#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

F our months later…

Vincent propelled Hilary up the stairs by her hips. She stumbled slightly in the pale, high-heeled shoes that matched her tight pale skirt setting off her blouse’s peacock blue. Hands firmly clutching his, she muttered, “Fuck me” under her breath, all the way up. He wasn’t sure what he thought about her vocabulary, but it made him smile. “Any time, any place,” he said aloud. She stopped muttering.

Since moving in together, their attraction had strengthened. There wasn’t a flat surface on which they had not had sex.

Working together made them a team. Keeney Builds was their baby, and a beautiful baby it was. The program was simple: Keeney Works funneled potential students to the college. Instructors from the college taught the construction classes. Students then rotated through six weeks at KBS, working both in the store and with the contractors: Vincent, Tomas, and Carl. Between building a tiny house at the college (which was then donated to the city) and on-the-job training at KBS, students graduated with skills and confidence and were placed in building jobs in and around the community.

Things had changed considerably. After Eddie’s arrest, Iris needed a break from KBS, and Fiona found a place for her at Keeney Works, strengthening their bond. During Eddie’s trial, she and Fiona held hands, supporting each other when, after his conviction, Eddie was escorted from the courtroom, hurling vitriol at them. In an interesting twist of fate, he entered prison the same day Vincent received word his sentence had been overturned and his record expunged.

Holding down the position of marketing manager for KBS and sitting on both the Keeney Works and Keeney Builds boards, Marcia oversaw the construction of a tiny house community. She gave up her medical billing business when Iris insisted on repaying the money Marcia spent on Vincent’s defense. Rumor had it she and Ali were considering moving in together.

No one moved into the tiny house. Instead, it became an artist’s studio for Hilary. It was Vincent’s idea. He caught her painting one day, supplies spread out over the kitchen table, and approached Iris, who was more than willing to rent it to them. Hilary wasn’t interested in selling her paintings but had been approached more than once.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Hilary stood motionless, leaning into Vincent’s bulk, expecting him to lead her. He smiled. A woman on top of her game, a woman with multiple offers available, yet she chose him . He squeezed her hip, kissed her behind the ear, and steered her down the hall. When her feet went from linoleum to carpet, she halted, turning blindfolded eyes toward him, lips quirked up. “I know where we are, this is Iris’s office,” she stated with a confident smile. Too uncomfortable with Eddie’s ostentatious furnishings, Hilary used the small bookkeeping room as her office, believing the bigger office was being converted to a conference room.

“Nope,” he said.

Brow furrowed, lips pinched, she hummed.

He did not give anything away. In their time together, he’d learned he had far more patience than she did. Finally, she huffed out, “I give. Where are we?” Turning her body toward his, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and removed the blindfold. “You’re close. Not Iris’s office, yours.”

Blinking rapidly, she digested the information. “Are you serious?”

He grinned at her. “As a heart attack.”

Frowning, she turned to take in the space that had a completely different vibe. The wall of windows was still there, but the dark wood paneling was gone. In its place was a light, creamy yellow paint. The heavy wooden desk the size of a football stadium was gone. In its place was a free-standing desk at the left of the door, angled toward the center of the room and the windows. To the right of the door was another free-standing desk, angled toward the center of the room and the windows. Directly in front of the door sat a conference table, the end of which bumped up against the window overlooking the floor of KBS, surrounded by six chairs, all anchored to the floor by a jute rug in shades of green and blue.

She moved into the room, turning in a complete circle. Then she stepped close to one wall, examining the photographs hanging there. An old photo of a much younger Iris, Darryl behind her, and Eddie in front, standing in front of KBS, broad smiles on everyone. A photo of Ali—with a complete head of hair—standing next to Darryl beside a display of circular saws. The photos moved through the history of KBS to the present—Vincent, Tomas, and Carl standing in front of a tiny house, surrounded by their first class of students. Hilary shot a smile at Vincent, and took a chair at the conference table. Stroking its surface, she said, “This wood is exquisite. And the table is enormous. Did you bring it in through the windows?”

He grinned and seated himself across from her. “Eddie’s desk was too big to move. So I busted it up and repurposed it. Including the huge-ass coffee table he had, there was enough wood to build this table and the two desks.”

“One desk is for me, is the other one yours?”

He spun his chair to the side. “Me, Tomas, Carl, Ma—whoever needs the space.”

She nodded. “Good idea, which one is—” She glanced at him before rising to her feet and approaching the desk to the left side of the door. Picking up an engraved nameplate, she ran her fingers over the lettering, and raised big eyes to him. “It says Hilary Ortiz. Are you trying to tell me something?”

He came to her, cupped her head with his big hands, stroking a thumb along her cheekbone. “Is that too subtle?”

Her breath hitched on a shaky laugh. “Maybe. I’m not terribly bright, you know.”

He touched his lips to her forehead before stepping back, and tilting her head up. “Will you marry me?”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she met his gaze. “I guess I’ll have to. It would be a shame to replace that nameplate.”

Growling, he removed her smirk by kissing her deeply.

Perfectly Polished

(a sneak peek)

F orty-five minutes.

Fiona Han discreetly turned off the alarm on her smart watch. It wasn’t that she was having a bad time, these were nice people. But they were people who knew far too much about her, and she was ready for this day to be over. With a small smile, she said, “I called an Uber. Hilary, thanks for inviting me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Fiona blinked and stared at Tomas Alvarado. “Umm… Thanks, but I’m fine.” She waved her phone at him and put it into her purse.

He stood and looked down at her. “I’ll drive you home.”

Eep!

She did not want to make a scene. He didn’t give off the axe-murderer vibe, and her friends were grinning at her like he was perfectly safe, but the man unnerved her.

Marcia Ortiz, a woman in her mid-fifties, and best friend to Fiona’s mother-in-law Iris, touched her hand. “You’ll be fine,” she murmured.

Fiona rose, tucked her purse under her arm and followed Tomas to the stairs leading from Hilary’s deck to the driveway. She glanced back at Marcia, who winked at her.

Eep!

Descending the stairs, she was aware of the man behind her. It seemed that for the past two weeks, Tomas had been at her back, without saying a word. Reaching the driveway, she faced three white pick-up trucks bearing the logo for Keeney Building Supplies, the company Iris owned. With a hand to her elbow, Tomas guided her to the one in the middle, distinguishable from the others by the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, and opened the passenger door. Fiona eyed the distance up to the seat of the truck, then down at her pencil skirt and heels. Then she was up. Tomas placed her gently on the seat and reached around to buckle the seat belt.

“I’m not a child!” She glared up at him.

He met her eyes fully for the very first time. “I know you’re not.” He closed the door and walked around the hood of the truck .

Walk was the wrong word. Tomas prowled like a predator. Did that make her his prey?

He climbed behind the wheel, his presence taking up all the air in the truck. Fiona wanted to open the window, to breathe, perhaps to crawl out.

Placing a large hand on the back of her seat, he ignored her as he turned to back out of the driveway. She could smell him. If she turned her head, ever so slightly, she could brush up against his hand and rub his scent all over her. Where had that thought come from? Fiona shook her head and stared forward.

“I live on Dunlop Street,” she told him.

“I know.” Tomas met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I changed the locks on your doors last week.”

“Right,” she said in a small voice. To keep the douche canoe of her soon to be ex-husband out. Her eyes got big. “I haven’t paid you yet! I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it. I can write you a cheque when we get to the house. It’s just—”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Oh.” Tomas worked for her mother-in-law. Iris must have had him do it. “Thank you.”

He drove in silence.

Not knowing how to converse with someone who clearly didn’t like to talk, she leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

She awoke to see Tomas scouring the word ‘cunt’ off her garage door.

Fiona threw herself from the truck, stumbling as she hit the ground. She righted herself and flew around the hood of the truck. Tomas whirled and grimaced.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she chanted, pacing back and forth in front of the garage. Scrawled in dripping red paint, each capital letter was at least two feet high.

Eddie .

He’d chosen a public and humiliating way to get back at her.

Tomas dropped a scrub brush and moved closer to Fiona, stepping between her and the offensive word. He pulled her hands away from her face and squeezed them. “Go into the house. I’m going to get some paint and take care of this.”

The setting sun full in his face highlighted the ticking muscle in his jaw. The angry slash of his eyebrows mirrored the angry slash of his mouth, but his eyes were full of concern.

“You can’t… Where will you…” she was unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence.

He squeezed her hands again, bringing her attention back to him. “I’ve got this.” He released one hand, led her around the truck to retrieve her clutch and fished out her keys. Still holding her hand, he guided her to the front door, unlocked it and led her inside. Closing the door, he pressed her back against it and said, “Stay here.”

He waited for her to nod before moving quickly through the house. When he returned and said, “All clear,” Fiona released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Once again Tomas took her hand. He led her to the living room and gently pushed her down onto the couch, then sank onto the coffee table facing her. His gaze roamed her face and Fiona took in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, feeling slightly less wobbly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the doors behind me and try to relax.” He gently unclenched her hands from around her purse, opened it up and pulled out her phone. “Add me to your contacts. I don’t think you’ll need to, but call me—don’t text—call me if you get scared.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but one escaped and he wiped it away with a calloused thumb. His eyebrows rose in a silent question which she answered with a quick nod then he got up and moved to the door. She locked the door behind him then headed to the kitchen to find the wine.

***