Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1)

by Carey Heywood

  “These plates are gorgeous,” my mom gushes, as we carry them out to set the table.

  “I cleaned out their clearance section,” I brag.

  “Honey, just look at you,” she says as we work side by side.

  “What?” I ask, looking up.

  She smiles and shakes her head. “You look so happy.”

  My lips part and I admit, “I am.”

  She rubs my arm. “I can tell.”

  I exhale in a rush. “I’m moving on.”

  “You sure are honey. My goodness. Allen would crap his pants if he saw Noah.”

  I lift my hand and scrunch my nose. “Don’t bring up Allen.”

  She purses her lips. “You don’t even want to hear the latest gossip?”

  “What gossip?” I ask.

  “That tart Allen left you for, left him for the lawyer who represented Allen in your divorce.”

  My mouth falls open. “What?”

  She nods. “It’s all over town. Serves him right, that rat bastard.”

  “Rat bastard?” Noah asks walking in. “Sounds interesting.”

  “It’s not,” I grumble, piercing my mother with a shut up glare.

  “Everything okay?”

  I shrug, and avoiding his question, ask, “Can you help me carry some stuff in from the kitchen?”

  He nods his head. “Sure.”

  Once dinner is served, Noah sits at one end, with me at the other, our parents between us.

  “This looks great kiddo,” my dad says while Noah pours the wine.

  Dinner goes great, even after politics come up. Thankfully, the conversation shifts to average low temperatures in the winter.

  “Tomorrow your father and I are getting you an electric blanket,” my mom says, her wide eyes on Dennis.

  “Mom,” I laugh. “You don’t have to do that. Noah talked me into upgrading the furnace and we’ve put new insulation in every room we’ve worked on. As soon as we finish the spare bathroom, we’re going to start the third floor. I promise I’m going to be warm this winter.”

  “And she has all these fireplaces,” my dad adds. “She can make fires too.”

  “Oh can we have a fire while we’re here?” My mom asks, no longer worried I’ll freeze to death.

  “Yes, Mom. We can have a fire tomorrow night if you want,” I reply. Then I say, “Noah inspected all the fireplaces and helped me clean them.”

  My mom turns to stare at him. From the look in her eyes you’d think he wore a superhero cape.

  “What are you going to do about the windows?” My dad asks, not aware he’s walking into a minefield.

  “I need to hold off until spring while I save up for them,” I reply.

  My dad looks at Noah. “Is that a wise decision?”

  Noah wipes his mouth with his napkin before setting it on the table next to his plate. “I think Finley should do the windows before we do the guest bath.”

  “Noah,” I warn.

  “She’d only be able to do the first floor but the heat savings would be worth it.”

  “We already talked about this,” I argue.

  Noah shrugs and gestures around the room. “She would like to put them in all at the same time because that is the only way to guarantee they match perfectly. It’s a valid concern so, we’re going to add clear plastic insulation to the windows to get her through the winter.”

  “I bought insulated curtains too,” I add, happy that while Noah disagreed with my choice he still heard my reasoning and backed me up on it.

  “These windows aren’t great,” Mr. Thompson mutters. “But, waiting until spring to replace them should be fine. After that, it’s the siding you’ll need to start saving up for.”

  “Siding?” I squeak.

  “We’re going to repaint the existing siding next summer. That should give Finley another three to five years to save up to have it replaced,” Noah answers.

  “Noah said you bought the place outright. It’s commendable you’re doing the entire project without taking on a loan.” Mrs. Thompson says.

  “Thank you. It feels wrong to take any credit. This would have been a nightmare without your son.”

  “Stop saying that,” Noah replies. “All I did was help speed up your timeline.”

  “You’re not taking enough credit.”

  “I like this,” my mom says.

  “So do I,” Mrs. Thompson agrees.

  It’s an effort not to roll my eyes, and I look over to see Noah holding back a laugh.

  “What’s for dessert?” My dad asks.

  Pushing away from the table, I stand, grateful he changed the subject. “You’ll see.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Thompson help clear the table, telling my parents to stay put since they traveled today. Noah kicks them out to help me with dessert.

  The chocolate mousse trifle I made for Noah was so good, I found more recipes to try out. I start my coffeemaker while Noah ferries dessert forks and coffee cups to the dining room.

  Once he’s back, I ask, “Can you grab the dessert dishes please?”

  “Only after I do this,” he says, his voice husky and low, making my stomach tie in knots before he presses his lips to mine.

  Like stepping into a warm bath, I melt into him. He steps closer, increasing our body contact and my fingers curl into his shirt. Our first kiss was last night. How is it possible I already feel this comfortable kissing him back? Then I remember our parents are in the next room and abruptly pull away, breaking our connection.

  “How do you think it’s going?” I ask, motioning with a tilt of my head to the dining room.

  “You have to ask?” He teases.

  He’s right; it was silly to ask. Conversation has flowed easily all night, even considering the politics hiccup, which wasn’t a big deal.

  I move to my fridge and take out the trifle. “What do you think?”

  His eyes widen. “It looks even better than the chocolate one.”

  “It is pretty,” I agree.

  “Lead the way.”

  “I hope you all saved room,” I set dessert on the table, feeling proud of myself.

  “It almost looks too fancy to eat. Almost,” my mom jokes.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Thompson asks.

  “It’s a chocolate raspberry trifle. There’s pound cake, raspberry preserves, white chocolate mousse, and raspberries.”

  My dad lifts his dessert plate. “Load me up honey.”

  I laugh and serve everyone a healthy portion.

  “Marry her,” Mr. Thompson grunts, still chewing.

  I freeze.

  Noah looks at me.

  It’s a joke. It’s only a joke.

  He smiles.

  I gulp.

  “Finley?” My mom calls.

  My gaze moves from Noah to her. “Yes?”

  She tilts her head to the side, her knowing eyes seeing way too much.

  She nods, and gives me a small smile. “This is delicious sweetie.”

  I’m certain without an audience, she would have said something else. “Thanks.”

  We linger over coffee. My dad, Mr. Thompson and Noah all having seconds of the trifle. This being my second time in as many days with his parents, I already like them even more. I see so much of Noah in them. He’s no nonsense like his dad and quiet and unassuming like his mom.

  Before they leave, they invite us to their house for dinner before my parents head back to Texas. My parents happily accept. Noah walks them out, my folks and I wave from the front door.

  We move from the dining room to my den. My mom cleans the kitchen, banning me from it since I cooked.

  I put on a movie I think my dad will like and snuggle up next to Noah. I breathe in his cologne and let his warmth seep into me. What feels like moments later, he’s gently shaking me awake. It appears our busy day caught up with me.

  “Hmmm,” I mumble.

  He smiles down at me. “I’m going to hit the road. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

 
Twisting my neck I look for my parents then back to him when I see we’re alone.

  “They went up a little while ago,” he explains.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Late.”

  “Will you be okay to drive?”

  He nods and shifts back as I sit up, rubbing at my eyes. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  That has him shaking his head. “You will walk me to the door, kiss me, and then close it behind me so you can go upstairs and go to bed.”

  Frowning, I don’t argue mainly because I’m tired. He offers me his hand and together we walk to the front door. Ever since we cleared the front yard it’s been so much more convenient than going through the kitchen, unless I have groceries.

  “Thank you for everything,” I say, once we’re standing in my open doorway.

  “Stop thanking me.”

  “Never,” I reply, gripping his biceps and popping up on my tip toes to press my lips to his.

  His arms band around me as he kisses me back.

  When our kiss ends, he orders, “Sleep in, and no projects tomorrow. You need a day off to rest. Enjoy your visit with your parents.”

  “You’re not coming over?”

  His fingertips stroke down the side of my face. “Do you want me to?”

  I nod.

  “I didn’t want to intrude on your time with them.”

  “You won’t,” I promise.

  He leans down to kiss me again. I’m clutching at the soft fabric of his t-shirt before he’s done. Each kiss is better than the last. Even half asleep I want to drag him back inside to keep kissing him.

  It’s the drive home ahead of him and the fact that my parents are upstairs that stops me.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  I close the door behind him, leaning against it until I hear his truck pull away. Then I drag my exhausted butt upstairs.

  As I settle down in my spare bedroom, I replay the night. There’s no doubt in my mind my parents approve of not only my move but my budding relationship with Noah.

  Yes, I may be thirty-five years old but I don’t think I’ll ever out grow wanting them to be proud of me. Then my thoughts shift to Noah. As sleep pulls me away, I can only hope my dreams will lead me back into his arms.

  14

  Noah

  “You were supposed to take a day off.”

  “I told Finley to put me to work,” her father argues.

  “Doesn’t it look good?” Finley asks, her hazel eyes pleading.

  My gaze moves over the newly stained legs of the table we built yesterday. “It looks better than good.”

  “Really?” She presses, beaming a smile at me since she already knows.

  I duck my head in assent.

  “My mom wanted to check out that second hand store we got the benches and chairs at. Want to come with or stay here and hang out with my dad?”

  I press the keys to my truck into her hand and kiss her temple. “Take it in case you find something that won’t fit in your car. I’ll keep your dad company.”

  “Are you sure?” She asks and I nod again.

  “We won’t be gone long.”

  “Go,” I laugh, and then turn to her dad. “Has she shown you the shed?”

  His eyebrows go up into his hairline. “Shed?”

  Finley giggles as she leads her mother away.

  “Come on,” I reply. “I’ll show you.”

  He follows me in to the backyard from the driveway. They had moved the table out to where we built it to stain it.

  “This is where Finley found the door we used to make the table,” I explain once we reach it.

  His eyes move over the structure. “Do you think there’s anything valuable in there?”

  “It’s hard to tell. If there is, it’s buried under a mountain of junk.”

  He looks over at the dumpster that still sits at the end of her driveway. We’ve had it emptied once already so it’s pretty empty at the moment.

  “Want to clear out some of the junk while the womenfolk shop?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  It’s not long before the questions start.

  “How old are you Noah?” He asks as we carry out a rotted armchair.

  “I’m thirty-eight, sir.”

  “Thirty-eight and never married, why is that?”

  I have to respect him for not pulling any punches. “I never met the right girl.”

  “Are you a playboy?”

  I think he means player but instead of correcting him I answer his question. “No, sir.”

  He looks me up and down. “Call me Tom.”

  Then we get back to work.

  “One, two, three,” he counts and we toss the chair into the dumpster.

  When we get back to the shed he drags a box to the door and motions for me to help him lift it and carry it to the driveway. He kneels next to it, opening it.

  “What’s in there?” I ask.

  “Looks like utility bills from ten years ago.”

  As soon as he’s done confirming there’s nothing of value in the box we toss it in the dumpster as well. Box by box, we go through five before we find something interesting.

  Her dad falls back onto his ass, laughing, “Finley is going to be pissed we were the ones who found this.”

  One thing Finley loved about this house was discovering things about it. She’ll be annoyed that she wasn’t here when we found it. It’s an old binder full of stamps. Neither of us are stamp collectors so it could be worth nothing. But, it’s better than old utility bills.

  “Yeah she will,” I smile. “I’ll bring out the next box.”

  The stamps are our only find. Another four boxes of crap get thrown into the dumpster by the time Finley and her mom return.

  “What are you guys doing?” She asks after parking.

  Mr. Thompson gets to his feet. “Noah showed me your shed. We started clearing out some of the junk in it.”

  She comes closer. “Did you find anything?”

  He bends down to pick up the binder and passes it to her. “Maybe yes, maybe no. You’ll have to look them up on your computer to see if they’re worth anything.”

  “No way,” she yells, flipping through the pages.

  “Did you ask them to help carry the hutch?” Her mom asks.

  “What hutch?” Her dad asks, looking at Finley.

  “Oh,” she replies, closing the binder and hugging it to her chest. “Mom bought me a hutch for the dining room.”

  “She did?” Tom asks, his voice rising at the end.

  “It’s an early birthday present,” Mrs. Reeves explains.

  “That’s what I thought the kitchen appliances were,” he mutters to no one in particular.

  Still holding the binder to her chest, Finley leads us to the back of my truck. There, resting with its back to the bed is a vintage hutch. It’s simple in construction, if I had to guess it’s shaker or Amish. It’s going to weigh a ton.

  “How did you get it into the truck?” I ask.

  Finley cringes. “Four men from the shop loaded it.”

  “Four?” Her dad groans.

  “Grab the dolly.”

  When she comes back out, she isn’t carrying the binder anymore.

  “We’ll need to make a ramp and cover the floor from the front door to where you want the hutch in the room,” I tell her.

  “I’ll grab the plywood,” Finley replies.

  I smile after her before looking at Tom. “Spot me?”

  He does better than that after we pull out the drawers, he helps me unload it and get it onto the dolly. Finley has the ramp set for us and with her mom, is laying newspaper sheets down to protect the floor.

  Tom, stays beside me, his strength helping me from dropping the hutch as we push it up the ramp.

  Once we have it in place, Finley and I carefully lower the legs to the ground.

  “I hope you like it here because we are never moving this thing again,” her dad groans.

 
“I love it and love it right where it is. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she replies, hugging him.

  His arms circle her, his face gentling as he kisses the top of her head. “You’re welcome honey.”

  Mrs. Thompson and I pick up the sheets of newspaper while they hug. I take them all out to set in her recycling bin. Finley meets me at the front door.

  “Is this taking today easy?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her.

  She manages to look adorable and guilty at the same time. I can already picture the crap she’ll be talking me into in ten years. One thing I know for sure is that life will never be boring with her by my side. My chest tightens as my pulse starts to race at the realization I want it. I want forever with her.

  “Are you going to try and relax for the rest of the day?” I ask.

  She nods and grins up at me. I use it as an excuse to kiss her.

  “Finley. I think your father pulled something. Do you have any pain killers?” Her mom asks, sticking her head out the kitchen door.

  “Oh crap,” Finley mutters before hurrying to her. “I have some upstairs.”

  I walk around the house to collect the wood we used for the ramp. By the time I have it and the dolly put away, they have her dad settled on the sofa with an ice pack.

  “I’d rather have a beer.” Mrs. Reeves hands him a glass of sweet tea.

  “You shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re on pain killers Tom,” she replies.

  “I’m so sorry about your back dad.”

  He waves his hand to shoo her. “I’ll be fine as long as you put a shoot em up on the boob tube for me.”

  She finds a Western for him and motions for me to follow her mother and her out of the room.

  Once we get to the room she’s using as an office, she looks back toward her den. “I’m regretting not putting a door at the end of that hall now.”

  Her mother nods and then says, “We might have to leave.”

  I look from Finley to her mother and then back to Finley. “Am I missing something?”