said, moving away. He lifted up a box marked ‘gym stuff’ and moved it like it weighed nothing. “The twins don’t remember her, even though they know their mommy is an angel. I moved us here for a fresh start, and for now, keeping it all together, out of the way, is part of that.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. So, I said nothing.

  He turned, half-smiling. “You look like you pity me.”

  “I don’t know that pity is the right word,” I said quietly, straightening the picture frame box up. “I feel bad for you. And the twins, obviously.”

  “I’ve accepted it. Honestly, the hardest part of everything was the adjustment after she’d died. She did most of the parenting while I worked, and all of a sudden, I had these two people who now needed me to do stuff I’d never done before. I had help, but…” He sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Every time my family or friends looked at me, it was with pity. I’d proposed to her before she got pregnant, then when they were eight months old, we found out about her cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.” I let my fingers fall from the box.

  “I was ready for it. It was hard, but now I finally feel like we’ve settled.” He shifted another box. “When they’re ready to know about her, I’ll tell them. Until then, it’s easier to start fresh.”

  “It kinda sounds like you’re keeping her locked away for yourself.”

  “I am.” He turned and met my eyes. “Like I said—easier. I’ll never move on if I’m surrounded by her.”

  “Did you ever get married?”

  “No. Honestly, we’d never even planned it, past getting engaged. Weird, right?”

  “Not really. My best friend got engaged when she was nineteen and straight up said she never saw them getting married.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Then why did she say yes?”

  “She likes shiny things. Oh, and she was really shallow.”

  Brantley laughed, the genuine sound wipi
ng any trace of sadness from his face. “Fair enough. Is she still shallow?”

  I pinched my finger and thumb together, leaving a small gap. “Little bit. And she still likes shiny things, although she tends to collect them herself now. Bit like a blackbird.”

  “Isn’t it crows that like shiny things?” He tilted his head to the side. “Along with small children, of course.”

  “Crows like small children?”

  “What?”

  “You asked if crows like shiny things along with small children.”

  He stared at me, confusion clouding his eyes. “No, I meant that small children like shiny things as well.”

  I blew out a breath. “Oh, thank god. I was about to have nightmares over crows eating small kids.”

  “You’re not the sharpest tool in the box this morning, are you?”

  “Hey. I—” I pointed my finger at him, mouth open, and stopped.

  I had no response to that.

  Actually, I did.

  I skirted the boxes and jabbed my fingertip in his arm. Damn it, that bicep is made of rock. “Move your own boxes.”

  He burst out laughing and reached for me when I tried to move away. “Kali—”

  “I’m going to check on the superhero wedding party.” I stepped back, waving my arm out of his reach.

  And tripped.

  A squeal left my mouth as I tripped over a box. Still laughing, Brantley darted forward and grabbed me before I could hit the ground. His hands were hot on my waist, and my heart thundered against my ribs—from the near-fall or his hands, I didn’t know.

  He pulled me up to standing straight, and the only thing stopping our bodies from touching was the way I held my arms to my chest. My fingers grazed my neck and the skin beneath my chin, and I swallowed hard when I looked up and met his eyes.

  Inches.

  That was how much distance there was between our mouths. Between my glossy, red lips and his soft, pink ones. So close that his breath tickled across my cheek warmly.

  So close that I could see the hint of darker blue flecks in the turquoise of his irises. So close that I could see the shadow his eyelashes cast over his skin whenever he blinked.

  That I could see the dimple, half-hidden by the scruff on his jaw, as his lips pulled to one side.