#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

H ilary answered the ringing phone in a breathy voice, “I’m naked and in bed, where are you?”

Silence.

She checked the screen of her phone. Unknown number. Crap! She’d thought it was Vincent. She hung up. Thirty seconds later, it rang again. Unknown number again. This time, she let it ring three times before answering as professionally as possible, “This is Hilary.”

“Hi, it’s Marcia. I just tried calling and got some phone sex operator. I must have misdialed.”

Hilary slid down on the bed pillows, her toes curling in embarrassment. “That’s weird. They must have a number similar to mine.”

“Yeah.” Marcia laughed. “I hope you don’t start getting pervy phone calls.”

Hilary forced out a chuckle and reached for her glass of wine. She’d eaten by herself as Vincent was on a job, which was taking longer than anticipated. He texted her with instructions she’d followed through to the letter, including the two cans of whipped cream. Now, she was naked and talking to his mother. Gah !

“Anyhoo, I won’t keep you. I chatted with Iris today. KBS will pick up the cost of the tickets, but Iris won’t be going.”

“Really, why’s that?” Hilary focused on the conversation rather than her lack of clothing.

“She hemmed and she hawed, but when I pushed her, she told me that Eddie told her that Fiona didn’t want her anywhere near her. Apparently, Eddie told Iris that Fiona told him that Iris and Darryl said something derogatory about Vietnamese nail salons being fronts for massage parlors. And I’m using air quotes around massage .” Marcia paused to take a breath, and it sounded like a sip from her own glass of wine.

Staring at her toes, Hilary thought about the hard-working women who worked in nail salons and how easy it was to spread false information.

Marcia continued, “I think it’s a crock. Darryl may have been rough around the edges, but he would never think that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t say that. Regardless, Iris does not feel comfortable asking Fiona to endorse the program.”

“I don’t blame her,” Hilary murmured. She couldn’t imagine having an antagonistic relationship with her in-laws. In fact, she still exchanged emails with her ex-mother-in-law, a lovely woman who was not at all to blame for her insensitive douche of a son.

“So, you’re going to be riding point.”

“What!” Hilary sat up so fast that wine sloshed down her chest. She placed her glass on the nightstand, then palmed her face. This wasn’t good.

“You represent the college, not KBS. Keeney Works will benefit from this relationship, and that is the point you have to drive home.”

Speechless, she listened as Marcia went on. Though good at public speaking, Hilary hated it. It made her heart race. Crap. This is what happens when you have a good idea.

She was off the phone and staring sightlessly at the ceiling when Vincent entered. He leaned against the door, taking a pull from the beer in his hand. “Yum.”

Rolling her head to the side, she gave him the side-eye, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“What happened?”

“Your mother just steamrolled right over me. I have to buttonhole Fiona at the gala and sell her on the proposal. Arrgghh! And I still have nothing to wear!”

Vincent walked to the side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her on the nose. She scowled at him. He grinned at her. He toed off his boots, put his beer down, and made short work of removing his clothes. “Ma’s right. You’re the perfect person to talk to Fiona. You have no history with her, and you have the backing of the college.”

He lay on the bed, snagging her around the waist and pulling her close. He frowned when his hand came away wet. “What’s this?”

“Chardonnay,” she responded absently.

“Okay…I’m not sure how that’s gonna work with whipped cream, but I’m game to try.”

Before she could reply, he leaned over and licked her from her navel to her collarbone. She forgot about Marcia, Fiona, and the dreaded gala, discovering that whipped cream and chardonnay did pair well together.

“ W hat the hell are we doing here?” Ali whispered, following Vincent, Tomas, and Carl into Boutique on Main. They’d been next door assessing an empty store whose owner wanted it renovated for a combination bookstore, coffee shop, and wine bar. The four men in dusty work boots looked out of place as they huddled in the entryway of the incredibly feminine dress shop. Vincent ignored the question. “I’ll just be a moment. Don’t touch anything.” The men huddled closer as Vincent wound his way through the displays of silky blouses, sexy dresses, and stiletto shoes to the counter at the back of the store. He certainly wasn’t comfortable in the shop, but he wasn’t about to show fear in front of the guys.

“May I help you?” A gauzy pink curtain parted, and a tiny older woman entered the shop from a back room. Dressed all in black, she had cropped gray hair, enormous gold earrings, and thick glasses framed in rhinestones. She tottered around the counter on three-inch, leopard-print heels. Possibly not her best choice of shoes.

He held out his hand. “I’m Vincent. We spoke on the phone this morning.” When her forehead wrinkled, he added, “I’m here to buy a dress for my girlfriend.”

The woman nodded. “Oh, right! I’m Betty Anne.” She took his hand in both of hers. “What lovely calluses you have.” She smiled up at him through her lashes. “I bet you’re very good with your hands.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Umm…yes?”

He felt a wall of testosterone behind him.

“You’re buying a dress?” Ali asked.

“You’ve got a girlfriend?” Carl asked.

Tomas grunted.

Ignoring them, Vincent pulled out his phone. He found a photo of Hilary and showed it to Betty Anne, who was immediately swarmed by men looming over her shoulder. They studied the image in silence. Vincent had caught Hilary unaware. She was in profile, reaching up to water a hanging basket. Standing on tiptoes, in shorts and a tank top, her curly gray hair tucked behind her ears.

Betty Anne tapped the screen. “Does she pad?”

“No,” Vincent said. “She wears loose shirts in public.”

“How tall is she? ”

Vincent held his hand up to his chin. “About this high, I guess.”

“Hold still,” Carl pulled out his tape measure. He gave one end to Vincent and dropped to the floor with the other. “Looks like 5’9”.”

“Shoe size?” Betty Anne asked. “And how high of a heel?”

“She wears a size nine and as high as you’ve got,” he said with a grin.

Betty Anne gave the phone back. Perfume wafted behind her as she tottered to a rack of dresses. “Come back in an hour,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vincent replied, turning to the front door. Tomas plucked the phone from his hand and studied Hilary’s picture as they exited. The men moved toward Vincent’s truck, where he liberated the cooler from the back seat. Ali unlocked the door to the empty store and held it open for the others to precede him.

“Put the cooler down. I need to talk to you.” Ali glowered at Vincent. Carl cleared off the counter for Vincent, who placed the cooler on top. He headed back out the door to Ali, who propped one hip against the truck, crossing his arms and tucking his hands in his armpits.

“Look, son, I know what you’re trying to do for Hilary, but how the hell are you going to pay for it?” He jerked his chin at the dress shop. “That ain’t Walmart.”

Hands on his hips, Vincent snapped at Ali, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve made an arrangement with Betty Anne.” He narrowed his eyes at the smirk on the older man’s face. “Not that kind of arrangement.”

Ali’s white teeth gleamed against his weathered skin. “You said it, not me.”

“She asked me to make a rolling step stool with a handrail for her. She has a hard time hanging displays and reaching items in her storage area.”

Ali squinted off into the distance. “Okay, but one of those dresses and a pair of designer shoes is gonna cost more than that.”

Heat crawled up Vincent’s neck as he mumbled quickly, “I agreed to be a model in the fall fashion show.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say you’re going to be in a fashion show?” Ali’s eyebrows arched high.

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. The senior center holds a fashion show in September, and Betty Anne wants me to escort the ladies down the runway.”

Ali doubled over in laughter. Vincent crossed his arms and stared at the ground, waiting for him to recover.

“Wait ’til the guys hear about this,” Ali said, wiping his eyes.

“Not one word,” Vincent ground out.

“Oh, son, that is going to cost you big time.” Ali strolled into the empty store, a scowling Vincent following close behind.

“Finally,” Carl said. “I’m starved.” Opening the cooler, he handed hoagies around to the others. Tomas ignored his, still studying the phone.

“What’s the dress for?” Carl asked after swallowing his first bite.

“That fundraising dinner next week,” Ali answered sourly. He and the others had been informed that morning they would be attending. Iris came up with a lame excuse, so the party would be Marcia, Vincent, Hilary, Ali, Tomas, and Carl. When informed of the dress code, no jeans, no work boots, jacket and tie suggested, Ali scowled, Tomas frowned, and Carl grinned. Vincent wasn’t concerned. He had a suit from his trial if it still fit. If not, he’d get another.

What did concern him was Hilary and making her feel good about herself. Keeney was a small town, and interest would be high when an ex-con showed up at a public event. The woman with him would be scrutinized, and Vincent knew Hilary was not up to public scrutiny—yet. He’d shared his concerns with Tomas, who came up with the idea of buying the dress. Vincent hadn’t intended to take an entourage with him, but needs must.

“Can Tomas and I bring dates?” Carl asked. At the quizzical looks he received, he continued. “You and Ali are taking dates. Why can’t we?”

Ali practically did a spit take and vehemently shook his head. “It’s not a date. Marcia and I are attending the same business function. That’s it. It’s not a date.”

Vincent eyed the other men. “You’ll have to buy their tickets, but sure. You got someone in mind?”

Carl’s head bobbed up and down. “There’s a girl in one of my classes. She really rocks a tool belt. I’ll text her now.” He looked over at Tomas. For the most part, Carl didn’t talk to Tomas. Mostly because Tomas barely spoke to anyone. “Do you umm…think you can find a date?”

Tomas’s lip curled. “Yeah, I can find a date. I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow.” He handed the phone back to Vincent with a smirk. “You’re right, she’s out of your league. My cousin does hair and makeup. Do you want her number? Give Hilary a Cinderella day?”

“Yeah, sure.” Scraping a hand across his jaw, Vincent said, “She’ll either be thrilled or want to kill me.”

Ali spoke around the sandwich in his mouth. “She’ll love it. Women love grand gestures. Don’t forget accessories—jewelry, purses, all that stuff.”

Vincent winced. This was bigger than he thought.

After insisting he didn’t need help choosing the dress, Vincent returned to the dress shop. He tucked his hands in his back pockets and walked to the back of the store, praying he hadn’t made a mistake. Since they’d started sleeping together, Hilary dressed more casually, with closer-fitting tops. But when she dressed for work or was headed somewhere public, the conservative loose shirts in muted shades were very much in play, like she was doing her best to disappear.

A headless mannequin was posed beside the counter, wearing the dress. It was royal blue, sleeveless, with a high neckline. It bloused loosely to the waist, coming together snugly around the hips and ending slightly above the knees. Vincent circled the mannequin and took in the back of the dress, which wasn’t much. It was tied at the neck, then hung open in loose folds to the waist. Vincent imagined Hilary’s ass filling out the snug fabric. “I’ll take it.”

Sitting behind the counter on a high stool, smoking a cigarette and sipping a martini, Betty Anne looked like a fashion Yoda. “Of course you will. Now, shoes.” She nodded at the counter in front of her. Three pairs of shoes were laid out for his inspection. Two pairs with four-inch heels, one flesh-toned and the other red with both the toes and the heels cut out, and the last pair had a low heel but were leopard printed with a pointy toe. Why did those look familiar? He remembered and raised his eyes to Betty Anne, who winked before sipping her martini.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d like to get her all three pairs, but I don’t think I can afford to.”

“Can you work them off doing future projects for me?”

Wondering if he’d just sold his soul to the devil, he met the shrewd gaze of the tiny woman. It looked like he’d be giving up his free time for a while, but Hilary was worth it. “Yes,” he answered slowly.

“Excellent!” She climbed down off the stool. She reached for a bill of sale and filled it out with a rhinestone-studded pen. “I had a double mastectomy thirty years ago. It was expected I’d get implants, so I did. I had them removed about three years later. It was the best decision I ever made.” She peered at Vincent over her glasses. “Tits aren’t everything. ”

H e’d placed the boxes right in front of her door and expected her to be home any moment. Not that Vincent was spying on her. Finally, she arrived, parked her bike, removed her helmet, and finger-combed her hair. She grabbed her tote bag and started up the stairs.

He eased out of his house and watched. She stopped at the top of the stairs, obviously seeing the boxes. Unlocking the door, she carried everything inside. He couldn’t wait any longer and hoofed it across the lawn, taking the stairs as quietly as possible.

She chose to open the shoes first. Holding up the red sling-backs, she heard him at the door and grinned. The nude pumps got a nod of approval, the leopard-print heels a laugh. Shaking her head, she opened the large box and pulled aside the tissue paper. Her eyes went wide as she reached in and lifted out the dress, then she dissolved into tears.

He rushed forward to hold her. “It’s just a dress. You can return it. You can get anything you want.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I knew it was too much. I’ll take it back.”

With a violent shake of her head, she stepped away from Vincent, sniffed, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I love it. It’s beautiful. It’s just…” She waved her hands up and down in front of her loose gray sweater and loose gray skirt. “This is me. And that’s…”

“Who you are inside,” he said softly, stepping closer and cupping her cheek in his hand. “Everything about you is color. Your dishes, your bed sheets, your throw pillows, your artwork, even your underwear. I don’t know how long you’ve been hiding in the dark, but don’t you think it’s time to step into the light?”

She gave him a watery smile, and leaned into his hand. She touched her chest. “Before this, I was a freaking peacock. Even after the mastectomy and the chemo, I wore bright colors. But when the implants failed, and David left me, I just…faded away.”

“But you’re coming back. I’ve seen it. When we’re together, you drop this dull disguise, and a vibrant woman is revealed. I want the rest of the world to see her. I want the rest of the world to see you .” The fingers of one hand curled into a fist at his side. He wanted to find her ex-husband and beat him to a pulp for wounding her.

Hilary moved her hands up to cup Vincent’s face. “Okay, we can say goodbye to the gray. But I’m not coloring my hair! I’m allergic to hair dye, and I won’t—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “I love your hair. I don’t want you to change it.” Unclenching his hand, he stroked her ass. “I can’t wait to see this in that dress.”

Her smile was a little bit bigger. “I can’t wait to show it to you.”