Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1)

by Carey Heywood

  “Mind if I join you?” A female asks from beside me.

  Turning my head, I see an attractive tall blonde standing behind the stool Jon was sitting in.

  “I’m not much company,” I reply, my eyes moving back to the menu.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” she says, sliding onto the stool.

  I push the menu away; I’ve memorized it ages ago.

  Her hand moves in front of me. “I’m Angie.”

  I shake her hand. “Noah.”

  She grins. “I wouldn’t say no to riding your ark.”

  Yep, she’s so clever. I’ve never heard that joke or some version of it.

  I’m saved from having to respond by the bartender coming over to take Angie’s drink order. Instead of ordering food, like I had intended, I use this opportunity to finish my second beer and slip away.

  Angie seemed nice enough but I wasn’t interested, in small talk or whatever else she was hoping for. All I wanted was to eat in peace. I get takeout and have all the peace I can get eating in my living room in front of the TV.

  I have a simple two-bedroom ranch style house. The attached two-car garage is what made me buy it. Jon and I didn’t have a separate office back then so I used half of it to store our tools and office files. We decided to rent the office space when our business grew. It helps to have a place where we can meet with clients and their designers. My garage worked for storage but not for much more.

  Even after we started working out of the office, I stayed living here instead of moving to a bigger place. What’s the point? I have a guest bedroom and all the space I need for myself.

  Abby claims it needs a woman’s touch. She tried giving me multicolored pillows to put on the sofa but I ended up throwing them into the spare bedroom. Then she tried to hang up pictures of trees. After I threatened to take away her spare key, she stopped. I don’t have anything against trees, or artwork in general. The prints currently hanging in my place are old but ones I picked out myself. When it’s time to change them, I pick out what replaces them, not my kid sister.

  For having remodeled my kitchen myself, it doesn’t get much use. The cabinets are dark walnut with custom under cabinet lighting. All that work and the thing I use most in it is the fridge. I open it now to grab a fresh beer.

  When I’m done with my food, I shove the cardboard containers onto the rest of the cardboard containers already filling my trashcan. It’s a reminder of how often I eat alone. I’m not lonely. I’m too busy with work, friends, and my family.

  This Thursday I’m having dinner over at Jon’s place. This weekend, I have a dinner at my folks with the rest of the family. We’ll see if Brooke shows with the kids, and if she doesn’t what excuse Eli will give for their absence.

  I’m not sure what has me thinking about my somewhat singular existence. I never noticed the takeout containers filling my trash or the fact that I’d be coming home to an empty house before today.

  Something about seeing Finley in that big house all by herself triggered something. I didn’t like knowing that she was alone. Even from our first meeting in that drug store, she captured my attention in a way the blonde at the bar never could.

  I have an almost visceral need to take care of her. Knowing she’s sick, alone, and camped out on a crappy air mattress is driving me nuts.

  She has no one to watch over her. It wouldn’t be good to go back over there tonight. She needs her rest. I can wait until I see her tomorrow. Yeah, I told her I’d call first but I’ve changed my mind since then.

  My schedule is open tomorrow morning. I’ll go over early. With that decided, I settle as well.

  My bedroom is my favorite room in my house. It’s the one spot in my house that a guest needs to be invited into. It’s also where I display my favorite things. There’s no rhyme or reason to them; there’s a framed picture Aiden drew, the hockey puck from my first varsity game, and a pair of vintage skis I mounted over my bed. I also got a good king-sized mattress and a matching set to go with it. The furniture is solid mahogany and well made.

  As I relax against my pillows I wonder what all of Finley’s dark brown hair would look like spread across them.

  5

  Finley

  Who on earth is making all that noise? I’m still getting used to the sounds of the new place. This street, and the fact that I’m the last house on it, makes it much quieter than my old house. It’s not that Woodlake is a smaller city than Springfield, in fact, population wise it’s bigger.

  It took some tossing and turning before I fell asleep but once I did, I slept like the dead last night. I’m only assuming it’s morning because of the bright rays dancing across the wall, but I have no idea what time it is. What I do know is I could have slept another hour or two if it wasn’t for all that racket going on outside.

  Stubbornly, I turn onto my side, pulling my blanket over my face as I try to block out the noise. It doesn’t work, if anything, it gets louder.

  I crawl off the air mattress and slowly stand. I slept hard but, as my aching muscles protest, not comfortably. One thing that is better than yesterday is my head cold.

  I can breathe through my nose. I inhale to confirm and not only can I breathe, but I can do it through both nostrils.

  My sinus pressure is nowhere near as bad as it was either. My throat, on the other hand, is not great. Even though the noise I want to investigate is coming from out front, I head back to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from my mini dorm fridge.

  My first gulp burns, the second gulp going down a bit easier. That’s when someone knocks on the kitchen door. Glancing down to the yoga pants and t-shirt I slept in, I wonder if I have enough time to put on a bra. The knock comes again.

  I look around and see a flannel button up sitting on top of a box. Setting my water bottle next to it, I quickly pull it on and button it up as I walk over to the kitchen door.

  “Hello,” I greet, opening it, surprised to see Noah on the other side.

  “I need your car keys,” he replies, holding out his hand.

  What in the world?

  “What?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling.

  He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “Your dumpster is here and your car is blocking the drive.”

  “They can’t be here,” I argue. “They were supposed to call first.”

  All he does is smirk.

  Peeking around him I look down my drive and dumbly say. “They’re here.”

  He starts laughing and I turn to glare at him. “They were supposed to call.”

  Leaving him standing in the open doorway, I grab my keys.

  “Where are you going?” He asks, when I go to walk past him.

  “To move my car,” I reply.

  He puts out his palm. “I said I’d move it for you.”

  “I can move my own car,” I snap.

  He stops me. “You’re barefoot.”

  I look down at my bare feet before I pass him my keys with a groan. “Fine.”

  He grins at me. It’s too early in the morning for this. What is the dumpster doing here? I mean, I’m happy it’s here but they were supposed to call first.

  Did they call? My phone is plugged into my charger over by my air mattress. While Noah moves my car and hopefully doesn’t steal it, I grab my phone.

  One check at the notifications and I realize the trash company not only called, they called four times. That wasn’t the most surprising part; it was past nine AM.

  I never sleep in this late.

  Unless you’re sick, I remind myself.

  “You need new brakes,” Noah mutters from behind me and I jump.

  “They called,” I reply, lifting my phone as evidence.

  He grins again.

  Taking my keys, I toss them onto my air mattress. The throw reminds me how sore I am. Reaching up, I massage my shoulder, rolling it.

  “Are you okay?” Noah asks.

  “I think I slept weird,” I reply, rolling it again.

  “
Could be the mattress.” He bumps it with his foot.

  It slides across the floor to the center of the room. If he was trying to demonstrate how light it is, he proved his point.

  “As soon as I’m done with the floors upstairs, I’ll buy a decent one,” I say quietly.

  My impulse is to be embarrassed. I have money in the bank; I’m only trying to be sensible with my purchases.

  “You could stay with me,” he says, before pressing his lips together.

  I stare at him and then ask, “Why would I do that?”

  He walks into the kitchen without answering me. I step into my flip-flops and follow him.

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “I have a spare room in a house where there are no issues with the floors, the walls, or the mattress.”

  “But you’re a stranger,” I blurt.

  He folds his arms across his broad chest. “Since you just moved here, everyone is.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” I shift on my feet, hoping he doesn’t sense my nervousness. “Even so, I will be fine here.”

  There’s a loud boom from outside and I hurry past Noah to the door.

  “Relax Finley, that’s only the dumpster,” Noah says.

  My steps slow. Oh. I feel silly for rushing.

  “Will it hurt my driveway?” I ask.

  He comes up close behind me and reaches past me to open my kitchen door for me. “Go see for yourself.”

  His arm is stretched out over my shoulder, his body heat tickling my senses. This close I can smell his after-shave. It’s woodsy with a rich musk, it makes me want to shove my nose into the spot where his shoulder meets his neck and inhale.

  Instead, I step out on to my driveway to admire my gigantic and surprisingly expensive trashcan. It’s empty now, but I’m going fill it with everything that’s wrong with my house so I can rebuild with everything right.

  “I have a dumpster,” I brag.

  Noah chuckles, and I can feel the breath of it on the back of my head. “You sure do.”

  Turning, I watch the delivery men leave and return their waves.

  Spinning back to face Noah I ask, “Should I have tipped them?”

  His eyes crinkle with amusement. “No, you don’t tip the dumpster delivery company.”

  Did I seriously just ask if I should tip dumpster delivery people?

  He must think I’m an idiot. “Just checking.”

  “You sure you want to get rid of all the bushes in your front yard?” Noah asks, changing the subject.

  “Yes,” I clear my throat, suddenly wishing for my water bottle.

  “This spray is no joke. It’ll kill everything.” He says, watching my face.

  “No way,” I breathe.

  “Way,” he replies, walking away.

  “That’s awesome,” I reply.

  Someday the front of my house will be so pretty it won’t need bushes to dress it up. All I want is some grass and a couple of planters for flowers on either side of the front door.

  “If you’re sure, I’m going to go spray it right now.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, chasing after him. “I can do it.”

  His eyes move back to my feet. “You’re not wearing the right shoes, and since it won’t take long, you can get changed while I do it.”

  He does make a good point. The spray is most likely a harsh chemical to kill the plants the way he said it would. It would not be a good idea to get any of that on my skin. He’s wearing rugged boots and work pants.

  “Thank you,” I murmur and make my way back inside, grinning at my dumpster when I pass it.

  I change into a pair of jeans and a tank top before pulling my hair into a ponytail. Makeup is pointless but I do smooth some moisturizer with an SPF on.

  Noah is in my den when I walk out of the bathroom, taking the dimensions of the room.

  “Thanks again for spraying down the front. It’ll be nice when the path to the door isn’t a jungle. What are you taking measurements for?”

  He straightens and looks me up and down. “Nice boots.”

  They’re steel toe with a fun floral print. My heel turns so I can admire them.

  “Thanks,” I reply, then repeat my question, “What are you taking measurements for? I thought you were going to look at the furnace?”

  “My partner couldn’t come by today so I’m going to get you started on pulling up the flooring while I go pick up plywood for your new subfloor instead.” Then he pauses, his eyes roaming over my face. “As long as you’re feeling up to starting today.”

  “I am.” I reply.

  He crosses the den and moves into the kitchen. “I got you these.”

  I follow him, stopping when he picks up a plastic bag. He turns, offering the bag to me. What on earth?

  Taking it, I stare at him instead of reaching into the bag like a normal person. “Why are you doing all of this?”

  He pushes his hands into his pockets. “All of what?”

  “You’ve sprayed down my front yard.” I lift the bag. “Got me something, and you said you were going to get plywood. I don’t know how much you’ve spent already and you haven’t said anything about how much the plywood will be.”

  His mouth twitches. “How about you look and see what I got you before you freak.”

  With a frown, I open the bag, and then I feel silly. In it is a pair of teal work gloves and matching kneepads. In all my planning, getting a pair of thick work gloves and kneepads was something I had forgotten.

  I lift my eyes to his. “These are really nice. Thank you.”

  “The gloves and kneepads are a gift, and not an expensive one so you don’t need to feel obligated and like I told you yesterday, the spray was my brother’s. He didn’t charge me for it. Plywood isn’t expensive and even if it was, there’s no getting around needing it for your floors.”

  I bend my knees to set the bag on the floor and straighten, lifting my hands up in surrender. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry I panicked. I’m still getting used to the idea of having help. Should I go with you to get the wood, so I can pay for it?”

  He shakes his head. “We can settle up later. You can work on the floors while I’m gone.”

  I grimace. “It’s cool that I eat first, right?”

  He nods, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his head. “Of course. Do you want me to pick you up something?”

  I shake my head. “I have stuff here.”

  What I don’t tell him is it’s a bulk size box of breakfast bars.

  “Do you need any tips on how to rip up the flooring?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure.”

  The existing flooring is in such bad shape there are patches where it’s already coming up on its own.

  He passes me a small crowbar. “Do what you can and I’ll help as soon as I’m back with the wood. Start in the far corner of the den and make sure to wear the gloves.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  He leaves and I can’t help it, my eyes are drawn to him as I watch him go. Even though he’s almost the opposite of Allen in every way, I’m still pissed at myself for being attracted to him. The last thing I want or need is a new man in my life, especially not one who buys condoms by the truckload. Would it kill him to have a humpback instead of broad shoulders and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of?

  Day one and he’s already helped so much. Yesterday he said I’d be the boss but he seems to be the only one making decisions so far. I decide against calling him out on it because I have no idea what I’m doing here.

  Wanting to have progress to show by the time he’s back, I scarf down my breakfast and get to work. The wood flooring comes up easily. Piling it up on my wheelbarrow, I make multiple trips out to the dumpster. The pieces that I’m pulling up are hardwood planks laid out in a parquet pattern, which means each piece I pull up isn’t big or heavy. I’m grateful for both but the process is beyond tedious and on my hands and knees, I’m definitely starting to feel it in m
y shoulders.

  I ignore the ache; I never assumed this project would be easy. With each plank I pull, I’m getting stronger.

  What I can’t figure out how to get up is the existing subfloor. There are parts that show signs of rot but without a saw I can’t pull them up by hand.

  Focusing on the floor, I can keep my progress going. I’m a good ways toward the middle of the room by the time Noah gets back. He unloads large sheets of plywood into the front living room before coming to check on me.

  “Not bad,” he says, his voice full of pride.

  I wipe some sweat from my brow. “I couldn’t figure out how to pull up the bottom part.”

  He hands me a bottle of water. “We’ll have to use a saw to do that.”

  We work together for the next hour. When Noah isn’t looking, I watch him. I tell myself it’s to appreciate how efficiently he moves. For every plank I pull up, he pulls up four. He does use a larger crow bar but his skill is still undeniable. The truth is, I’m captivated by the power he displays, the way his muscles flex and bulge with his movements.

  “Do I have something on my ass?”

  My eyes snap to his face and I stutter, “I-I w-wasn’t looking at your ass.”

  He hums.

  “I wasn’t,” I say more firmly this time.

  He grins at me. “Okay.”

  I try not to look at him anymore but it’s impossible. He’s too attractive, it would be a disservice not to.

  We’ve worked all morning and have all of the planks from the den pulled up and thrown into the dumpster.

  “Time to start on the existing subfloor,” he says after taking out the last batch of rotted wood planks.

  “Be careful,” I warn.

  He grins at me. “Come over here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  There’s a spot in the corner that is rotten straight through. He starts there, and I move to crouch next to him. He points out where he plans to make the cuts so he can avoid the jousts below it.

  He cuts out a small square first, and with a grunt, pulls it up.

  “This is good,” he says, pointing to the wood beneath it. “Look. The rot doesn’t seem to have spread beyond the floor and subfloor.”