I glanced up at the door when I heard what sounded like a knock, but dismissed it, figuring the wind must be causing something to rap against the house. Besides, who would decide to visit in the middle of a storm? The only person I knew in New Orleans was Hank, and it was way past his bedtime, or so I assumed. Granted, it was only nine o’clock, but I had a feeling Hank was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy.
The second strident knock on the front door convinced me that it didn’t have anything to do with windblown drops of rain. I pushed on my slippers and padded over to the front door, wearing the blanket around my shoulders and probably resembling an old crone with the flu. After checking the peephole, which afforded me no more than a blurry view of someone in a white shirt, I pulled the door open as far as the chain would allow and poked my nose out.
“Hi,” I started, my eyebrows furrowing in the middle as soon as my gaze settled on the impossibly tall man looming before me. “Can I help you?”
Now, I’m pretty sure that fate had nothing to do with this gigantic and, ahem, very handsome man randomly showing up on my doorstep, but I was at a complete loss as to who he was or why he was visiting me. Last time I’d checked, I wasn’t in contact with any broad-chested, golden-haired Adonises with…dimples?
“The name’s Ryan Kelly, ma’am,” he said as he offered me a beefy hand along with the most charming smile I’d ever seen. His pronounced Southern accent was easily as appealing as his boyish grin.
“Oh,” I answered, making no effort to shake his hand. It wasn’t that I was trying to be rude, but I had no clue who this man was and I had a sneaking suspicion he was going to try to sell me something.
He laughed as if it was of no consequence to him whether I shook his hand or not and then plopped said hand into his jeans, shaking his head at his apparent mistake while his dimples continued to deepen. “You must be wonderin’ what the heck I’m doin’ on your doorstep?”
“Um, yeah, something like that.”
He chuckled again and the sound was so inviting, I could feel my lips beginning to part in a reflection of his smile. Hmm, maybe fate did have something to do with Ryan Kelly? Maybe he was the god of thunder, who just happened to ride in on the storm, fleeing his kingdom up in the clouds.
“I’m your neighbor,” he said finally as he motioned over his right shoulder. “I live up the street, maybe five houses.” He brought his gaze back to mine and I felt myself flushing. “I just wanted to make sure you were doin’ okay in this storm.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling incredibly relieved that he wasn’t going to try to sell me a vacuum cleaner I didn’t want or a set of stainless-steel knives. Taking a deep breath, I realized how completely unfriendly I appeared—especially to a neighbor. “I’m, uh, I’m fine, thanks.”
Ryan had to be six-five, six-six if I had to guess, and his incredibly broad shoulders and overall giant frame made him look like he’d missed his calling as a football player or a wall. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just appeared to be taking stock of me, as if trying to decide if I were being honest about my announcement that I was fine.
He extended his hand again. “Let’s try this again. Ryan Kelly, ma’am, pleased to meet you.”
I laughed nervously as I unlatched the chain and opened the door. Reaching my hand out from beneath my blanket, I allowed him to shake it. I tried to ignore the charismatic and charming drawl that decorated his words, but with little luck. I wasn’t from the South—nope, I was born and bred in California, so I was definitely unaccustomed to Southern hospitality. I’d actually only ever been to New Orleans once, when I was a junior at Cal State Northridge, working my way toward my bachelor’s degree in history. It was summer break, and after spending a year and a half working part-time gigs, a girlfriend and I had saved up enough money to take a road trip across the country. Or so we’d thought. We’d actually ended up running out of money in New Orleans so we spent a few days here—a few days that had found a permanent place in my heart. Of course the Cajun food had been a good selling point, but the pull I felt to New Orleans was much more about the culture itself. The people were among the most open and friendly I’d ever come across, and the sense of history was both pervasive and awe-inspiring. All told, the Big Easy had existed in my memories as a place where I felt…home.
“Peyton Clark,” I managed after a protracted silence. “Pleased to meet you.”
Ryan laughed a deep, infectious sound. “I apologize for gettin’ off on the wrong foot, so to speak. I hope I didn’t frighten you?” he asked quickly, as if the thought just occurred to him. That was when I realized my hand was still in his. I pulled it free and smiled apologetically, as if it were an odd thing for me to pull my hand away from his, even though I knew it was much odder still that he’d held it so long. Thinking I could have been, and, therefore, probably should have been, frightened by some random dude showing up at my house at night, I realized I wasn’t frightened at all. That thought actually scared me more than Ryan’s unannounced visit. “Um, you didn’t frighten me.”
He nodded and offered me another winning smile. “I’m happy to hear it. Just wasn’t quite sure what sort of impression I was makin’ on you. I hope it’s not a bad one.”
“No, it’s not a bad one,” I answered quickly.
“You sure you’re okay here?” he asked again, offering me a drawn eyebrow and a general expression of disbelief. He even looked past me, craning his head as if to take stock of my home’s interior.
“I’ve got a few leaks,” I admitted at last, then shrugged like the eleven canisters filling up with rainwater around the house weren’t any big deal.
“I knew it,” Ryan said with another boyish grin. “And I should also probably admit something…”
“What?” I asked, immediately overcome by a wave of suspicion as visions of Hoover vacuum cleaners started to dance before my eyes.
“My visit wasn’t just to be neighborly,” he started with a heartfelt sigh. “Hank asked me to come by and check on you.” He smiled broadly. “Ol’ coot was convinced this place was gonna fall apart on top of you.” Then he glanced past me again, chuckling. “An’ can’t say I disagree with him!”
I laughed. “So you know Hank?”
“We go way back,” Ryan said in explanation as he flashed his toothpaste-commercial smile. “Hank’s been our family mechanic since I was in diapers.”
“I see,” I answered with a quick smile as neither of us said anything else for the space of four heartbeats. “I…”
“So,” Ryan started at the same time I did and then chuckled as I shook my head and let it be known he could speak before me. “I guess you’re plannin’ on fixin’ this place up?”
I nodded immediately, pleased to have a new topic of conversation. I wasn’t one who dealt well with uncomfortable silences. “Yeah, that’s my plan.”
“By yourself?” he continued, his eyebrows raised as I nodded.
“Well, I’m obviously not going to do the work myself…I figured I’d hire it all out.”
He nodded. “And you’re livin’ in it at the same time?” This time he shook his head. “Probably not the best idea, Ms. Clark.”
“Just call me open-minded, I guess.”
He frowned. “That’s one way to look at it.” He continued to look past me, into the living room, as if taking stock of myriad needed repairs already.
“Do you know anything about construction?” I hesitated.
I couldn’t tell if he nodded or shook his head. It was a perfect mixture of both. “I dabble, Ms. Clark.”
“Please, call me Peyton,” I said quickly, suddenly realizing I hadn’t yet invited him inside. The rain splattered him from behind and an errant leak above the door kept dripping onto his shoulder. I was also slightly afraid that the termite-infested floorboards of the porch might give way under his weight. And that wouldn’t be a pretty picture.
“I dabble, Peyton.” The way he said the words caused me to swallow down a large lump
of what I imagined was nervousness. I didn’t say anything but watched him glance around the foyer before bringing his dimpled smile back to me. “Big job.”
Then I remembered I was planning on inviting him in. “Would you, uh, like to come in?”
“Thought you’d never ask!” he said with a chuckle and took a quick step inside, the floorboards creaking in time with his footfalls.
“So, you dabble,” I started, suddenly nervous that this enormous man was inside my house. It wasn’t so much because I was afraid he might hurt me—I believed his story about being my neighbor and figured a friend of Hank’s was a friend of mine. My disquiet arose from the thought that here we were, alone, in my house. I shook the thoughts right out of my head, irritated with myself. I was acting like a total and complete moron—like I’d never seen a hot man before. And I had definitely seen lots of hot men…And once upon a time, the party girl Peyton had done a lot more than just look…
“I do,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Does your dabbling ever include renovations on very old homes?” I asked, sounding beyond hopeful. One of the first items on my to-do list was to find a general contractor to run the show on my remodel. And, while I didn’t suppose Ryan, as a “dabbler,” could fit the bill, maybe he knew of someone who could.
He stood in the foyer and appeared to be taking in the house as he gazed first to the left, then the right. Finally, he spun around and faced me. “In the past,” he answered somewhat evasively and then eyed my house again, shaking his head. “But what I can tell you, Peyton, is that this place is not fit for you to be livin’ in.” Then he made a point of eyeing the pots and glasses already overflowing with rainwater. “Case in point.”
“What’s a little rainwater?” I asked with a smile and a shrug, completely not okay with the knowledge that I was definitely attracted to him. ’Course, what straight woman wouldn’t be? With that height and build, and those warm eyes and that damned smile, I was more than sure that Ryan Kelly was quite popular with the ladies. Which was just as well because I wasn’t interested in dating or men in general…or so I continued to remind myself.
But I couldn’t ignore the stirring of butterflies in my stomach. Was this how it was going to be now that I was divorced? After being with only Jonathon for the last five-plus years (and it wasn’t like he was very good in bed), was I now going to take note of every attractive man like a cat in heat? Because if that was what lay in store for me, I couldn’t say I was exactly thrilled.
“Well, first off, I wouldn’t describe this as a ‘little rainwater,’ ” he said with a knowing smirk. “Your livin’ room looks like the backdrop for Noah’s Ark.”
We both laughed but then I sighed as I glanced around the room and realized I’d been looking at it with rose-colored lenses. Realistically, the roof was leaking like a sieve; there was a perpetual musty, damp smell; and it wasn’t exactly warm. But, hey, it was mine.
“You know this whole setup isn’t exactly safe?” Ryan continued as he waved dismissively toward the heater in the center of the living room and all the pots and glasses surrounding it.
“How often does it rain?” I asked with a shrug, like whatever point he was making wasn’t too important.
He chuckled. “Often enough that I’m gonna give you some free advice.”
“Here we go,” I muttered, unable to keep the smile from my lips even as I chastised myself again for flirting with him.
“My sister is the manager at the Omni Royal hotel in the French Quarter. I could hook you up with a very good rate.”
“I want to live in my house during the remodel,” I argued, even going so far as to cross my arms against my chest, which, when in context with the blanket draped around my shoulders, probably made me look like I was imitating Hiawatha.
“I meant you could stay at the Omni just until the rain ends,” he answered quickly before offering me a cocked-brow expression. “I’m sure it’s not exactly comfortable livin’ here. It smells like a wet dog.”
I laughed because that was the exact smell I’d been trying to put my finger on for the last few days. Then I sighed as I realized he had a point. But I also didn’t like the idea of throwing in the towel and moving into a hotel for who knew how long? I glanced around the completely barren house, realizing maybe I had been a little too hasty in wanting to move in right away. I mean, there wasn’t any furniture, not even a rug. I had a closet full of clothes, which were probably being rained on, a portable heater, a mattress, and linens upstairs in the only dry bedroom I could find. Oh, and I also had the blanket around my shoulders. I guess I hadn’t exactly planned very well.
“Really, I’m fine,” I started, completely aware of how empty my words sounded.
“The rain is supposed to last another four days at the least,” Ryan said with a triumphant grin. Then he glanced over at the pots and glasses spread across my floor. “An’ by that time, this place will be a flood zone.”
“Okay, point taken,” I grumbled.
“Is that a yes?” he continued, sporting that impossibly charismatic smile of his.
“A yes to what?”
“To my incredibly generous offer of housin’,” he answered without a beat.
I smiled and in doing so, realized I’d just ceded him a victory.
The ringing of my cell phone woke me up. I rolled over, opened one eye, and glanced through the plantation shutters, which had once been white but now lay under a filmy cloud of gray. Seeing storm clouds still dominating the sky, I noticed the sound of raindrops pelting against the windowpanes. Shivering, I pulled the duvet cover all the way to my chin and wished my portable heater could ward away the chill in the air. With a humph, I rolled over and closed my eyes again. But my phone refused to be silenced. Grabbing it, I glanced at the caller ID and saw a number I didn’t recognize, but a local one nonetheless. Maybe it was Hank with a final invoice for the Scout.
“Hello?” I asked in a sleep-laden, gravelly voice.
“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Ryan’s Southern baritone pealed. “Just makin’ sure you were gonna keep your word to go visit my sister.”
I cleared my throat and felt a smile curling my lips on its own accord. But even though my initial response was to smile upon hearing the incredibly charming Southern accent on the other line, I didn’t exactly want him to know that. “Yeah, yeah,” I said, aiming for cool, calm, and collected.
“The weatherman said we’re in for another five days of rain, Peyton, and that was as of, oh, two hours ago…”
“Blah—” I started, but he interrupted me.
“I, quite frankly, am convinced you won’t survive another two days in that disaster which you call a house.” He paused for a second or two after laughing at his own joke. “An’ is that the fire hazard I hear in the background?”
I figured he was referring to my space heater. In response, I turned the heat up higher and smiled smugly. “Yep, you do.”
He heaved a sigh as I felt a laugh tugging at my lips. “You do know that weather forecasters are usually…wrong?” I asked, just itching to spar with him. “Truth be told, it will probably rain for another five minutes, not days.”
“In your case, I would say it’s better to err on the side of assumin’ they’re right,” he replied, wasting no time in responding. There was a slight pause before he added, “You have mornin’ voice. What are you still doin’ asleep?”
“Um, it’s like the crack of dawn,” I answered with a yawn for dramatic effect.
He chuckled again and it was such a charming sound, I felt another smile pulling my lips up. “Peyton, it’s eight in the mornin’. I’ve already had two cups of coffee and I worked out. There’s no reason for you to be lollygaggin’ about.”
“Okay, Dad,” I answered with a heartfelt grin.
“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man, or in your case, a woman, healthy, wealthy, and wise,” he pedantically quoted Ben Franklin, sounding completely self-satisfied.
“And b
oring,” I added. I didn’t intend to sound so put out, but it wasn’t like I’d slept well. Not while enduring the Chinese water torture of numerous leaks throughout the house, or worrying that maybe my electric heater would short circuit and burn the place down. “I’m not a morning person.”
“Regardless,” he admonished, “you made me a promise, and therefore, you have a promise to keep. So get yourself up and try not ta trip over all the pools and puddles in your livin’ room. My sister’s waitin’ for you at the Omni. Her name is Trina.”
“You already talked to her?!” I asked, unable to conceal my shock because it seemed like no time had gone by at all. I sat upright and stretched the hand that wasn’t holding my phone high above my head. My eyes were still puffy, a tacit testimony of my restless night, and my eyelashes pulled my lids down like burdensome weights.
“Like I said, I’ve been up since six a.m. and already accomplished most everythin’ I set out to do today.”
“Well, good for you,” I muttered with irritation. So what if Ryan had basically conquered the world in two hours and I was still having a hell of a time just trying to keep my eyes open…
“Time’s a wastin’, Peyton,” he rhymed back at me, with the hint of a chuckle in his tone.
“I should never have given you my phone number,” I murmured even though I had to admit I enjoyed talking with him and even more, I liked him taking it upon himself to serve as my wake-up call. Even though I really didn’t want to admit it, I liked Ryan Kelly. I couldn’t help it.
“Givin’ me your number was the neighborly thing to do.” He paused. “I mean, what if I ever need to borrow a cup of sugar?”
“Isn’t there a grocery store nearby?”
“Don’t think you’re gonna get out o’ your promise with a little verbal sparrin’, Peyton Clark,” he reprimanded me. Honestly, it was the sexiest scolding I’d ever had the good fortune to deserve. The flirtatious tone to his voice combined with how he said my name made me catch my breath for a second. I nearly forgot what the hell we were talking about. Oh yeah…giving him my phone number the evening before.
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