#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

F inally, Vincent was back at the loading dock. He’d followed Ali around the store for three days, learning how the business had changed since he’d been away. Inside the store wasn’t where he wanted to be, but the time had not been wasted. He learned that KBS did not have the lowest prices in town but prided itself on customer service. Every employee was expected to know the layout and contents of the store to quickly assist both builders and DIY homeowners. Adding contractors to their staff would enhance KBS’s ability to compete against the big box hardware stores.

Many of the older employees were friendly enough, not shunning him, but there were no lingering conversations. Someone glanced up at the windows overlooking the store more than once as if expecting a reprimand for socializing. Iris and Darryl had reputations as generous employers. Things had definitely changed since Eddie came on board.

During those three days, he left early, returned late, and hadn’t seen Hilary. However, the day after the trip to urgent care, a six-pack of beer was left on his doorstep. Attached was a sticky note with a bandaged thumbs-up drawn on it. He happily stuck the note to his fridge, smiling every time he saw it.

With a skinny Black kid in tow, Ali approached the truck. Vincent closed the tailgate with a bang, tempted to pretend he didn’t see them, climb into the truck, and take off. But that would get Ali into trouble, and Vincent wasn’t one to pass the buck. So, he waited and watched. The kid looked like he was being led to his execution, eyes getting bigger, Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly as he and Ali got closer. Christ, was he that intimidating?

“Hey,” Ali called out, a huge grin on his face. “I’d like you to meet Carl Gilbert. He’s going to be working with you.”

Vincent nodded at Carl and hoped he didn’t groan out loud. The kid was tall, with big hands and feet. His shoulders held promise but now had all the shape and form of a coat hanger. He wore new, matching Dickies work pants and hoodie. He looked to weigh no more than one of Vincent’s thighs. Carl ran a hand through his cropped, curly hair and surreptitiously wiped beads of sweat from his smooth, dark forehead.

“Do you have work gloves?” Vincent removed his own and held them up.

If possible, Carl’s eyes got even bigger as he shook his head.

“A spare pair should be in the truck’s glove box.” He gestured to the front of the vehicle. “Check them out and see if they fit.”

Carl nodded mutely and made a beeline to the passenger side door.

Turning to Ali, Vincent cocked his head to the side. “Seriously? This is my assistant? Did I piss you off, too?”

Ali wrapped a meaty arm around Vincent’s shoulders, leading him away from the truck. “I seem to recall a pimply-faced, high school kid who made my life miserable, hanging around the store, getting in my way with a thousand questions. I believe this is called karma.” He grinned up at Vincent. “Ain’t it a bitch.”

Vincent snorted and shoved Ali aside. “Asshole.”

Ali was right. Vincent had followed him around the store, eager to do small jobs in exchange for scraps of wood and access to the big saws. Ali was patient, took the time to explain the qualities of different woods, and emphasized safety. Perhaps because he knew teenage boys never believed anything bad could happen to them. Vincent fingered a scar on the back of his left hand. A reminder of the need to always wear gloves. The memory made him look at Carl, who stood beside the truck clutching a pair.

“He’s here on an internship from the college.” Ali went to stand next to him. “He’s taking the general contracting course and needs some experience. I figured he would learn a variety of skills from you.” Ali stepped back to look at Carl. “Pay attention to Vincent. He’s patient and precise. It may seem like he’s being picky, but his clients don’t complain about shoddy workmanship.”

Vincent’s face warmed; he knew he was good, but it was validating to hear it from Ali.

Ali clapped Carl on the back, who stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself.

Vincent climbed into the driver’s side. Carl hesitated a moment before getting in and buckling himself into the passenger’s seat. Ali grabbed the door and leaned in before Carl could close it. “There’s a clipboard with a checklist on the dash. Fill it out, and return it to me at the end of the day. It’s from Eddie, but don’t sweat it.” Ali leveled a look at Vincent. “Got me?”

He nodded, his mouth in a tight line, while Carl looked back and forth between the two men, clearly at a loss. Ali closed the door as Vincent started the truck, then he and Carl headed off on the job.

Noon approached, and they were just about finished installing a retractable awning for a house. The job went both slower and faster than expected. Slower because Vincent explained each step: the choice of tools, the placement of supports, the installation of the electrical outlet. Faster because Carl was eager and attentive, handing tools to Vincent like a surgical nurse in an operating room. Carl barely said a word, but his stomach started talking. He looked away when Vincent glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

Vincent gave the screwdriver one more twist before dropping it into the toolbox. “Lunchtime,” he announced, removing his gloves and going to the truck to haul out a cooler roughly the size of a coffee table. His mother had bought it for him. Each morning, he stopped by her house and found the cooler on the table, filled with enough food to feed a small army. It wasn’t his idea; he was quite capable of making his own lunch, but she insisted, and he was no dummy. There was more food than he could possibly eat, but his mom got pissed if he brought food home. So, he distributed leftovers to his coworkers. Perhaps it was his mother’s way for him to make friends. Who knew? Each evening, he would drop the cooler off at the house and tell her about the day, sending her photos of the completed work. He dug his heels in at first, but she insisted. She explained that she wanted the pictures for a digital record of his work, a portfolio for when he had his own company. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, so was grateful that she did. She joked that she was angling for a corner office. He’d give it to her, custom-making each piece of furniture that went into it.

He headed over to sit beneath a big maple tree and leaned against it. Carl hadn’t moved from the deck of the house.

“Didn’t you bring anything?”

The younger guy grimaced. “I’ve got cash. I thought we’d be stopping by a drive-thru or a store. ”

Flipping up the lid of the cooler, Vincent gestured inside. “Help yourself, there’s more than enough.”

Hesitating, Carl asked, “You sure?” At Vincent’s nod, he quickly made his way over to the cooler and peeked inside. His eyes widened as if he were seeing the contents of Aladdin’s cave of wonders.

“What can I say, Ma loves me.” Vincent thrust a hoagie roll stuffed with salami and cheese at Carl.

Settling on the ground next to Vincent, Carl unwrapped the sandwich in a businesslike fashion and finished eating in four bites. Vincent reached into the cooler and handed another hoagie to him. Carl took it gratefully, this time taking the time to chew each bite. Vincent smiled to himself, remembering being a gawky, hungry teenager.

“Why do you want to go into construction?”

Carl shrugged and continued eating. After a few minutes of silence, he looked up to find Vincent staring at him. “Huh?”

“That was a question. It requires an answer.” Vincent glowered.

Carl chewed more rapidly, then swallowed. “Um…it’s good money?”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it is good money. But when someone asks you why you are interested in a job, you need a better answer than that.”

Taking another bite, Carl chewed slowly and nodded his thanks as Vincent handed him a can of pop. “I like building things. I like working with wood. And I want to make things that will last a while.”

Vincent grunted. “Not bad.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yep.”

“Did you really go to prison?”

Vincent’s hand tightened on his own can of pop, then slowly released. He should have known it was coming. Was it worth saying that his sentence had been reduced? Probably not. People were only interested in the fact that he’d served time, not that he’d had a crap lawyer or a racist judge. He could force a change in subject. Instead, he eyeballed Carl. He didn’t look like he thought serving time made you a badass. So, he answered.

“Yep.”

The kid slowly rolled the can between his hands. Vincent hated talking about being in jail, but he might as well get it over with. “What do you want to know?” He leveled a look at Carl.

Carl gulped audibly. “Were you scared?”

That wasn’t the question he was expecting. Most people wanted to know if he’d seen any fights, if he had a prison tattoo, or what he did during the day. He had answers for those; yes, no, read. Scared? Vincent didn’t want to go there, but he sensed there was a reason for Carl’s question.

“For the first two months, I barely slept. I kept expecting something to happen. And when it did, I was relieved.

“I made a friend pretty quick by giving the guy the last brownie.” He shot a wry grin at Carl. “The guy was a badass. I was bigger than him, but he had attitude and the fiercest scowl you’ve ever seen. He also had a serious sweet tooth. So when my mom would bring me cookies and stuff, I put them aside for Tomas.” Vincent stretched his legs out in front of him, settling into his story. “This new kid arrived. A scrawny little thing, scared shitless and too dumb to hide it. He’d been there a day or two when I passed his cell. I looked in and saw an asshole had him backed into a corner while another guy was trashing the place. The kid’s stuff had been tossed on the floor and trampled. The goon who was holding him was demanding money and threatening to break his fingers. The other goon was taking photos off the wall and methodically tearing them into little pieces. When the kid saw this, he pissed himself and started crying at the same time. The two assholes were laughing.” Vincent shook his head slowly, unconsciously rubbing his left hand with his right.

“The goons were gangbangers and I knew they could make my life miserable. I’d started to walk away when I heard one of them say he was going to get some pliers. When he came out of the cell, I hit him so hard he went flying back into his asshole friend. Their heads banged together like in a Three Stooges movie. Next thing I know, they’re out cold, the kid is collapsed in the corner, and my knuckles are bleeding. Then Tomas shows up. Looks around and leaves without saying a word. I figured I was screwed. It would be either solitary or an extended sentence. But before I could really panic, Tomas was back. He pushed me aside, and four guys came into the cell. They dragged out the two assholes, Tomas gave me a shirt to wrap around my hand, and then he started cleaning up the cell, all the while speaking quietly to the kid.”

Carl shifted to face him. “So then what happened?”

Vincent shrugged. “Nothing. Someone must have spread the word because guys either gave me a wide berth or a high-five. Two days later, I found out I got into the contracting program. I think Tomas pulled some strings because the waitlist was six months long.”

“And the kid?”

“Tomas told us both to eat our meals with him. The kid, I think his name was Kyle, kept his head down, served his time, and was out in six months.” Vincent snorted. “Had himself a good lawyer.”

Carl’s mouth was open, ready to ask another question when Vincent rose and packed away the remainder of his lunch. He’d spent too much time thinking about the unfairness of it all. The difference between a good lawyer and a bad lawyer, and the impact on his life. He didn’t want to brood, and he didn’t want to take it out on Carl, who was just being curious. “This awning isn’t going to hang itself. Let’s go.” He strode toward the house, wondering where Tomas was. He should have gotten out by now. Vincent knew Tomas had both his and his mother’s addresses and phone numbers.

He and Tomas had a plan. They would put in their time working for others, saving up until they had enough money to open their own home renovation business. Having a record wouldn’t make it easy, but they were willing to work hard. With KBS behind them, it should go a little faster. But what was taking Tomas so long to reach out?

O ffloading the truck, Vincent called out each item to Carl, who meticulously ticked them off on his clipboard. He then presented the clipboard to Vincent so he could sign on the bottom.

“Don’t you need to go through the toolbox to make sure I didn’t take a tape measure?” Vincent asked with a scowl on his face as Ali walked toward them.

Carl shook his head, refusing to meet Vincent’s eyes, then scurried over to the loading dock desk.

“You requiring a minder won’t last long. How’d he do?” Ali asked, nodding at Carl’s retreating back.

Vincent drank deeply from his water bottle. “Green, but pays attention. He knows enough to measure twice and cut once. Doesn’t know enough not to grab the wood before the saw has stopped moving.”

Ali swore softly. “He seems to still have all his fingers.”

They watched Carl veer out of the way of a KBS employee pushing a dolly loaded with lumber. Vincent shook his head and sighed. “He’s got a lot to learn, but he’s a good worker.”

Ali scratched the back of his head and spoke over the loud beeping of a forklift backing up. “This may not be the best way to start, but an assistant will come in handy for you. You’ve got four more jobs lined up this week. ”

“Yeah? Cool.” Vincent gave Ali a small smile and turned to leave.

“Pictures are showing up online of the work you’ve done for KBS.” The older man gave him the side-eye. “Satisfied customers mean Eddie doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He won’t be able to get rid of you.”

Vincent nodded his understanding, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief as he headed up to the breakroom. If things kept up, he’d be able to chip away at the loan his mom had taken out. He’d promised to do so the day he was released, and it bothered him that he’d given her very little so far.

He was sitting at the breakroom table with a fresh cup of coffee and a notebook when Carl joined him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the sawdust clinging to his short, curly hair.

Vincent wrote a few more sentences in his notebook before looking up. “I take notes on each job. What materials were needed, the product brand, tools I used, tools I should have used, the time it took, anything unusual that came up...”

Carl sat down at the table. “Like what?”

Vincent snorted. “Like opening up a wall and finding a snake.”

“No shit?” Carl’s mouth dropped open.

“Didn’t happen to me, but it happened. These notes help me prepare for jobs in the future. Later, I’ll enter and save them into the KBS computer.” Vincent had picked up the habit from his instructor in prison. A lot of the training consisted of work on the prison grounds itself. The buildings were old and in need of upgrading, but the state did not have the money for new construction materials, so old buildings were torn down and used as material for the new buildings. The general contracting program was put in place to educate the inmates and provide workers for the construction. Thus, Vincent’s education had been on-site and varied. The lessons ranged from carefully tearing down walls to reuse the materials, to constructing compost bins from repurposed roofing materials.

Carl watched while Vincent continued to write in the notebook, his handwriting small and precise. “Why not make notes in your phone? Then you could upload them directly.”

“I suppose. I didn’t have a phone in prison. Now, writing in a notebook keeps me focused. Transferring the notes to the computer is another way to cement my thoughts in place.” Vincent finished and looked up at Carl, one eyebrow cocked. “Also, this notebook can take a lot more beating on a job site than a cellphone.”

“I’ll um…pick one up after work.” Carl cleared his throat and picked at a cuticle while he spoke. “Eddie told me I needed to be careful around you. That you’d learned stuff in prison and might try something on me.”

Vincent froze while drinking his coffee. He placed the cup down on the table, not speaking as a muscle ticked in his jaw. Great, now he was a predator.

Carl looked up and shrugged. “You might be queer. I don’t know. I just know I trust you more than I trust Eddie.”

Vincent rubbed his temples and swore softly under his breath. “Eddie and I have history, and he doesn’t want me here,” he snapped. There was no way Carl was going to hear anything that could be used against Vincent.

“I get that, but I like working with you.” One leg bounced up and down as Carl watched Vincent. “I umm…learned a lot today.”

With a grunt, Vincent pushed back his chair and stood, placing his notebook and pen in his back pocket. He washed out his mug, hung it to dry, pushed the chair back in, and headed to the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Remember to bring your gloves.”

“Got it!” Carl smiled and slumped back in his chair.

Vincent stopped at the door. The day went a hell of a lot better than he thought it would. Explaining things to the kid made him consider why exactly he did things the way he did. Solidified his thinking on some moves, and had him think about options on others. Twice, Carl pointed out steps where Vincent could save time by using a different tool. “Hey,” Vincent called, making Carl’s head jerk in his direction. “You were good today. I’m going to use your suggestion about the stud finder.” Carl grinned, nodding. With an answering nod, Vincent left.

Hearing a huge exhale, he smiled as he descended the stairs.

Climbing into his truck, he pulled out his phone. He wanted to call Hilary. Tell her about the day. Tell her about Carl. But he hesitated. He was her neighbor, nothing more. He scrolled through his contacts, looking for Tomas. All he had was an email address. None of the emails he’d sent had been returned. He tossed the phone on the dash, put the truck into drive, and headed to his mother’s house.

W ord spread. With the help of social media, there was no lack of work. Ali told him that Eddie pestered Iris, but he could not give a valid reason for getting rid of Vincent. He was very good and very popular, allowing him to pick and choose his clients. He preferred small, custom jobs that would make the lives of senior citizens easier. He installed pull-out drawers in the lower cabinets of Yvonne Cho’s house so she would not have to get down on arthritic knees to search through a cupboard. He added handrails along the hallway of Anisha Singh’s house so she could move from room to room without her walker. And he built more than one bedside step stool for little old ladies whose beds had gotten taller as they got shorter. Having a “Vincent” in your home became a much sought-after item. Though grateful for the work he found through the senior center, he refused to be auctioned off at their spring fundraiser, much to his mother’s dismay.

He got out of the truck and went around to get his tools out of the back. Iris had booked this client and sent him the information. Jeanne Barclay wanted him to install a new showerhead. It should be easy enough, even by himself. Carl was helping Ali do an inventory. Eddie was rarely at the store, so couldn’t complain. Gathering his supplies, Vincent headed up the walkway to the tidy ranch house and rang the bell. While he waited, his gaze roamed over the statuary littering the yard. Apparently, Ms. Barclay had a thing for naked nymphs. The door opened, and Jessica Rabbit stood there. He gulped; this was not what he expected. He was used to gray-haired old ladies in kitten sweaters, not vamped-out women in kitten heels.

He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to the woman. “Ms. Barclay? I’m Vincent. I’m here to fix your showerhead.”

Jeanne Barclay shook back her shellacked hair and thrust her D-cups at him. “Oh, honey, I think you should check out all of my plumbing.” She turned and strutted down the hallway. He heaved a sigh and followed her. It was going to be a long morning.

A burst of laughter greeted Hilary as she opened the door. She forced herself to have lunch in the staff breakroom at least three times a week. She would much rather heat up her lunch and eat at her desk while reading a novel, but knew getting along with her coworkers was important. They were nice enough and had invited her to meet up with them outside of work, but she held back. She wasn’t up to sharing personal stuff. She was happy to learn about their lives, families, and histories but did not want to discuss her past. It was still too raw, the scars, both figurative and literal, were too fresh. To make up for it, she brought in cookies or a fruit tray on Fridays and joined them for lunch.

She was settling in nicely at Keeney College. Work was challenging because she’d always worked in office management despite having a degree in marketing. Shortly after marrying David, she took over the running of his dental office. Getting the job at the college so soon after the divorce was a godsend. She thanked social media for that. Scrolling through Facebook one day, she saw an old friend was changing jobs. Hilary reached out and, within a couple of weeks, was packing her bags for Keeney.

Sherry from Human Resources waved at her and glanced back at the phone in Dana’s hand. “Show that last one again.”

“What are you looking at?” Hilary asked as she opened the fridge and pulled out her lunch bag.

“Are you following #HotAndHandy?” Sherry spared her another glance.

Hilary shook her head and peered over Dana’s shoulder. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. When she did, she nearly dropped her lunch. An incredibly busty woman had taken a selfie of herself with Vincent.

“I know, right!” Dana smirked. “That’s my sister-in-law and the guy who works out of Keeney Building Supply. She had him in today to do some plumbing work.”

“He can clean my pipes anytime.” Sherry snickered.

The next photo was of Vincent’s butt as he bent over his toolbox. Sherry and Dana giggled again.

“Umm…” Hilary stammered. “I have to take a conference call.” She scurried back to her office and closed the door. Pulling out her phone, she logged on to Instagram and typed in #HotAndHandy. There were many photos of Vincent. Most of them were of him standing next to a beaming geriatric, with comments attesting to his great work. But five shots of him were dated today. All but the selfie appeared to be taken without his knowledge. Hilary’s face flamed as she scrolled through them repeatedly. There was one of him standing in a bathtub, working on a shower head, gripping a pipe wrench with both hands. His muscles were bunched with effort, and his T-shirt had risen to expose his lean belly and the V leading into his jeans.

“Holy cow,” she murmured, leaning back in her chair and fanning herself while staring at the screen. The mix of pain meds and wine made the memories of their evening together foggy. She remembered the strength of his arms and the hard planes of his chest. All that muscle-bound goodness lived steps away from her. She glanced at the selfie, then down at herself, and sighed in frustration. With half the women in Keeney drooling over him, Hilary hadn’t a hope in hell with the hot handyman. Was she avoiding him to protect herself, or was he avoiding her? She clicked off the link. Staring at pictures of him didn’t make the frustration any easier.