“Shit,” he hisses.
I turn and look at him. “What?”
“Babe, the whole ceiling in here is gonna have to be replaced.” His eyes dip toward the floor. “The carpet too. Maybe even the floor under it.”
“How much?”
“Pardon?”
“How much is it going to cost to have all that done?”
“A few grand,” he says, studying me and seeming a little surprised by my question.
“Great,” I groan. I mean, I have a little money set aside for emergencies and a little more tucked away for renovations, but this unexpected catastrophe is not what I planned on dumping money into. “Maybe I can just pretend like it’s a skylight.”
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I turn around and move toward the kitchen. I might be able to pretend like the hole in the living room is a skylight, but I can’t pretend like the stove I have yet to use might be a bomb. “Can you make sure I won’t die if I decide to turn this thing on?” I slap my hand on the top of the stove. Yesterday at Target, I bought a coffee pot, one of those cheap ones. I also bought coffee, Diet Coke, bagels, and cream cheese, since I could eat bagels cold for both breakfast and lunch.
“Sara said you’re some big-time author,” Tide starts, and every inch of me grows tense as he comes toward me. “I don’t think you need to stress about a few grand.”
“I’m not a big-time author. I’m just an author, and a few grand is a lot of fricking money when you’re responsible for taking care of another living, breathing human being besides yourself.”
His expression changes at my statement, and he mutters, “Point taken,” before he pulls out the stove and hops behind it. “Gas line is good. You’re safe to use it.” He hops back out then pushes it into place. When he’s done, he starts to move toward the door. He stops with his hand on the handle then turns to look at me. “If you pay for supplies, I’ll cut you a deal on labor. Come do the work myself after I’m done with my other job for the day. It won’t be much of a discount, maybe a few hundred dollars, but it’s something.”
My chest gets tight, and my throat burns.
“That said, I’m gonna assume you want to get started on repairs, so you’ll need to let me know where you want to go from here.”
I pull in a shaky breath and let it out. “You don’t have to cut me a deal or do that. I have some money put aside for renovations; I’ll dig into that. But thank you. That offer is really sweet.”
“If you’re sure. I’ll go pick some stuff up and start this evening. The ceiling can’t be salvaged at this point, but if I can get the carpet out tonight, you might be able to save the flooring underneath.”
“I don’t want you to have to work on this when you’ve spent the whole day at your job. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”
I watch his eyes flash with frustration. “My daughter is with her mom this week, which means I’ve got time to kill. If I can do that making money, all the better for me.”
Daughter.
He has a daughter? How did I not know that? I mean, I’m not up to date with the lives of the people I went to school with, but I still check Facebook from time to time, and that should have at some point come across my newsfeed. And he said she’s with her mom. Does that mean he’s not with his girl’s mother?
“You good with that?”
“Umm, yeah, of course. Thank you again for... well, for everything. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He jerks up his chin then turns and opens the door, stepping outside. Flicking his fingers over his shoulder, he orders, “Lock up. I’ll be back.”
I close the door and lock it, then ask my empty house, “What the heck just happened?”
I get no reply, so I head upstairs and check the washer to make sure it’s not leaking. Seeing it’s not, I go to my room and lie on my inflatable mattress until it’s time to put my laundry in the dryer, because one thing is for sure.
I want to at least be clothed when I see Tide again.
Chapter 3
Aria
SITTING IN THE middle of my inflatable mattress, I sip from my can of Diet Coke while watching YouTube videos of funny cats on my cell. My internet won’t be in for two more days, which is a good thing, since my home computer, TVs, and furniture will be arriving tomorrow. Having everything here and in place will make it easier for the technician to hook things up in my office, the living room, and my bedroom. The last couple of days I’ve been in the house, I haven’t been working. The rom-com I started writing has been replaced with a different kind of romance story, one I’m not sure I have the ability to write, which means I haven’t been writing at all. Something my agent and publisher haven’t been happy about at all.
Still, it’s been nice having a break from technology. Even with access to my author pages and email with my phone, I haven’t felt the need to check things every few minutes. I answer emails when I get them, most coming from my agent and publisher, but besides that, I’ve been laying low and enjoying this much needed break.
I’ve also managed to avoid seeing my parents by telling them the sale went through on my new house and that I’m working on getting things ready for the movers who will be here soon. They haven’t been happy with me or my avoidance, but I’ve placated both of them with promises of having dinner here after things are set up.
I take another sip from my Diet Coke to wash away the tightness in my throat then lean to the side and carefully place my still half-full can on the floor. I feel it vibrate against my fingers, and an image of Tide, who is currently downstairs replacing the ceiling in the living room, fills my mind.
I can picture his dark-blue tee tight against his muscular chest, abs, and arms as he hammers in the drywall for the ceiling. The visual in my mind is crystal-clear, since for the last two evenings I’ve witnessed him ripping out carpet and removing the wet ceiling. We haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since he’s been around, but I have watched him work without him knowing I’m doing so. I’ve been trying to keep out of his way, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been avoiding him.
When I hear a loud crash and a few not so nice curse words spoken loudly, I push up off my bed and move quickly downstairs. I hit the living room and stop to look around. There is a piece of broken drywall leaning against the wall, and Tide is hefting a new sheet up over his head and moving toward the ladder in the middle of the room.
“Are you okay?”
At my question, he turns to look at me. “It’s all good,” he huffs, walking forward to the ladder and taking the metal steps up with practiced ease. I hustle across the room and go up the other side of it. Once I’m on the sixth step, I lift my arms above my head, placing my hands on the drywall while helping to hold it in place as he pulls out the nail gun from the tool belt around his hips. “Babe, what the fuck? Get down.”
“No.” I don’t look at him. I go up another step to take some of the pressure off my arms that are starting to shake.
“Get down.”
“Just do your thing,” I hiss, struggling to keep my arms up. God, I need to work out.