Once she’s gone, Abby changes the subject and asks, “What’d you want to talk about?”
“How serious do you think this separation is?”
She drums her fingers on the tabletop. “It can’t be good if the kids and her are at her mom’s.”
“I get that I’m not supposed to know about this, but we have to do something.”
She nods. “I feel the same way, but I’m at a loss as to what to do.”
Our drinks come and I toy with the paper wrapper of my straw. “How tight are you with Brooke?”
She takes a sip of her soda. “I like her. I think we’re cool but it’s not like we share secrets. I could try and call her, but it’d piss off Eli and I have no idea what I’d even say to her.”
“Did Eli tell you what her reason was for leaving him?” I ask.
She nods then frowns. “I know what he said, but if that’s the whole story I’m not sure. He told me she felt like they were drifting apart, that he worked too much and she was sick of feeling like a single parent.”
As much as it sucks to admit it, those aren’t unreasonable grievances. He’s bossy to a fault and a perfectionist. When he took over the store, it was like an obsession for him to prove he could not only keep it running but make it more profitable to prove he was doing a good job.
“Fucking Eli,” I mutter.
She doesn’t argue.
“At least he agreed to the counseling. He’s a pain in the ass, but if he didn’t want to work things out with Brooke, he never would have done that.”
She nods. “Does that mean we should wait and see?”
“We could try and reach out to Brooke to check on the kids,” I suggest.
Our food comes. I dive in but Abby only lifts her fork and stares down at her plate.
“I was planning to do that anyway, maybe offer to take them for a night to give her a break,” she says quietly.
Between bites of my burger and fries, I reply, “You should do that. Try and get a read on her. If she’s cool with you taking the kids, that has to mean she isn’t planning to completely write off the rest of the family even if she’s pissed with Eli.”
She nods. “I can do that. If you want, as soon as we’re done eating I’ll call her from the parking lot.”
I offer her my fist across the table and she presses hers to mine.
We finish eating, switching our topics to something lighter. I pay then we head outside, and I wait while she calls.
“Hey Brooke, it’s Abby,” she greets, her eyes on mine.
She pauses as Brooke says something.
Then she says, “I talked to Eli and, well, I know you guys are going through a rough patch.”
There’s another pause, this one Abby nods through.
“I don’t want to get in between you guys but I did want to offer my help with the kids if you needed it and, not only if you need it but because I want to. I love those kids and thought they might like to go see a movie with their aunt Abby.”
She reaches for my arm and squeezes it.
“What?” I mouth.
She lets go of my arm and lifts her finger in a hold on gesture.
Then she presses her hand to her chest and closes her eyes in what looks like relief. “Thank you. Yes. I completely understand. I know how my brother is. I’ll check movie times and call you back. Okay, Okay. Bye.”
Abby hangs up and drops her phone into her purse. “She said yes.”
“I gathered,” I reply. “Call me after the movie to tell me how it went.”
She nods. “Where are you off to now?”
I smirk. “I have an appointment. Depending on how long it goes I might be able to swing by that house you showed me. I have a feeling the woman who bought it is going to need a contractor. If you can wait till later this afternoon we can go together.”
She smiles but shakes her head. “I need to go now. My afternoon is booked but I knew if I showed you that file you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“Brat,” I grumble, pulling her into a headlock so I can mess up her hair.
“Get off you big jerk,” she shouts, trying to step on my foot.
I kiss the top of her head and let her go. She mutters under her breath that she wished she had sisters as she smooths down her hair.
3
Finley
It took longer than it should have, but I got my trailer unloaded. When I sold the house in Texas, I also downsized my belongings. Whatever reminded me of Allen, or didn’t make me happy, I sold, donated, or trashed. Even knowing I’d have to replace some of what I got rid of, I still did it.
Letting go of so much made unpacking what was left all that much easier. It still sucked, but it could have been so much worse. After I emptied the trailer, I turned it into the U-Haul drop off. The guy working the counter made a point of using hand sanitizer once he was done with me. Considering I didn’t even cough or sneeze on him, it seemed excessive on his part.
After a quick grocery run, I’m surprised to see a woman knocking on my kitchen door when I pull up. Her head turns at the sound of my squeaky brakes.
She looks like she’s about my age, or maybe a couple of years younger, and even from the distance between my car and the kitchen door, I can tell she’s gorgeous. In heels and a fancy business suit, she sticks out like a sore thumb next to my fixer upper. I resist the urge to flip the visor and look in the mirror before getting out of the car. I’m certain I look like hell and don’t need to confirm it.
“Ms. Reeves?” She asks as soon as I open my car door, walking toward me.
Hurriedly, I slide out of my seat and get out of the car. “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
She waits until I have the car door shut to offer me her hand. “I’m Abby Thompson, the Realtor. I thought I’d swing by to see if you got in okay and to pick up my lockbox.”
Pulling my hand back, I warn, “I’m sick, way sick, the plague. You may not want to shake my hand.”
Her hand doesn’t waver. “Germs don’t scare me.”
Deciding I like her, I slip my hand into hers and give it a shake. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“You as well.” She looks past me and must see the grocery bags on my backseat. “Need a hand bringing those in?”
“Oh, you don’t have to…”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “I’m happy to.”
With her help, and the fact that I didn’t get that much, it takes only one trip.
“Thank you,” I say, setting my bags down on the floor.
Her eyes move around the space and I hope it doesn’t smell as badly as it did before. “I have to admit. I didn’t believe you when you said you were going to live here during the reno.”
“It’s not so bad,” I lie.
There’s pure hope in her tone when she asks. “Have you done this before?”
I shake my head, and then wish I hadn’t. My sinuses are still killing me.
With wide eyes she asks, “Will you have any help?”
“Does the internet count?” I joke.
She doesn’t laugh. “Please promise you’ll call me if it ends up being more than you can handle on your own.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, only half believing myself.
She nods and glances at her watch. “I need to run, but if it’s alright with you I’d like to swing by again another day. You’re new to not only Woodlake, but also New Hampshire. I meant to put together a little welcome kit but ran out of time.”
“You don’t have to, “ I reply, not wanting to take up more of her time.
“I’m happy to. I already started it by grabbing menus from the best restaurants around here. That alone will save you time learning the places to avoid.”
My budget doesn’t have much room in it for takeout. Still, I reply, “Thank you. That sounds great.”
Her eyes sweep my space again. “I’ll let myself out.”
I follow her the few steps to the kitchen door. “You n
eed to give it a good tug.”
She does, opening it on one pull.
After she leaves, I call the local waste pickup company to schedule the delivery of a dumpster. Once that’s done, I scrub the half bath on the main level.
There are two full bathrooms upstairs but they both need to be gutted to fix whatever made the plumbing fail. For now, the water is turned off to both. Until they’re fixed, I’ll be washing my hair and bathing the best I can from the downstairs bathroom sink.
Would Allen turn up his nose in disgust at the idea of me washing up from a sink in a small bathroom with ugly fixtures and wallpaper? Absolutely.
That fact alone has me charmed by the idea.
Screw him.
Stage one of my remodel is to gut the kitchen and den. I plan to work and sleep in the front rooms while I start working on the back.
I can see it finished in my head. More than that, I can see myself in this house once it’s done. Outside there’s snow through the window, making everything look like a dreamy winter wonderland while I’m snuggled up on a plush sofa, a throw blanket across my lap and a glass of wine in my hand as I gaze serenely into a glowing fire.
The vision is so clear in my mind, it’s what has kept me moving forward despite the concerns of my family and my own doubts. I’m not under any delusions that this is going to be quick or easy.
“You can do this,” I mutter to myself, collapsing onto my air mattress.
I’ve done everything I can today. It would be pointless to start gutting the kitchen before the dumpster is delivered. Plus, maybe some sleep will help the sinus pressure in my head go away.
God, it’s more like a pounding. No, wait, there’s actual pounding.
I lift my head and look toward the front door. I can’t see it from where I’m laying but that doesn’t stop me from trying. Could the dumpster people be here already?
I shift up onto my elbow. The guy on the phone made it sound like it would be tomorrow at the earliest. I groan when I hear another knock at the door.
Getting to my feet, I power my way to the door. When I open it, I squint at the man on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, before sneezing on him.
The floor I’m standing on is somewhat rotted. If I’m lucky, maybe it will crack, splinter, and swallow me whole.
He grins at me before lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe my snot from his face. I sneezed all over the hot guy buying condoms at the convenience store.
“Bless you,” he chuckles.
“I’m so sorry.” I gesture toward his face.
He shakes his head, fighting a smile. “It’s okay.”
Okay?
Nothing about this is okay. How is he standing right in front of me? My eyes take him in, from his faded cargo shorts to his fitted navy blue t-shirt, the shade accentuating his ocean blue eyes. Pushing past my mortification I ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”
He offers me his hand, “I’m Noah Thompson. Abby is my sister.”
Condom guy is my Realtor’s brother?
Wondering if he recognizes me, I slip my hand into his. “Hi. I’m Finley Wiltshire, I mean Reeves.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Which one is it, Wiltshire or Reeves?”
I don’t know why I even said Wiltshire.
“Reeves,” I reply, folding my arms over my chest. “Now, why is the brother of my Realtor knocking on my door?”
“She didn’t tell you I’d be stopping by?”
When I shake my head he goes on. “She showed me pictures of,” he makes a point of looking right, up, left, and then back to me before saying, “your house and told me you plan to remodel it on your own.”
“And?” I press.
His right eyebrow moves up a fraction. “I’m a contractor. I could tell this was a big project just by the pictures. Now seeing the place in person I know it’s worse.”
“And?” I repeat, not liking where this is going.
“This project is too big for one person to tackle alone,” he replies.
My brows knit. “Says who?”
His head jerks. “Me. I just said it.”
“You don’t know that,” I argue.
He lifts his hand and rubs his face before asking. “You lift?”
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Do you lift weights?”
“No-no,” I stammer, wondering why he would ask.
Is he implying that I’m not strong enough to do this? My heart starts pounding. I spent years being told I was inadequate; I’m done with that bullshit.
“I’m tougher than I look,” I blurt.
My words sound strong, until I sniffle.
Noah presses his lips together. “I have no doubt.”
“There are tools I can rent to lift the things I can’t lift on my own.”
“Fair point,” he nods his head in agreement. “But, if you can’t lift it, how are you going to get it onto the tool?”
I frown, why hadn’t I thought of that? “Fine. Well I can hire help for those parts.”
“Do you have any experience with construction?”
I shake my head, the movement aggravating the pressure behind my eyes. I press my fingers to my temple.
“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, resting his hand on my arm.
I shake off his touch. “It’s only a bad head cold.”
“You look like you should lie down,” he suggests in a tone that says no arguing.
I ignore his tone and start to protest anyway. His hand moves back to my arm and he turns me, his other arm coming to rest on the small of my back as he guides me back into my own house.
“You don’t have to,” I groan.
My words do nothing to stop him.
“Of course,” he grunts when he sees my air mattress.
For a second I care, for a second I even consider what my current situation would look like from the outside. Then I remember this man is no one to me, why should I give a rat’s ass about his opinion.
“You can leave now,” I snap.
“You lie down. I’m going to take some measurements.”
He’ll do what?
“You will absolutely not. I don’t care whose brother you are. You will leave right now or I’m calling the police,” I warn.
He tilts his head to the side. “You’d actually kick out free help?”
Wait. Free?
I cross my arms over my chest and squint at him. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugs and it’s annoying how attractive he looks doing it. “Consider it my good deed for the year.”
“That’s crazy. You don’t even know me,” I press.
He inhales, and I watch his chest fill with it. “I don’t like the idea of you trying to do this all on your own.”
“You can’t just come into my house and order me around.” I snap.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He counters.
I scrunch up my face.
He smiles and suddenly I feel out of breath.
“I think I need to sit down,” I mumble, turning back toward my air mattress.
His smile falls and he follows me. “Are you sure you’re okay? There’s an urgent care not far from here I can take you to if you want.”
I gesture behind me. “No, I’m fine. A good night of sleep is all I need.”
I hear movement behind me but I keep my eyes forward. God, this cold is kicking my ass.
I sit on the mattress and moments later Noah is pressing a bottle of water into my hand.
“Fluids will help,” he says.
I somehow manage not to laugh at the fact that he sounds like my mother. He walks back toward my kitchen. I take a drink and look around for my tissues. I should have bought more, and then I could have scattered them all around.
“Is there a box of tissues in there?” I call.
There’s a chuckle, followed by footsteps as he returns, box of tissues in hand. “Here you go.”
&nbs
p; As soon as I’m done blowing my nose, he asks, “What are your plans for this place?”
My brows pull together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He gestures to the space around us. “Are you planning to work with the bones of the space as it stands now or do you plan to take down existing walls and put up new ones?”
“Oh,” I reply, understanding dawning. “I’m leaving the walls where they are. I spoke to someone in the permits office and I don’t need to file permits for the stuff I’m doing. The electrician had to have his work inspected though. That was done a couple of weeks ago.”
“Who did you use?” He asks, his eyes moving to a spot in the wall where the new wiring is exposed.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to remember his name. “I think there was a D in his name.” I open my eyes and see he’s grinning at me. “Your sister gave me his name.”
“Damon Breyer?”
I nod. “Yes, that’s the man who did it.”
“That’s good. Work wise, what did you plan on tackling first?”
I lie back on the mattress and stare up at the ceiling. “First I’m going to tear out all the bad stuff.” There’s a chuckle at my use of stuff but I ignore it and keep talking. “Then I was going to put new not bad stuff in.”
I blink when his face comes into view as he leans over my air mattress. “That makes sense but I’m going to need some specifics when it comes to flooring soon.”
I shift up to a seated position and he backs away. “I was planning on going slow because of my budget.”
“What is your budget?”
When I give him the figure he blinks before saying, “It’s a good thing your new partner gets a discount on materials.”
I press my fingers to my temples. “Why would you do all this?”
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.” His smile leaves me winded again.
I pull in a breath. “This is a lot to take in.”
“All I want is to help you fix this place up so you won’t have to sleep on an air mattress in your living room.”
I want to ask why but don’t. “I’m sorry. You’re being so nice and your offer is incredibly generous. I just moved here and, is this what people from New Hampshire are like?”
His mouth twitches and he ignores my question to ask one of his own. “What’s your number?”
Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1) Page 3
