by Meg Maguire
“Two weeks from Saturday.”
Jenna clicked and typed.
She had Steph tell her more about her dinner with Dylan. They strategized about what date number two should look like, deciding that Jenna would offer Dylan some low-key venue suggestions during her follow-up call with him that afternoon.
“So, how about everything else?” Jenna asked, leaning back in her chair, swapping her matchmaker hat for her neighborly, not-quite-a-boss hat. “Settling into your new place, and the new job?”
“Yeah, everything’s coming together. It’s a weird sensation, all this routine. But I’m happy to—”
She and Jenna shrieked in tandem at the sound of an almighty crash. They stood to find a ladder overturned in the foyer, hardware strewn from a big metal tool box.
“Oh my God. Was someone on that ladder?”
“No,” Jenna said, and they approached the window right as the worker came jogging past. He spotted them and flashed an apologetic smile.
Steph swore.
Patrick’s expression changed as he recognized her—surprise chased by some kind of pleasure, his grin turning dopey.
“Do you need help?” Jenna shouted through the glass.
He waved her offer aside, tripping over an electric drill.
“You hired Patrick Doherty?” Steph asked.
Jenna nodded, pantomiming through the window until Patrick gave her the thumbs-up, yes he was fine, everything was fine. “He did the electrical work downstairs. He gave me his card before he left, and I told him if he’s free, I’ve been meaning to replace those awful fluorescents in the foyer and meeting room with track lighting. Why?”
“He’s the one who busted my nose and shoved me into a pile of hammers.” Hyperbole, but considering his entrance just now, not so far-fetched.
“Oh dear.”
“Good luck to you with that guy.” And good luck to Steph. She’d been failing brilliantly at forgetting their carnal collision in the lounge when he wasn’t even around. Now, just watching his back muscles moving under his T-shirt as he crouched and gathered the spilled hardware... Damn, damn, damn.
“He was perfectly nice when I chatted with him.”
“Oh, he’s very nice. Just dangerous.” In more ways than one. Standing here with a pane of glass between them, Steph felt that attraction bubbling up. How could she feel this for Patrick—a man who’d wooed her with the same grace with which he’d repeatedly injured her—when she hadn’t felt a glimmer of it for Dylan after the dreamiest, most grown-up date of her life? Maybe she was one of those self-sabotaging women, always getting in their own way.
Nonsense. Mind over matter—if she could convince her body it was a great idea to beat people for sport, surely she could reason her way out of this ridiculous infatuation.
“Well,” Jenna said, settling behind her desk. “I guess that’s the end of our privacy. Did we get to talk about everything you needed to?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Let’s meet on Monday, and you can catch me up on how tomorrow’s date goes. Sound good?”
They agreed on a time and Jenna wished Steph luck as she headed back into the foyer.
Patrick had reorganized his tools and was halfway up the ladder with a cord coiled down his left arm. She avoided his eyes and aimed herself toward the back stairs.
“Oh, hey! Steph!”
She turned to find him fumbling to descend. “Stop, stop, stop. Don’t move.” The boy would break his neck if given half a chance. She strode to stand beside the ladder, scouting for any teetering objects that might seek to bonk her on the head.
“Hey,” he said, smiling, resting his treacherously shapely arm along one of the rungs.
“Hi, Patrick. How are you?”
“I’m good. Are you married yet?”
“No, I am not.”
“Great! Would you like to go out with me sometime?”
“You asked me that last week. After you got us locked in a gym and ruined my Friday evening. And I said no.”
He frowned. “Did I really ruin it? That was my best Friday night in ages.”
As much as Patrick exasperated her, he was fundamentally irresistible. A puppy, indeed. She cast the Spark office a glance, finding the matchmaker’s eyes predictably glued to them. Jenna turned back to her computer, frantically fake-typing.
“Please?” Patrick asked, grinning hopefully.
“I’m already kind of seeing someone.”
His face fell. “Oh.” Disappointment registered for a moment, then dissipated like a rain cloud. “My loss. Is it that doctor guy?”
She nodded.
“Well, can’t compete with that. But you can’t fault me for asking, either. Not after...you know.”
She sighed.
“You said you’re sort of seeing him?”
“Yes, I’m dating him. We’re having a second date tomorrow.”
“But he’s not your boyfriend?”
“Not yet, no.”
“So then it’s okay if I tell you I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last weekend.”
She shook her head, queasy panic rising in her middle. “Don’t, please. I’m no good at this dating stuff, and you’re not helping.”
“Sorry. But I had a really great time. If things don’t work out with the doctor guy, I’d love to take you out, for real. You know, and earn all that stuff that happened between us.”
Her cheeks heated and she scanned the foyer for arriving gym members. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
He nodded, looking bummed. “I guess it was just me, then. Though for what it’s worth, you are an amazing kisser.”
Her blush deepened, pure pleasure, and there was no hope of hiding it.
Patrick smirked, seeming to enjoy embarrassing her. “Thanks for ending my make-out drought, at any rate.”
“Um, sure.”
“When Jenny—”
“Jenna.”
“When Jenna asked me to do the lights for her, I thought maybe it was fate.”
“It’s not, I’m sorry.”
“Right. Well, good luck. I’ll see you maybe, today and tomorrow.”
“I’ll be sure to wear a hard hat.”
He gave her one last dopey smile, then began climbing his ladder. She headed for the stairs, shaking her head.
* * *
PATRICK WATCHED STEPH disappear down the gym’s steps, taking a little chunk of his ego with her. Oh well. He’d tried. And at least he’d managed to make her blush one last time.
He should have known the second he’d knocked the ladder over that Steph had been nearby. She turned him into a clumsy wreck. The woman did things to him, with her hair pulled back in that bandanna, no makeup, all those freckles, those greenish eyes, even her freaking posture... It was way too easy to imagine her next to him, those sexy arms flexing as they worked on some project together. The smell of her sweat, and how perfect she’d look, drinking a beer on his deck, watching the waves.
Those were dumb things to contemplate, though. He didn’t know her. Maybe she hated beer. She might actually hate him. He’d caused her an awful lot of pain and trouble, so the animosity wasn’t exactly unwarranted.
He did want her, though. Bad. She’d rewired something in his head when they’d kissed, and even if she couldn’t stand the sight of him, he was dying to get his hands on that body, and feel her enjoying his in return. And he hadn’t wanted a woman this much since he’d been courting his ex-wife. He’d forgotten how awesome it felt, craving somebody. That was a positive development in itself, proof he was moving on. He’d just have to enjoy wanting Steph in lieu of actually having her.
Too bad the kiss hadn’t affected her the same way. Maybe she was that good a kisser. Maybe all her make-out sessions were that mind-blowing. And she thought he was dangerous—she ought to be required to carry some kind of liability insurance, if that was her superpower.
The rest of the job went smoothly, and Patrick got the foyer’s lights operati
onal right on time, free to head home at three. He’d tackle the job in Jenna’s office tomorrow—should be just as quick. Too bad, really. No more excuses to run into Steph. She might hate him, but seeing her made him feel so good. Like a beam of scowling, freckled sunshine.
He cleaned up the mess and gathered the materials for the next day’s work, knocking on the door to the matchmaking place.
Jenna smiled as he entered. “All done out there?”
“You’re all set. I’m afraid I scratched up your hardwood when the ladder fell, but I can smooth out the marks with some wax tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay if I add this to the mess I’ve already made in your back room?” He held up a spool of wire.
“Absolutely. And if possible, could you come after eleven? I’ve got a couple clients to meet with first thing, but after that, you can make all the noise you want.”
“Works for me.” He wouldn’t mind sleeping in, and it wasn’t as though he had any other jobs to rush off to in the afternoon...or indeed a hot date, like some people around here. His stomach knotted at the thought. At imagining Steph gifting her mysterious doctor with those mind-alerting kisses.
He bade Jenna a good afternoon and bundled up in the entryway. It was so damn cold this week. To save money, he’d been turning the thermostat down to fifty when he left the house, and he didn’t relish the frosty hour of waiting for the heat to kick in when he got home. He tugged on his gloves and carried his tools to his truck, parked along the curb. The engine had been irritable since the temperatures dropped, so he sat idling as it warmed up. A woman passed, limping slightly, lugging a gym bag. Damn, he knew that butt.
He hopped out, skidding on the lumpy gray ice. “Hey, Steph!”
She turned, red eyebrows rising under a white pom-pom hat. “Oh, hey. Again.”
“You need a lift?”
Her eyes shifted to his truck, narrowing with distrust.
“It’s freezing out here. You’re limping. And for once it’s not my fault. Get in.”
She stayed rooted to the spot. “I live ten minutes away.”
“Perfect! I can make it three.”
Her eye roll told him she hadn’t meant it that way.
“C’mon. It’s icy and cold and my truck’s all warmed up.”
“Have you been waiting for me to leave?”
“What?” He blinked, catching up to her logic. “No, no. I’m not clever enough to stalk anybody.”
That seemed to melt her some, and Patrick grabbed his chance, hurrying forward and wrestling the bag from her hands, nearly making her slip. She let it go with a glare. “You’re not taking no for an answer, are you?”
“Nope.” He took her duffel and stashed it behind his seat, then opened the passenger side for her. She climbed in, babying one of her legs.
“What happened?” he asked as they buckled their seat belts.
“Nothing. I tweaked my hamstring.”
“There’s no guy who needs messing up for hurting you, then?”
She smiled drily. “I’m quite capable of messing a man up for myself, thank you.”
He merged them into the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “Where am I taking you?”
“Just over the bridge, past South Station.”
“Done. How was your day?”
“Fine, I suppose. How was yours?”
“I had a job, and I got to see you, so it was pretty great.”
Her steely look parried his smile.
“I seriously can’t flirt with you, huh? Am I coming on too strong? I’m kinda rusty at all this.”
“All this?”
“You know, talking to women. Having crushes.”
She laughed quietly.
“What?”
“You really are just...right out there, aren’t you?”
“I know. That’s probably why I’m not having any luck dating.” He slowed with the rest of the vehicles snaking through Downtown Crossing. “I’m probably supposed to keep women guessing whether I like them or not.”
“That’s probably what some pick-up artist would say...but as a woman attempting to learn how to date properly, I can’t say I find that strategy very appealing.”
“Am I appealing at all?” he asked earnestly. If any woman would give it to him straight, surely it was this one. “Or is it a complete turn-off, having a guy tell you right to your face that he’s into you?”
“You don’t even know me, so it’s a little weird.”
“No, but I want to get to know you.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s flattering...”
He nodded. “Okay, good.”
“But it’s... Listen, Patrick.”
Damn, his name sounded great when she said it.
“You’re a perfectly sweet man. And you’re very attractive—”
“Oh yeah?”
“—and you seem really honest and just like, a good guy.”
“But?”
“But you’re not my type. Not anymore. I’ve dated a dozen guys so much like you, and it never works out. I’m thirty next week and I need to learn how to do all this. All this adult courtship stuff that most people figure out when they’re fresh out of college.”
“That makes two of us.”
She blew out an exasperated breath.
“So you’ve dated a dozen guys like me,” he said, “but not me. Maybe I’ll be lucky thirteen.” He inched the truck forward, spotting the cranes across the harbor that explained the traffic’s glacial pace. “I mean, you think I’m honest and nice and you’re attracted to me. What else does a person need to deserve a chance?”
He turned and she met his gaze, apology in her eyes.
“What?”
“Stability,” she said quietly.
“Oh. Like, financial stability?”
She nodded, attention shifting to the immobile traffic.
His heart sank. That, he couldn’t offer. Not at the moment, maybe not for a couple more years, not until the housing market recovered or he woke up to discover he was suddenly a competent electrician.
But Steph was allowed to set her own standards, and of course he’d prefer to be well-off, if choosing were all it took. This past year had been the worst in his life. The divorce was the biggest factor, naturally, but the money anxiety was a different kind of stress, chewing away at his nerves. At his sense of security. Physical security, in the form of his home, and also the security of feeling worthy. Being man enough.
He’d never been an anxious guy until last year, but a few months back his doctor had prescribed him something to take the edge off his racing thoughts and help him sleep. He’d yet to fill the scrip. He didn’t want pills. He wanted to be partnered again, not left alone to shoulder all these worries. He wanted some capable, determined woman like Steph back in his life, someone he could take turns being the strong one with, through their individual struggles.
“I’m sorry,” Steph added quietly.
“Don’t be. You’re allowed to want whatever you want.” He shot her a smile. “I was just hoping I might be it.”
She returned the smile. “In a previous life, you were.” She held his gaze, and it was the most open he’d yet seen her, like she’d dropped a layer of armor.
A horn blared and Patrick jumped, finding that traffic had begun moving again.
“How about this,” he said, wanting to lighten the mood. “Give me your number, so if I win Powerball, I can call you.”
“It’s not just money. It’s a lot of things.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m giving you my number.” They’d come to another standstill outside South Station. Patrick pulled his wallet out and fished for a business card. Steph accepted it limply.
“Or if you ever need any carpentry done,” he added. “Or if you want to watch another karate movie, and give me some secondhand dating tips you pick up.”
Steph smiled, the gesture weary but warm, and she tucked his card in her pocket. “
Thanks.”
“I’m serious, too. I lost a bunch of mutual friends in the divorce, and I can always use new ones.”
“Did you grow up around here?”
“Fall River.”
“That’s near the Cape, right?”
“Relatively speaking. It’s near the Rhode Island border.”
“And the houses brought you north?”
“Yeah. The architecture on the North Shore is just...” He sighed dreamily. “It’s exactly the kind of work I love. Plus the ocean. My only two requirements. Where are you from?”
“Worcester.”
“Nice.”
She laughed. “If you say so.”
“I apprenticed in Worcester one summer, with a cabinetmaker. There’s a ton of really cool houses out there, especially those ornate old three-deckers. I wish we still built homes like those for the masses. Places with character, you know? Instead of all the cheap, soulless condo developments you can see from the highway, and those awful three-car-garage micro-mansions people shell out eight hundred grand for.”
She studied him thoughtfully, but Patrick couldn’t tell exactly what the scrutiny was saying.
The jam broke and they made their way across the bridge, then down a couple side streets to a block lined with tall brick buildings.
“This is me,” Steph said, pointing to an awning, and Patrick parked alongside the curb. She unbuckled her seat belt. “Thank you for the lift. Sorry it took three times longer than my walk would’ve.”
He shrugged. “But a hundred times warmer, right?”
“True.”
“It was my pleasure. Thanks for the company.”
She pursed her lips, eyes shifting toward her building.
“You want help getting your bag upstairs?” He was already reaching for the door handle.
“No, no.”
“Oh, okay.”
“But would you like to come in for a coffee?”
His brows rose right along with his hopes. “Really?”
“Just, you know. Friendly coffee.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d love that.” He checked the curb for No Parking signs, but apparently his luck had flip-flopped for the better. They opened their doors and he grabbed Steph’s bag. They made a run for it, breath steaming in the frigid January wind.
