The Fix (Carolina Connections #1)

by Sylvie Stewart

  Oddly, she seemed to be holding back a laugh at first and ducked her chin to her chest. But then she raised her head back up, schooling her expression and starting to shake her head.

  “That would be awesome!” Fiona’s head popped in from out of nowhere. “She’ll see you tomorrow morning.” The door closed in my face.

  “I’ll be here at nine. I’ll bring coffee!” I yelled through the door before turning around and stepping off the porch.

  “She doesn’t drink coffee!” came the voice through the door.

  I smiled. I’d have to get creative then.

  Chapter Eight

  Boom!

  Laney

  “Oh my God, when I turned around and saw that man I swear I ovulated on the spot. Boom! Instant fertility. They should give that guy out as a prescription – fertility clinics nationwide would fold overnight.” Fiona looked at me dreamily and then switched to her mad face (which was ineffective on its best day). “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do – you did not accurately describe just how edible that guy was!” Her expression changed again as the wheels turned. “And did you see the way he was eye-fucking you across the table?” She fanned herself.

  I put my hand over her mouth and looked over her shoulder. “Little ears, Fee!”

  She peeled my hand off her face. “He’s in the bathroom. I told him to brush his teeth so I could come back and eavesdrop.”

  “You know he’s not brushing his teeth, right? He’ll be back out here in three minutes wearing only his underwear and asking what he was supposed to be doing in there,” I told her. “And Nate was not eye-fucking me! I can’t believe you invited him over here tomorrow!” I whisper-yelled.

  “Maybe I should open my own matchmaking business – it’s coming back in style, you know. It could be ‘Matched by Fiona’.” She motioned an imaginary sign in the air in front of her. “Kind of like Nate’s company, ‘Built by Murphy’. It could be kind of a family thing.” She gave a giggle.

  “Fair warning – I may kill you. In the meantime, do I owe you a portion of my dowry now or will later be fine?”

  “Later works for me.”

  ***

  A second dessert, one supervised round with the toothbrush, and three books later, Rocco was finally in bed and Fiona and I were relaxed on the couch with wine and girl talk.

  “So, what happened to his dad?” Nate was still the topic at hand.

  “Gavin said he had a heart attack a few weeks ago and Nate moved back to take over the family business until he recovers,” I told her. “I heard Nate talking on the phone about trying to find relaxing things for his dad to do with his time. Sounds like a fairly long recovery.”

  “Oh my God,” Fiona gushed and put a hand to her face as though I’d just handed her a puppy with a giant pink bow. “That is so sweet. He said he just moved back but I didn’t know all of that. See? He’s hot and he loves his family.”

  “Yeah, just what I’ve always wanted – a sexy man who loves his family and hates women,” I sniped. I was trying desperately to hold onto my mad but my resolve was fading. Evidently I was holding a puppy too, but mine had taken a roll in a pile of poo and still needed some work before it was as adorable as Fiona’s.

  Fiona swiped at my arm. “He doesn’t hate women. So he was totally sexist yesterday – a real pig – but listen to us. We’ve been reducing him to a cut of brainless man meat for the last ten minutes! Face it - we all suck. But he apologized, didn’t he? And he did seem genuinely interested in helping you.” Her eyes sparked with a familiar shine. “And besides, did you see that ass? Like I said, ‘Boom!’” She did the fist-explosion thing.

  “Stop. The last thing my ovaries need is encouragement to start sending out party invitations. Do I need to remind you what happened six years ago? And besides, you’re missing an important point. We kept our sexist talk private – he broadcast his to all and sundry!”

  “‘All and sundry?’ Are we in a Jane Austen novel now?” She set down her wine glass and sat upright on the couch. “I say, that gentleman’s posterior looked positively fetching in those britches, don’t you concur?”

  I threw a couch pillow at her.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “It doesn’t matter now because he’s coming over tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do about it. Can I come over and watch? I’ll bring popcorn.”

  “Give me that pillow back. I need something to smother you with.”

  “Aww, I love you too, Laney.”

  A voice came from the kitchen. “There is a God. I think they’re gonna kiss.”

  Fabulous, Gavin and his trusty side-kick were home.

  “You know that’s my sister, right?”

  “She’s not my sister,” came the response from Brett, Gavin’s best friend since high school. They both stood at the half wall watching us on the couch.

  “Hi Brett,” Fiona and I chimed in unison. It’s fun to play with dumb animals.

  He may have whimpered a little while Gavin continued moving into the living room. “Who’s coming over tomorrow?”

  I arranged my face into what I hoped was an innocent look.

  “Your hot new boss.” Fiona threw my ass under the bus.

  “No no no No NO,” Gavin’s voice escalated as he moved closer to me. “You promised me you were going to stay out of this! Jesus, Laney! You’ve spent the last two years nagging me to ‘get over it’ and I finally do exactly what you wanted and you start fucking it all up!”

  “Be quiet! Rocco is sleeping!” I respond in only a slightly lower tone.

  “You be quiet! I can’t believe you! Call him back and tell him you made a terrible mistake and you and the mom squad are backing down for good. I actually like this job and I don’t want to get fired before my first paycheck!”

  “Get your damn feathers out of a twist, Donald Duck. Nobody’s getting fired. I didn’t even invite him over tomorrow. He invited himself.”

  “Well, technically I invited him.” Fiona meekly raised her hand. We both ignored her.

  “When exactly did this happen? How was it that you and Nate were even talking to each other?”

  “Listen, it’s no big deal. He stopped by earlier to apologize for being a dick yesterday–” I held up my hand to keep him from interrupting, “and he noticed a few things that needed fixing and offered to come by tomorrow to help out.”

  “Brett and I were going to fix things around here.” His tone calmed slightly.

  Fiona turned to Brett who had also entered the living room by that point. “I didn’t know you were good with tools. How long has this been going on? I may need you to come over to my place and fix a few things.”

  Brett’s upper lip appeared to be sweating.

  “Since he was about thirteen, I think,” Gavin said, all tension gone and a repressed smile replacing it. Hissy fit finished.

  “Wow, that long?” Fiona replied.

  “Goddammit!” shouted Brett. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He slapped a five dollar bill into Gavin’s already outstretched hand and stormed off to the kitchen. “Anybody want a beer?” he called out behind him.

  ***

  If you haven’t already guessed, I am in no way, shape, or form a “tidy” person. When I know company is coming over, I stuff everything in my bedroom or a closet. When I do laundry, only about thirty percent of it ever gets folded and finds its way to a dresser drawer. When I cook a meal, which I don’t do as often as I should, I first need to wash the knife and cutting board because they are still sitting in the sink from last night’s meal prep. Essentially, I was freaking the hell out the next morning in anticipation of Nate’s arrival.

  Expecting that he would probably want to check out the entire house, I was left with very few options for stashing my mess. Sure he’d seen the kitchen and living room the night before, but I’d cleared those out before Fiona had arrived – although why I even bothered doing that for her anymore was beyond me since she was well aware of my cluttered
and chaotic “decorating” style. When everyone was over last night, there had been no fewer than six pairs of Rocco’s shoes crammed into the pantry, not to mention the unopened mail behind a potted plant and the giant pile of toys and clothes on my bed (or, more recently, my floor, since I’d shoved them all off before I’d gone to sleep last night). So today I spent the entire morning alternately chugging Diet Coke and doing my best to make the house look like it didn’t belong on an episode of Hoarders. A twinge of guilt almost penetrated when Rocco came out of his room and asked what was going on with his bed.

  “I made it,” I told him, assuming this was explanation enough.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, I tucked the sheets in the sides and arranged the comforter and pillow and stuff.”

  “I don’t get it. They’re just gonna get all pulled out when I go to bed tonight.”

  My kid was a genius.

  “Exactly.” I kissed him on the head just as the dying doorbell wailed.

  Shit, poop, shit! I wasn’t ready! I was all sweaty and I’m sure my hair was a disaster. I needed another shower after running around the house like an insane person. Well, too late now. Both hands rubbed at my cheeks.

  Whatever. It wasn’t like I wanted to impress him or anything. Pshhh.

  I trailed Rocco to the front door like I was approaching my execution and watched him turn the finicky knob. And there, standing on my front porch, was my executioner – all six foot whatever of him in a threadbare t-shirt designed to render women speechless and send urgent signals right to their hoo-has. His shirt impeccably showcased his muscular chest and arms, and a pair of worn army green cargo pants showcased, well, all of that. And then there was the face which looked even more flawless than it had yesterday, if that were possible – and next to the dazzlingly panty-melting smile sat one perfect dimple. The freaking puppy had had a full spa day. How the hell was I going to resist a fluffy puppy with not just a giant pink bow but a fucking dimple?

  “Hey, Rocco. Laney.” Nate pulled a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts out from behind his back. Of course he did. My stomach joined my lady bits in celebration.

  “Doughnuts!” Rocco squealed.

  “Will this buy my entry?” Nate asked.

  “Come on in, Nate.” I stood aside and he handed the box of doughnuts to me. Hmm, apparently he didn’t want any. He bent down and picked up a bag I hadn’t noticed by his booted foot. I assumed it held his tools and supplies. He followed Rocco and me to the kitchen, closing the front door behind him.

  “So you did fix it,” he observed of the knob.

  “Kind of.” I twisted my mouth to the side, resigned to letting him have his way with my, um, house.

  “I brought a replacement anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Rocco was already at the table stuffing his face with a doughnut, bits of glaze littering the space around him as well as his cheeks and chin.

  My kitchen was super cute, but I could see Nate’s eyes assessing it the night before and I doubted he appreciated the awesomeness of my shabby chic table and my vintage fridge. I had to admit that the linoleum had to go, and in my dreams I’d get granite countertops and maybe even an island. But the kitchen as a whole was actually quite roomy and nobody could argue against the big picture window that gave a primo view of the backyard. I’d dressed it in flowy white cotton curtains with turquoise tie-backs to match my table. I thought it looked amazing.

  Rocco finished swallowing his last bite and spotted Nate’s bag. “You got tools?”

  “Sure do. I’m going to fix a few things for your mom. Maybe you can help me out.” Nate leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. I may have drooled a little.

  Rocco looked to me and then back to Nate. “I don’t know if I’d be comf-ter-ble with that.” Nose twitch.

  Nate looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable himself. I’m sure he had been anticipating drawing Rocco out with the offer of doughnuts and tools, but leave it to my kid to throw him for a loop.

  “It’s okay, buddy. You can do what you want,” I told my son, knowing that pushing Rocco was never the best plan. “But can you thank Nate for the doughnuts and then go wash your hands and face in the bathroom?”

  “Thank you for the doughnuts,” he recited and then dashed off to the bathroom.

  Nate and I stood facing each other in silence. He finally pushed off the counter and said, “So, you mind if I take a look around the place?”

  “Help yourself. It’s not big enough to require a tour so have at it.” Fingers crossed he wouldn’t open any closets.

  He smiled for some reason and kept looking at me. Did I have something on my face? There was that dimple again and my lower belly started singing gospel hymns. He turned and headed for the hallway.

  I craned my neck to watch him go far enough away before I pounced on the doughnut box and shoved half of a delicious treat in my mouth. Oh, yum.

  A few minutes (and doughnuts) later, Nate returned. I discreetly ran a hand over my lips to hide any evidence and gave him my own smile. Nothing to see here.

  He directed his thumb back toward the hall with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you know that your kid is in the bathroom singing about penises?”

  Kill me now.

  “Ah, ‘The Wiener Song’. A perennial favorite.” Gavin unexpectedly appeared behind Nate.

  A bit startled, Nate turned to face him and then stuck out a hand. “Hey Gavin. Good to see you, man.” They exchanged macho pleasantries.

  “Laney said you’re gonna help her with a few things around the house. You don’t really have to do that, man,” Gavin told his boss.

  “Oh, no, I’m happy to. I was telling your sister last night that I haven’t gotten my hands dirty in weeks and I’ve got an itch for it.” That wasn’t precisely what he’d said. It seemed Fiona wasn’t the only one dropping double entendre around here. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too.

  “Okay, man, it’s your funeral. I would stay and help you guys out but I’m supposed to meet my buddy at the gym.” He hiked up his backpack over one shoulder. “Later.” He passed by Nate and before passing by me he discreetly pointed two fingers first to his eyes and then to mine. I flipped him off.

  ***

  “What’s that one for?” Despite his earlier reservations, it turned out that Rocco could not resist the lure of power tools. As soon as the electric drill had uttered its first growl, Rocco was glued to Nate’s side. I, on the other hand, was standing back but still enjoying the show and another Diet Coke.

  “This is a Phillips head screwdriver.” They were finishing installing the new knob and dead bolt on the front door. “You use it to screw in this kind of screw.” He showed him the small screw in his hand.

  “Can I hold it? What if you need to take a screw out? Do you use a different tool? Are there other ones named after people? There’s a kid in my class named Philip.”

  Nate seemed a bit frazzled, no doubt trying to figure out how to answer four questions at once.

  “I forgot to tell you.” I approached. “Talking to Rocco is like attending a press conference. There will always be one more question.”

  He laughed and looked up from his position on the floor. Damn, he was handsome. My hand itched to reach out and touch his hair.

  “Redirection and distraction are your friends,” I said. “And if all else fails, pulling a quarter out of his ear is a crowd-pleaser.”

  “Noted,” he replied, still smiling, and went back to work on the door. “So, Laney, you never said last night – what is it you do for a living? I know you work in an office…”

  “Oh, right.” I leaned against the wall next to the front door. I suck at small talk. “You know those new chips on credit cards that protect all of your information.”

  “Sure. I heard everyone was switching over to those. You program those?”

  “No. But you know how some credit card machines still make you swipe instead of using the chip? We
ll, there are companies whose job it is to convert all of the machines so everyone has to use the chip. That’s what my company does.

  “And you somehow make that happen?” He lowered the screwdriver again.

  Rocco, clearly bored by the interruption in the action, wandered down the hallway away from us, probably to disrobe or make up a new song about vaginas.

  “No. But I write technical procedures for the people who devise the actual procedures to make that happen.” Oh God, could I possibly be any more boring?

  “So you’re like the woman behind the curtain?” It was sweet how he was trying to make me sound more interesting than I was.

  “More like I’m the woman who transforms geek-speak into normal-person-speak.”

  He finished with the screwing (ha!) and stood to face me so I had to look up. His lips were curved upward and there was that damn dimple. “Ah, so you’re a translator. That probably comes in handy in many areas,” he mused. “Perhaps you could use your skills to help me understand women.”

  “No can do.” I shook my head, feeling a little light headed at his closeness. “Our jobs as women are to exist as enigmas whose sole purpose is to render men absolutely perplexed. Help me understand men, though, and I may be able to crack a bit of the code for you.” Oh crap, was I flirting?

  “That’s easy – give us food, sleep, and sex and we’re good.” His lips quirked again.

  “I’ll jot that down.” Mine returned the favor.

  “Just be sure you reference the original source in the bibliography.”

  “Rest assured, I wouldn’t dream of attributing that little gem of wisdom to anyone else. You are a true savant, Nate. Has anyone ever told you that?” Definitely flirting. This conversation was too inane to be anything else than a prelude to sexy time.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a smart mouth?”

  Before I could respond he tugged me into his arms and kissed the hell out of said mouth.

  Bring on the sexy time.

  Chapter Nine

  Fishing

  Nate