#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A ll four went to the restaurant in Marcia’s car. Hilary had suggested she drive herself, but Iris shot her down, so she sat beside her landlady in the back seat while Vincent drove, and his mother rode shotgun, giving him directions. Every now and then, Hilary’s eyes would meet Vincent’s in the rearview mirror, and she’d quickly look away. It wasn’t a date, and there was no sense crying over it.

It turned out to be a fun evening with Marcia telling tales about Vincent’s childhood. He blushed and fidgeted, rolling his eyes at Hilary. They polished off all the food and lingered long after the table was cleared. It was the most enjoyable time Hilary had had in a long while. A date would have been nice, but an evening with friends was probably better in the long run.

June was a day away, and the Pacific Northwest was drying out from a long, wet winter and spring. It was eight weeks since she had moved in, and she finally felt settled. The apartment no longer smelled like new paint; it smelled like home. She considered buying a houseplant to keep the one Vincent gave her company. She made an effort to chat with Iris, probably not as much as her landlady would like, but Hilary was not interested in baring her soul over coffee. Her interactions with Vincent were few and far between. A nod, a wave, a small smile. She could admit to herself she was definitely avoiding him. She was not prepared to make an overture only to be rejected. And if something were to happen…no, there was nothing to be gained from a relationship with the hot handyman. It would only end in disaster or, at the very least, awkwardness. So she avoided him as much as possible, knowing she was capable of making her own repairs, thanks to stubbornness and YouTube.

One warm Friday afternoon, she came home with a celebratory bottle of wine. She’d spent two weeks supervising the install of a new software program at the college. It had been up and running for three days without error as of two o’clock, so she headed home early. Changing into shorts and a tank top, she poured a glass of wine and headed out to the back deck to read her book. A vehicle approached as she settled in the shade. If she didn’t make any noise, Iris wouldn’t notice her.

But it wasn’t Iris. Vincent moved slowly across the lawn toward the garden shed. She wasn’t sure how much work had been done converting it into a livable home, so when he emerged, barefoot, shirtless, and clutching a towel and a shaving kit, she had her answer.

Head down, he passed out of her line of sight and used a key to enter Iris’s home. A few minutes later, the shower started up. Excellent. Now she was imagining him naked, soaping up his lean, hard body. She gulped her wine like it was water, and she was dying of thirst.

The water shut off, and the door opened and closed a few minutes later. Setting her book aside, she craned her neck for a better view. When he entered her line of sight, the towel was wrapped around his hips. Warmth pooling low in her belly, she shifted in her seat, focusing on the water glistening on his shoulders. Her wineglass wobbled and then crashed to the deck. Vincent halted. She froze. He turned toward the house and, squinting against the sun, searched the deck until he found her in the shadows. Tipping his chin, he raised a hand in a silent salute and entered his house. She groaned and covered her face with her book.

T hrough the window on his front door, Vincent watched Hilary clean up the broken glass, broom and dustpan in hand. He hesitated, pulled the door open, closed it decisively behind him, and strode across the yard and up the stairs to her apartment.

She turned to face him as he reached the top, her expression unreadable. He was in clean jeans and a T-shirt, wearing flip-flops. Her gaze fixed on his still-damp hair.

He tilted his head toward the tiny house. “The caulking on my shower hasn’t dried, so I had to use Iris’s.”

A blush bloomed on her neck and rose up her cheeks. She looked down at the deck.

Holding up the two beers in his hand, he asked, “May I join you?”

“Sure,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug. In gray shorts that showed off firm, shapely legs that appeared to go on forever, and a loose white tank top highlighting smoothly muscled arms, she looked young and vulnerable.

Forcing his gaze to remain on her impassive face, Vincent flashed a hesitant smile. “I’m hoping you’ll let me use your computer. I don’t have one, and my phone is on the fritz.”

She appeared to consider his request for a moment, then returned the smile, though hers was small and guarded. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a second.” She skirted around him and carried the broom and dustpan into the house.

While waiting, Vincent scanned the yard, pleased with the work he’d done for Iris. Neat flower beds bordered the garage, healthy green lawn carpeted most of the yard, and the vegetable garden was coming along nicely. He recognized the furniture on the back deck; he’d helped Darryl build the sturdy, round, wooden table and six chairs as a woodworking project in high school. Running a hand over the smooth surface, he admired the grain of the wood shining through the clear enamel and picked up Hilary’s book. It was an Elvis Cole novel by Robert Crais. He settled into a chair to wait for her return.

The seconds turned into minutes, and he realized he’d made a mistake. They weren’t friends who met up for beers on a Friday afternoon after a long work week. They were neighbors. That’s it. He was about to head back home with his tail between his legs when Hilary emerged from the house carrying her laptop and wearing a different outfit. The shorts and tank top were replaced by a long, loose caftan. Definitely appropriate for the warm weather, it also effectively hid her slim form from view. She looked nice, the pale peach color suited her, but a caftan seemed more appropriate for his mother than Hilary. He stepped forward and accepted the proffered computer from her. She went back inside and then emerged with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

He looked at the wineglasses and the two beers already on the table and smiled. “Looks like we’re two-fisted drinkers.”

“It’s not like either one of us is driving, so why not.” She set the glasses down and held up the wine. “Which would you prefer?”

“The wine is fine.” Sitting back down, he watched as she filled the two glasses. She had graceful hands, with long, slender fingers, the nails short and unpolished. Accepting the glass, he noticed a small tattoo of a dove on the inside of her right wrist. He raised his glass and caught her eye. “Thanks. To Friday.”

“To Friday,” she repeated and glanced away quickly. Perched on the edge of her chair, she looked like a bird ready to take flight at the first hint of trouble. When they’d gone to dinner with his mom and Iris, she’d been relaxed, quiet, but then no ever one got a word in when his mother started telling stories. Hilary had laughed, though, and seemed to genuinely enjoy herself. Obviously, being alone with him made her uncomfortable.

He pulled the laptop toward him, resolved to get his business done and get out of there. “This shouldn’t take long, I need to order a new cellphone, and I don’t like to use the computers at the store.”

“Why not?”

“I know Iris wouldn’t mind, but I walk a fine line with Eddie.” He concentrated on the screen.

She played with the folds of her dress. “I’ve umm…heard you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, it’s going good.” He looked up to meet her gaze. “And thanks again for the testimonial. It means a lot.”

“I’m glad I was able to help. Especially after you helped me.” She held up her thumb for inspection, her lips rolled back between her teeth.

Vincent grinned. “I guess we’re even now.”

Shifting in her seat, she glanced down at her wristwatch, then up at him, biting the corner of her lower lip. “I was about to have something to eat. Would you…like to join me?”

A protest was on his lips, but his stomach growled in response.

She rose from the table and pushed her chair in. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’d be great,” he said, watching her enter the house. The caftan might be loose, but the soft fabric hugged her behind nicely. She needed more than loose clothing to hide her attractiveness.

When Hilary returned, he was finishing his purchase. He set the laptop aside and helped her with the tray of food, looking over the snacks. There was cheese, salami, crackers, olives, and peanuts. As well as chips and salsa. “Thank you.” He popped an olive into his mouth before loading up a plate. He stopped. Had he taken too much? He glanced at her plate. She had about the same amount as him. Was this her dinner?

She must have sensed his thoughts. “This is my idea of the perfect meal; finger foods, no cooking.” She scooped some salsa with a chip and took a healthy bite.

He loaded up a chip of his own. “No vegetables?”

She swallowed, then grinned. “That’s what the salsa is for.”

They munched away in silence, enjoying the food and the warm day. When the food was gone, he refilled her glass with the last of the wine, and opened a beer for himself. If she kicked him out, he’d take it with him.

Lounging in her chair, she pointed toward the laptop. “What happened to your phone?”

He rolled his eyes. “My assistant, Carl, dropped a hammer on it. I can take calls, but the screen is trashed, no texting or internet access.” He pulled out the damaged phone and showed her the splintered screen.

“How did he do that?”

“He was hammer flipping.”

“I don’t know what that is,” she replied, shaking her head.

Vincent shook his as well. “There’s a guy on one of those home reno shows who flips his hammer, twirls around, and then catches it.”

“You mean like a majorette in a marching band?”

“Exactly. Well, Carl isn’t exactly light on his feet, and he flipped the hammer, stumbled over his feet, fumbled the hammer, and it landed on my phone while he landed on his ass. Like this.”

Hilary snort-laughed when he pantomimed the less-than-graceful ballet. Sitting in a heap on the floor, he grinned back at her, feeling like he’d earned a reward .

“Will KBS pay for it?” she asked when she finally stopped laughing. “You do use if for work, after all.”

“Yeah, I just need to fill out the damage claim without throwing Carl under the bus in the process.”

“Oh, definitely— Ouch !” She winced, looking at her hand. Blood was seeping from a cut on the heel of her palm. She got up and went into the house. Following closely, he found her standing over the sink, squinting at her hand. “I mustn’t have gotten all the glass.” She looked annoyed rather than upset.

“Do you have tweezers?” Vincent headed down the hallway and caught her reply as he entered the bathroom.

“Left-hand drawer of the vanity.”

Returning with the tweezers, a tube of antiseptic ointment, and a box of bandages, he took her small hand in his much larger one. “Here, let me look.” He gently probed with the tweezers and found the offending piece of glass, removing it as she hissed. He smiled triumphantly at her. “No trip to urgent care this time.”

“Thanks,” Her soft green eyes met his own as he applied the ointment and put a bandage on the wound. Standing close together, he stroked his finger over the bandage and breathed her in. As if of its own accord, his finger moved toward the pulse beating furiously beneath her tattoo. She shifted her weight, giving him a direct view down the front of her caftan.

Freezing, he looked up into her eyes.

She snatched her hand away and stepped back, face going hard and impassive.

Not knowing what else to do, he said, “I’ll bring in the dishes.”

He brought the tray in and went back for the laptop. She was facing the sink when he re-entered the house. He placed the laptop on the table and turned to her uncertainly.

“I had a double mastectomy a few years ago,” she said, her back toward him.

Waiting for her to continue, he stepped forward and silently loaded the dishwasher.

“I reacted badly to the implants, so reconstructive surgery was not an option for me.” Her words were matter of fact, her tone of voice without self-pity. He nudged her gently aside to wash the wineglasses in the sink and rinse out the beer bottles. “My husband reacted badly to a wife without breasts.”

Vincent jolted but remained silent, reflecting on the boxes storing her medical records and divorce papers. Weren’t you supposed to love someone in sickness and in health?

Beside him, Hilary sighed softly and gripped the edge of the counter.

“Is that why you changed your clothes? Because you didn’t want me to notice?”

Her arms rose to cross her chest, and she hunched slightly. “Yeah.”

As shitty as it was that her husband had treated her that way, a weird relief filled him. It wasn’t fear of him that made her change. She hid herself away like a frightened fawn seeking shelter in the forest. Was it possible to coax her out? Convince her that she was safe with him? It was worth a chance, because her thinking she was less than perfect was unacceptable.

Taking her shoulders in gentle hands, he guided her to face him, and tipped her chin up with a finger. “I think you’re beautiful,” he stated. There was no arguing that fact. He liked her soft gray curls, her erect posture, thrust out chin, and her way of speaking when she wasn’t guarding herself.

She swallowed and looked down. Her full lips called to him. He hesitated, then cupped the back of her neck, bringing her closer to press a soft kiss against her forehead. At her shuddering breath, he glided his nose along hers, stood back, turned, and quietly left the house.