King Stud

by Liv Rancourt

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said.

  She gave him a halfhearted wave and started writing on the clipboard in her lap.

  In the kitchen, Ryan dumped his toolbox on the floor, pausing to watch Dani through the door. The floor lamp sent streaks of red-gold down her thick braid. The disembodied voices continued arguing about pediatricians and pagers, then moved on to an arcane discussion about a problem drawing blood from babies, a problem that was Dani’s to fix.

  She hunched over the laptop, jaw tight, tapping the pencil on the clipboard and scrawling notes. The discussion turned into a complicated negotiation around how much she was willing to do from Seattle. She had an obvious commitment to her job, and made it plain her stay in Seattle would be limited. Ryan inhaled deeply and rocked his shoulders back and forth to loosen them. Her calm, professional tone did more than anything else to highlight their differences. Why would a woman who argued with doctors date a guy who hammered nails for a living? More importantly, why would a woman who was in town for a limited time get involved with someone who was too stupid to untwist himself from his ex-girlfriend?

  No reason in the world.

  If ever a man needed to kick his own ass… He pulled a small spiral notebook out of his jacket pocket, along with a stubby, flat, carpenter’s pencil and headed upstairs to look for leaks in the roof. It was better than bellyaching about what he couldn’t have.

  “I promise, Sharon. I’ll hit up the NICU here at UW and the one at Seattle Children’s, and I’ll get the girls’ feedback on their poster presentation by early next week.”

  With that, Danielle finally shut down the conference call from hell. Jesus. The endless dickering over minutiae made her want to crawl out of her own skin. Setting up Wi-Fi might have been a tactical error.

  A set of heavy footsteps crossed the floor above her and the ceiling whined in protest. “Shit. Ryan.” Sharon and Dr. Guidry had her wound so tight she’d forgotten he was there. Tossing the clipboard on a pile of papers, she headed upstairs.

  He was stretched out tall, tugging at a corner of a ceiling tile marbled with brown stains. A couple of leather-wrapped tools hung from the belt around his waist, nicely framing the fit of his jeans over his…

  No I am not checking out his ass.

  The tile gave way in a shower of dusty gray yuck. “That’s disgusting,” she said.

  He squinted at her over his shoulder. “Sorry, Princess. You should stay downstairs.” Flecks of gray had landed in his sideburn, giving his smile an evil tilt. “It’s gonna get dirty up here.”

  She stuck her fists on her hips and gave him a stern look to cover her embarrassment. Despite the drama of the other morning, she still wanted to get all kinds of dirty with him. “You have to reassemble anything you tear apart.”

  “Sure.” He brushed himself off and scratched something on a small spiral notebook. “But first you need to talk to some roofers.” He shoved the notebook back in his pocket. “There’s no point in doing a bunch of work if we’re just going to end up redoing it because the roof’s not solid.”

  Some of the starch melted out of her arms. “So much for slapping on a new coat of paint and calling it good.” She stifled a sigh.

  He didn’t seem to know whether she was joking or not. “At any rate, I’m done up here, and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea about how things should go.”

  He brushed past her, a move that sent little burrs of excitement down to the palms of her hands.

  “Are you coming?” he asked from halfway down the stairs.

  “Pushy much?” She jogged down after him.

  He grabbed one of the dining chairs and straddled it, a masculine move that sent the little burrs deeper into the core of her being. Good thing she still had her jacket on and she could stuff her hands in the pockets. Otherwise she might just snatch him up for some less constructive conversation.

  “What’s with the water all over the floor?” He nodded in the direction of the living room.

  She plunked her butt on the edge of the table. “The oil tank and I had a slight difference of opinion, and I was cold so I bought one of those Presto-Logs, and the whole place filled up with smoke, so I dumped water on the log to put the fire out,”— she threw both hands in the air — “and that’s how I figured out the chimney is blocked.”

  He clamped his lips together.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” She covered her mouth, not quite fast enough to hide the smirk.

  He fake-coughed into his fist.

  “I’m such a dork,” she said.

  “Nah.” He got up, crouched down in front of the fireplace, and peered up into the chimney. “Can’t see anything without my flashlight.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a chimney guy coming out Thursday, along with a furnace guy to clear out the vents.” Danielle slid back down behind her laptop and brought up her schedule. “The oil truck will deliver in the morning, and by this time tomorrow I should be able to take my coat off.”

  “Awesome.” He straightened up slowly. “You’re an administrative genius.”

  She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from kissing away his teasing smirk. She’d been sure they’d made a connection, at least until Cherry showed up. Since then, Danielle and Ryan had been careful, clinking off each other like crystal glasses in a paper bag. They might have relaxed enough to flirt, but nothing had changed. He still had to deal with Cherry, and she was still leaving, which was exactly why she should have kept her hands to herself in the first place. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man.

  “I was going to finish the patch on the floor tonight,” he said.

  Reluctantly, Danielle brought her focus back to the house. “That’d be great.” She went into the kitchen to admire his work from the night before. “Can I run out and grab you some dinner?”

  “Nah, I had a late lunch.” He filled the dining room doorway, gripping the doorposts at shoulder level. His tee shirt stretched tight across his chest. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll finish patching the floor and knock off. Go keep my sister out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, she’s already been after me about going out to dinner.”

  “Bet you’ll be doing that a lot.” His smile said he knew as much about his sister as Danielle did.

  “But she’s letting me stay at her apartment, so it’s all good.” Hanging with Maeve might keep her up late at night, but then, her life had turned sideways anyway. Braden gone, L.A. on hold, and Ryan…

  What was a little sleep deprivation between friends?

  The next morning, Danielle left Maeve’s apartment after the worst of the morning rush hour. Swaths of grey clouds hung over the trees on Perkins Lane, with only the occasional streak of silver or black to give them definition. The house seemed to be sulking behind its laurel hedge, although Danielle couldn’t tell if it was the sodden weather or something else bothering it. She let herself in the front door, loaded down with a fresh stock of cleaning supplies. A steady drip-drip-drip greeted her before she hit the living room.

  Shit.

  She dumped her bags on the dining room table. The wall between the dining room and the kitchen was darker than normal, though it took a moment for her to understand why. The two inches of water covering the kitchen floor was a more obvious clue, along with the beads of moisture making a line across the ceiling before splashing down. She stalled, barely aware of the puddle of water spreading out across the dining room floor. A chunk of plaster from the kitchen ceiling let loose, plunking right in front of her feet.

  She grabbed her cell phone and sent Maeve a text.

  Help! Need towels!!!

  Taking another couple steps into the kitchen, she tried to grasp the scope of the situation. This was bad, but not life-threatening. The part of her brain that managed patients in the N.I.C.U. kicked in and the request for towels became a footnote. Time to triage. Grab the broom, open the back door, and encourage the water to go someplace else. The broom was in the mudroom, the clos
et-sized space between the kitchen and the back deck.

  Oh. Wait. Start by finding the source of the leak. Must be upstairs.

  As she squelched back through the living room, her soaking wet feet plus the cold, raw weather and no heat in the house created a new problem. The shivering started just as her phone buzzed.

  Emergency towels? WTH?

  Maeve’s voice came straight through the text, and Danielle paused halfway up the stairs to message her back, hysterical giggles forcing their way through the shivers.

  Plumbing crisis. Water everywhere.

  At the top of the stairs, she got a reply.

  Work is lame. B rght thr.

  Either Maeve’s graphic design skills were legendary or her boss was easygoing. Didn’t really matter. Danielle grinned, her teeth chattering, her lips stiff with cold.

  Thanks. Dry clothes 2. N sox. Plz n thnx.

  The stairs to the second floor started in the foyer and ended at a broad landing leading to three bedrooms and a bathroom. The bathroom sat across from the top stair, right above the kitchen. Squishing with every step, Danielle crossed the landing and opened the bathroom door.

  Everything looked fine. Only when she got down on her knees could she see water surrounding the base of the toilet like a thin layer of clear caulk. It was an old-fashioned set-up, with pipes running behind the stool along the wall. Matching handles interrupted the pipes several inches above the floor.

  “Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Danielle muttered, twisting both handles to the right. From below another chunk of ceiling splashed down on the floor.

  “Dammit.”

  Shivers came from the pit of her stomach and rattled their way out. If she kept moving, it wasn’t too bad, although she had to blink back tears when Maeve’s car pulled into her driveway. By then, most of the dripping had stopped and she’d swept much of the water out the back door.

  “What the hell happened?” Maeve blew through the door, her arms loaded with paper shopping bags.

  Danielle met her in the living room. “There must be a broken pipe upstairs.”

  The O’Connors all looked alike, and Maeve had the lighter, feminine versions of Ryan’s blue eyes, snub nose, and smile. Her hair was darker, straighter, and cut short, framing her face in angles and spikes and playing up her baby blues. She dropped her packages in the general vicinity of the wing chair and wrapped her arms around Danielle. “Oh my gosh, girlfriend. You’re freezing.”

  A hug from Maeve was more of an angular squeeze than a comforting cuddle, but right then anything felt good. “The heater won’t come on. I don’t think there’s oil.”

  “There are dry clothes in here.” Maeve shoved one of the paper bags into Danielle’s arms and grabbed the broom. “You go change, and I’ll … um … go see what…”

  Danielle didn’t wait for her to finish. Maeve didn’t have the D-I-Y gene, and likely wouldn’t do much until Danielle got back. If Maeve had really planned on helping, she’d have changed out of the tall heels, borderline-too-short skirt, and silk blouse she’d worn to work.

  Danielle was in much better shape when she headed back downstairs, happy her friend had packed jeans, a sweater, thick wool socks, and a pair of rubber boots. She found Maeve in the dining room, tapping away on her smart phone.

  “I appreciate this,” Danielle said.

  “Eh, my boss didn’t want me at this afternoon’s meeting any more than I wanted to be there.” Maeve winked. “I always manage to stir up trouble.” Her bright eyes were more like the sky in August than the current grey November shroud. “Did you call my brother?”

  Danielle looked away, hoping Maeve wouldn’t notice if she blushed. “Ryan? Yeah, um, he came over and patched the floor.”

  “No, I mean this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “To help you with,” — Maeve stood and waved her arms around — “this.” Another wet splat came from the kitchen. She lifted up one foot, displaying the red sole. “These shoes weren’t built for clean-up.”

  Maeve stalked into the living room, the heels in question snapping on the hardwoods. She tapped a number on her cell phone before Danielle could protest.

  “How’s things, bro?” She spun back toward Danielle with a smirk on her face. “Yeah, well, I’m at Danielle’s house, and there’s a bit of a plumbing disaster going on. Can you help?”

  Maeve paused to listen, then held the phone out. “He wants to talk to the princess.”

  Danielle took a deep breath as she put the phone to her ear, wincing as Maeve’s scathing echo turned the word into a question.

  “’S’up?” Ryan’s easy baritone took the edge off her chill.

  “The patch you put in the kitchen floor is clean.” Sort of.

  Ryan snorted into the phone. “Worse things could happen.”

  “Actually, I think there’s something broken under the toilet upstairs. I’ve shut the water off, and swept most of the standing water out back, but the kitchen ceiling is toast, and some of the walls are … lumpy.”

  “Lumpy,” he echoed. “Awesome.”

  “And shit’s falling from the ceiling.” Maeve’s comment was accompanied by another splash from the kitchen.

  Ryan laughed as if he’d heard her. “Well, the rules say you can’t do a remodel without at least one plumbing blow-up.”

  “I can check it off the list, then.” Danielle sighed, using her free hand to scrape the hair away from her face. “I’m thinking I’ll clean up what I can and pull down the soggiest bits, and if you can come over after work—”

  “Tell you what. I’ll jet over on my lunch break. I’ll have a better idea of what I’ll need to fix if I see it first.”

  “You will? Thanks.” Somehow that warmed her up almost as much as the wool socks Maeve brought.

  “No worries, Dani. I’ll see you in a while.”

  Danielle passed Maeve her phone, carefully keeping her face blank.

  “Princess?” Maeve said, her expression flopping between surprise and confusion, her eyebrows bunching together under her spiked bangs. “You two must have really bonded.”

  “Yeah, he’s the little brother I never had.” Danielle shrugged and headed back into the kitchen, hoping her tone was sarcastic enough, the rough edges of a rock and a hard place hemming her in.

  On Friday, Danielle met Maeve at Cutters, the restaurant next door to her office building. Maeve had big plans for the evening, and Danielle figured prominently as the designated driver. Since she’d be claiming Maeve’s car keys, Danielle took the bus downtown. She blew into Cutters on a blast of November wind, soggy, chilled, and cranky. Maeve was tucked into a table near the gas fireplace, her tailored wool dress cut short enough to show off a pair of glossy riding boots.

  Rain coated the windows, limiting the view of Lake Union. “Thank you for respecting my L.A. constitution.” Danielle dropped into a chair, happy to be sitting close to the fire. She’d chosen one of her warmest outfits, a pair of wool slacks and a cashmere sweater, with a sage pashmina scarf draped around her shoulders. In addition to an added layer of warmth, the scarf played up the dark hazel color of her eyes.

  “Hope you still thank me after you have a sip of the cocktail I ordered for you.” Maeve tapped a long-stemmed Cosmo glass brim-full of a shimmering clear liquid with a single dollop of pink in the bottom.

  Danielle twisted the scarf closer around her neck and stared out into the cold, wet, dark. “This is the Angel’s Tears thing you texted me about?”

  “Yep.”

  “It better be good, because I’m not having seconds.”

  They clinked their glasses, each sending a small wave of liquid over the edge.

  “You didn’t used to be such a lightweight,” Maeve said.

  “Braden didn’t drink.” Danielle took a tiny sip. “I got out of the habit.” She hadn’t thought much about Braden all week, and his name was like an awkward and half-remembered word she hadn’t used since high school French class. She poked at the dead spo
t a little, but it stayed dead. “I just need some practice.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Dani. Always ready to take one for the team.”

  They toasted again, the crisp liquor making its giddy way through Danielle’s head.

  “So is that how you did it?” Maeve asked.

  Danielle hesitated to answer Maeve’s left-field question. “What?”

  “I swear you wear the same size you did in high school.” Maeve grinned over the top of her Cosmo glass. “All those years of good behavior kept you skinny.”

  Danielle snorted into her cocktail. “Sweetie, my bra’s a bit smaller and my jeans are the next size up.” As if gravity had redistributed things according to some contorted plan. Her body wasn’t bad, but she was definitely on the plus side of thirty. She’d been tortured with anxiety in her teens and twenties, but at thirty-three, she finally felt good about herself.

  But would a twenty-four year old notice the whole gravity thing? Danielle swallowed enough vodka to drive the question – and any other thoughts about a certain twenty-four year old – right out of her mind. Tonight was about Maeve and girl talk and catching up.

  Not Ryan.

  “Well, you look pretty hot to me, but Cherry’s meeting us later, and she’s the professional,” Maeve said.

  Danielle’s belly lurched like the floor had dropped several inches. “What?”

  “I told you she works at Nordstrom’s, so she always knows what looks good.” Maeve flicked a strand of Danielle’s hair away from her face. “We hang out together a lot.”

  Danielle must not have been paying attention when Maeve mentioned Cherry during one of their long-distance catch-up phone calls. “Really?” Because that won’t be at all awkward.

  “Well, she was always around. She and Ryan dated for, like, ten years, you know? We’ve been hanging out since everyone my age got married and started having babies.” Maeve gave her a wide-eyed grin, obviously expecting her to agree. “She’s going to be my sister-in-law one day, but oh my God, is she ever furious at Ryan.”