by Vicki Essex
He gritted his teeth and pulled himself over the edge, tiny rocks biting into his palms and knees as he crawled over the gravel-covered surface of the roof. He didn’t care. This was solider ground than the ladder, and he thanked the gods he’d made it.
Conscious of Miriam watching him, he pushed to his feet and took three big steps away from the gap where the ladder was. He was grateful for the three-foot-high wall surrounding the roof; it made him feel contained, safe, and hid the vertigo-inducing view of the street below.
He turned, and it took him a moment to absorb what he was looking at.
“Whoa.” Green. Everywhere, plants in bloom, large gardening boxes overflowing with hearty plants of all kinds. Shoulder-high fronds of some kind of decorative grass bowed and sighed gently in the breeze. Faded patio umbrellas of different hues sprang up like weird giant flowers. A sweet, earthy scent filled the air. In a few corners, small Plexiglas greenhouses provided shelter for even more plants, reminding him of roadside shrines. It was the complete opposite of the dark, empty theater beneath their feet—a green crown for the Crown.
“Help me with the rope, will you?” Miriam prompted.
He studied the swinging arm bolted to the roof. It was a simple contraption, and not very old. Maybe Miriam or her grandfather had built it. He took one end of the rope, and they hauled up the platform until she could swing the arm back over the roof wall.
Shane helped her unload the roofing supplies. “So your grandfather put all this together?” He nodded at the garden.
“Some of it. I added most of those flower boxes there.” She pointed. “Grandpa loved growing things. He owned a farm once, but sold it to buy the Crown. Said he wanted to keep the magic of theater alive.”
“Seems like a risky business venture.”
“Not at the time it wasn’t. Back then, the Crown still did live theater, and eventually Grandpa saved enough to get a good projector and turn the place into a movie house.” She scanned the rooftop, seeming to take in the whole theater with that soft blue gaze. “This place has a lot of history.”
And it was crumbling to bits. Not that he wanted to think about anything falling apart while he was up there. His next step could send him crashing through the ceiling of the auditorium. He turned his thoughts back to the task at hand. “Any idea where the leak is?” The whole roof was almost entirely covered in gravel.
“I have a few suspicions. But if the actual hole is under one of the soil boxes, we’re gonna be here awhile.”
Shane wiped his brow and grimaced as he squinted up at the blistering sun. In for a penny...
CHAPTER EIGHT
MIRA LED SHANE around the rooftop garden, answering his questions about the plants and vegetables she was growing. She was impressed he’d scaled that ladder, despite his fear of heights. Hell, that ladder scared her sometimes. But he’d done it. And he definitely wasn’t faking his phobia. She could still detect the sour stench of fear on him. It made her feel a little guilty.
Then again, he’d been the one who’d insisted on helping. She hadn’t asked him to. He was doing this for his own reasons, and probably ones that involved impressing her enough to soften her stance against selling the Crown.
She wasn’t that impressed. But she did appreciate that it was Shane and not Arty or Janice who was helping her with the roof. She didn’t want her elderly friends out in the heat up here.
She focused on the task at hand and shifted one of the half-full rain barrels. She checked the ground around it. No signs of cracks in the barrel, no leaks in the hoses that redirected the overflow to the eaves and downspouts. They checked the rest of the barrels. When they found a crack in the last barrel, Mira groaned.
“I knew I should’ve replaced this old thing.” She gave the thick plastic shell a kick. “Okay. We need to clear the gravel around this area and see how far the damage extends.”
They used push brooms to move the gravel and expose the black tar paper beneath. The spongy surface made Mira frown. If the spot was rotted through, she wasn’t sure she could fix it.
“We should peel up everything here, see what we’re looking at,” Shane said, picking up a crowbar.
“Do we have to? I get the feeling this is one of those scab-picking projects—the more we pick at it, the worse it’ll get.”
He wrinkled his nose. “You’ve certainly got a way with words, Miriam.”
“Mira,” she said almost automatically. He cocked his head. “Miriam is what my parents called me. I prefer Mira.”
“Mira.” He tried the name out. She held back a smile—maybe she was just imagining it, but he said it almost reverently, with a hint of wonder. “If we only fix the top layer without looking under the surface, we’ll never know what’s really wrong. You could spring another leak, or miss the real issues.”
She sighed and planted her hands on her hips. “I guess you’re right. I just don’t want to end up replacing the whole roof.”
“If that happens,” Shane said with a bright grin, “I’m here to help.”
He used the crowbar to pry up the soft, rotted sheets of tar paper and bits of particle board that made up the base of the roof. Pulling back that skin exposed another layer of wood that, fortunately, wasn’t as spongy as the top layer.
As they tore away the rotting outer layer, she wondered why Shane was fixing a building he had every intention of tearing down. Not that she was about to stop him. What he did with his time was his business. For now, she supposed she should simply be thankful he was there.
* * *
THEY WORKED FOR nearly five hours, taking short breaks beneath the shade of the patio umbrellas. As long as he didn’t look over the edge and remind himself he was four stories in the air, Shane could fool himself into believing he was in a beautiful garden with a pretty woman working beside him.
Red-faced and sweating beneath the sun, Mira—he liked that name—was a picture of good health, despite the color-sapping black she wore. She’d put on a sun hat and found him a worn trucker cap in the small toolshed. It was a blazing hot day, though the greenery did a lot to relieve the glare. Despite the leak in the roof, the garden was probably doing a lot to keep even more water from getting into the theater while providing an insulating layer against the oppressive heat. He’d read about the benefits of green roofs. Maybe he’d recommend that the builders for the new condo consider adding one on to the project. Environmental incentives often went a long way to fostering goodwill in communities.
They’d only managed to tear up the worst of the water-damaged boards by the time they were both ready to call it quits. Shane should’ve known it wouldn’t be a quick two-hour patch job, but he didn’t mind. Hard as the work was, he enjoyed Mira’s quiet company, sporadically punctuated by talk about movies and TV shows they both liked. That seemed to be the topic she was most comfortable with so he stuck to it.
They decided to leave the roof exposed overnight to dry out—the forecast wasn’t calling for rain for the next few days—and they’d work on it tomorrow.
“Getting supplies up here to replace what we took out is going to be hell.” Shane nodded at the makeshift lift.
“It could be worse.” Her eyes narrowed against the sun. For a moment she looked like a pirate captain scanning the horizon from the prow of her ship—if her ship were the Titanic, he supposed. She nodded at the garden. “That dirt didn’t crawl up the sides of the building on its own.”
He glanced around, doing a quick estimate of the stress all those tons of dirt might be adding to the rooftop. He shifted his weight nervously as heat gathered around his collar. “You don’t think all that added weight is messing with the roof’s support, do you?”
“Nah. They don’t make buildings like this anymore.” She stomped her heel, making Shane jump. “You could park twenty cars up here and still be fine.”
Even so,
Shane’s sense of security was rapidly deteriorating. “How’d you like to get dinner now?” he prompted with forced cheer. He needed to get off that rooftop. “I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite.”
“If anything, I owe you dinner.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t fight you for the check. But if you did pay, I would have to take you out again to even things up.”
“Something tells me your idea of even will never work out in my favor.” She chuckled, and inside, Shane danced.
They headed for the ladder. His chest seized as Mira swung over the edge and rapidly disappeared. The moment he glanced past the lip of the roof, his head started spinning.
He backed away rapidly and gulped in shallow breaths.
“Shane?”
“Just a minute. I think I left something behind.” Like his dignity. Going up was always easier than going down. He had to look below to know where he was putting his foot next—and, perversely, to see how far he still had left to fall.
Mira’s head popped up above the edge of the roof. “You okay?”
He smiled weakly. “Yeah. I’m...all right.”
“I don’t hold your fear of heights against you, you know,” she said. “I mean, no one likes scaling that ladder.” She paused. “I was really impressed you did it, especially after last night.”
It seemed like an effort for her to admit she was impressed. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d hoped to impress her.
“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll make you a harness.”
“What?”
“I’ve got some rope in the shed. We thread it around your waist under your arms, tie it off. If you slip, it’ll catch you and you won’t fall off.”
He gave her a skeptical look. She spread her hands. “Trust me. I do it for Arty all the time.”
He didn’t exactly want his fortitude compared to the old grocer’s, but the longer he hesitated, the stupider he felt. “All right.” Better to take decisive action than dither.
In short order, Mira had a rope expertly tied to the sturdy swinging arm and was looping it over his shoulders. For a moment, it almost felt like she was coming in for a hug.
“Um...shouldn’t you tie it to me?” She’d only slung it loosely around his waist.
“If I tie it, there’s more chance of you getting tangled if you fell. It might catch you, but it could snap your spine in half, or maybe snag around your throat and break your neck.”
Shane suddenly felt woozy.
“Don’t worry.” Mira chuckled drily. “I’ll catch you if you fall. And the way you’re hanging on to me right now, I don’t think that’ll happen, anyway.”
Only then did he notice he was gripping her upper arms. It took a concerted effort to loosen his fingers, but he couldn’t completely let go. She felt like the most stable, solid thing up there. His cheeks burned.
“It’s okay,” she said soothingly, but the heat only spread across his face. “I’ll be right here watching you all the way down.” She gently extricated herself from his hold.
With small, shaking steps, he approached the ladder, studiously not looking down. He put his feet on the first rung and turned to face Mira, who had the rope threaded through a second pulley she’d hooked to the arm. She wrapped the rope around her waist and gave it a tug, tautening it against his back under his arms. “Feel that? That’s me and a whole lot of lifting power right behind you. I’ll keep this snug against you all the way down. It’s only twelve steps, and then you’re on the fire escape landing, safe and sound.” She smiled. “You made your way up—you can make your way down.”
“Right.” Never mind that Mira’s claim to “a whole lot of lifting power” consisted of a hardware store pulley attached to a homemade rig attached to a hundred-year-old building with a spongy, leaky roof, and only Mira’s wiry hundred-and-twenty-pounds-soaking-wet frame.
And never mind that she could be rid of him if she simply let go.
He couldn’t think like that. Nothing about her indicated a murderous streak—except her aim with that paintball gun.
“C’mon,” Mira cajoled. “Those chicken balls you want so bad are getting cold.”
Shane slid his grip down the railing and traced the inner edge of the ladder with his foot until it hit the next rung. He kept his eyes forward as he lifted the other foot and let it sink through open space. It hit the rung. One step down.
“Good! Keep going. Only eleven more steps.”
It took an agonizing five minutes to climb down that ladder. It got harder when he lost sight of the roof and was about halfway down, his gaze having nothing but the crumbling old brick to focus on. Every crack before him looked monstrously huge, as if they were widening and would drop the ladder and him at any moment. Only the rope around his back and the woman holding it made him feel remotely secure.
Finally, his feet hit the landing with a clang. He reached shakily for the wall and crept along it to the open doorway, stumbling into the cool theater and taking deep, gulping breaths. He reeked of sweat, and his limbs felt weak. He scrubbed his palms over his face. He’d gotten through the day and he was alive.
A moment later, Mira popped in. He felt as if she’d seen him with his pants down. “Hey.” She studied him curiously. “You all right?”
He nodded stiffly. “I think I should go home for a shower.”
She tilted her chin up. “Don’t get fancy on my account. It’s just the diner.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. He supposed that was true, but it wasn’t just about food. He needed to pull himself together. He was in no state of mind to seduce this woman.
Seduce? No, that wasn’t the right word. He was trying to befriend her. Make her trust him. That’d been the whole point of this day, hadn’t it? To ingratiate himself with her? To inveigle himself into her life so he’d have reasons to talk to her?
“I’d like to wash up anyhow.” He was feeling better now that he was back on solid ground. “How about I meet you at the Good Fortune in two hours?”
* * *
THIS IS NOT a date.
Mira stared at herself in the steamed-over mirror, dark dripping hair hanging limply around her pale face. Makeup would take some of that washed-out look from her features, but makeup would also signify she was trying to impress someone, and she didn’t need to impress Shane Patel.
She settled on the bare minimum—a few dabs of moisturizer, a quick blow-dry and a touch of mousse to tame the flyaways, and a bit of tinted lip gloss. No one could fault her for wanting unchapped lips.
All the better to kiss him with. The thought sang through her head in myriad different voices, ranging from admonishing to teasing in tone. They were the voices of the people who judged her, who liked to point out everything she did wrong in her life, who laughed at her...
She grimaced. Just because she hadn’t been on a date since college didn’t mean she was prettying up for a guy. She’d learned long ago that you couldn’t trust anyone with your happiness or well-being. You didn’t need to risk more heartbreak or waste any effort on someone who could disappoint you, or whom you could disappoint.
She didn’t do anything for anyone else anymore. Never again.
Except you, Grandpa.
She set her teeth as guilt drove a little wedge deeper into her chest. Shane Patel was the enemy, the man trying to take the Crown from her, and here she was, about to have dinner with him.
She glared into the mirror and wiped the lip gloss off roughly. She should call and cancel. But she’d been the one to offer to buy him dinner after all the work he’d put in on the roof. So how was she supposed to sit across from him and share a meal, knowing all he wanted was the theater?
She was readying to make the call when her cell phone blared.
“Hi,
Arty,” she answered. “What’s up?”
“I called to check on you. Heard you were working on some repairs today.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Heard from whom?”
“Herman,” he said after a short pause. “At the hardware store.”
Considering Shane had been the one to pick up the supplies, all she could think was that Arty had either jumped to conclusions or Shane had blabbed about helping her. Not that she expected him to not talk about what he was doing with all those supplies—she just hated it when people talked about her business.
“It was the roof.” She explained the progress she and Shane had made.
“So you and Shane are working together now?”
“He offered to help. I don’t know why, honestly.” She hesitated. “I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted.”
“Some people are just decent folk,” Arty said.
“Or he’s buttering me up. Or he’s trying to sabotage the building to force me to sell.”
“That’s paranoia talking.”
She paced. “It just doesn’t seem... I dunno.” She waved her hand in the air helplessly. “I’m supposed to have dinner with him at the Good Fortune Diner—” She bit out a curse. She hadn’t meant to mention it.
“Oh! Well, don’t let me keep you—”
“Actually,” she broke in, “I was about to call to cancel.”
“What? Why?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not right, Arty. Grandpa wouldn’t approve.”
“Why not? Shane’s a nice young man.”
“He’s only nice because he wants something.”
“No one will think any more or less of you for wanting to have a meal out with a friend. You should get out more.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She knew, of course. She’d had enough people say it to her. You should get out more. Stop hiding in that drafty old theater. Why don’t you have any friends? Are you a hermit? What is wrong with you?
“All I meant was—”
“Never mind. I have to go.” She hung up. Arty meant well. But he had a knack for sticking his nose where she didn’t need it.
