Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Mia gave me one more grin and followed Sam.
That left just Morgan.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at the banister. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“My pleasure.”
Her eyes shot to mine, no doubt thinking of the eyeful I’d received.
Poor choice of words.
“I’ll come over in the morning and lay down some plywood. That will give you time to get the contractors out to estimate…well, everything.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Her spine straightened.
She hadn’t been kidding about wanting to fix things herself.
“Stubborn much?”
“I’m not sure why you’d think that.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and winced.
“Because I’m offering you help, and you’re not accepting it.”
“I just did!” She motioned to the landing.
“You had no other choice, unless you wanted to wait for your girlfriends to break out a saw.” I tucked my thumbs in the pockets of my shorts. “As I recall, you argued that you were really okay…as your feet dangled. Stubborn.”
“Yet I still accepted your help. But I’ll fix the landing myself.”
Jesus, what if she nailed through rotten boards or cut the size wrong? I’d have to haul her out all over again.
“So you have experience with carpentry and all that.” Why wouldn’t she let me help? Everyone around here helped each other out. Not that she knew that, or that I’d spent my summers on my dad’s construction sites until I left for college.
There was a flicker of something in her eyes that told me her admirable determination might not match her skill set.
“Well. No. Not yet, at least,” she admitted.
Not your business.
Not your problem to fix.
Don’t get involved.
“When you said you wanted something to fix, you meant in the hire-people-who-know-what-they’re-doing kind of way, right? Not the pick-up-a-hammer way.” Way to make it your business, jackass. “Because this house is going to take more experience than a weekend Fixer Upper marathon. Unless you and your roommates have some construction history that those soft hands of yours aren’t advertising, you’re going to need help.”
What happened to not-your-problem?
She visibly bristled. “One, they’re not my roommates. They’re just visiting. I’m on my own and quite capable. For certain things I’ll have to hire a contractor, but I have a few months until my job starts, so I’m sure I can figure out the rest through online tutorials—”
“Wait. Are you seriously considering learning how to remodel via YouTube?”
She tensed, and her eyes…those were on fire.
“Holy crap, you are.” Was I worried for her or completely in awe? Probably a little of both, to be honest.
“It was really nice to meet you, Jackson,” she all but dismissed me. “I wish it hadn’t been under such…memorable circumstances—” And now that blush was back, rising in her cheeks again.
“Let me help. At least with the safety things. I did almost the entire remodel on our house by myself—well, with some buddies from work. Your house hasn’t been touched since the seventies, and I doubt the structure has ever been reinforced. The Hatchers loved it just the way it was, avocado paint and everything.”
For a second, I thought she might relent.
“I’m reliable, I swear.” I put my hand to my heart.
Her chin rose at least two inches.
Wrong thing to say.
“Contrary to what just happened—which I’m incredibly grateful for—I am not in the habit of relying on men, even the pretty ones, so I’ll be fixing my own landing, thank you very much.” She turned me down with a brisk nod of her head.
There was a hell of a story there, but all I could focus on was pretty.
“But really.” Her voice gentled. “Thank you so much for”—she motioned toward the landing and dropped her gaze again—“you know…” She gifted me with a closed-lip, embarrassed smile and then retreated up her stairs.
Holy whiplash. The woman was soft-spoken one second, then spitting fire at me the next. Much to my dismay, I more than kind of liked it.
“Pushing you out of the hole you fell into?” Crap, I was grinning. How could I not? She was so indignant that I’d offered to help, but I’d literally just pushed her ass out of the staircase.
“Right. That. Thanks.” She paused and waved like a queen to a subject but didn’t turn around.
“That offer stands. You need anything, just knock, or I can have Finley run over with our phone number.”
“I appreciate the gesture.”
Lord save me from polite Southern manners.
She stilled, then turned back toward me, her posture relaxed. “Please tell Finley thank you for me. She really saved my butt.” Her head tilted, and she winced slightly, then gave me a self-deprecating chuckle. “Literally.”
I laughed, the sound more honest than any I’d made because of a woman in a long time. My phone rang, and I reached into my lower pocket to check the caller ID.
Please don’t be a rescue.
It was just Sawyer.
“See ya around, Kitty.”