by Avery Flynn
“Often, it doesn’t,” Dana said kindly. “But the house has been vacant for two years, and when the amenities haven’t been updated for some time prior to a house sitting empty, it tends to make even the best maintenance difficult.”
Finn looked around the room, taking in the awful light green walls and stained, faded carpet that his father had never made an effort to keep clean, let alone update. “I can still put it on the market though, right?”
“You can,” Dana said slowly, shocking the crap out of him, and—if her brows-up, lips-parted expression was anything to go by—January too. “But as your potential realtor, I feel the need to be upfront with you. In this case, putting the house on the market and actually selling it are likely to be entirely different matters.”
“So Finn would have to have some things replaced or repaired before the house would sell?” January asked, and Dana confirmed with a crisp nod.
“There are a lot of houses in this neighborhood that are already on the market in way better shape. Despite my best efforts, I don’t think I could sell this one as-is.”
Frustration welled in Finn’s chest, and he damn near gave in to it. But then January brushed her hand against his, just like she had on the porch, and he managed to ask, “How much work are we talking about?”
“At bare minimum, I think you’re looking at a good three weeks’ worth of work to have the house painted inside and out, replace these carpets, and have repairs done to the roof, the porch, and the back deck. I know that’s likely not what you wanted to hear.” Dana gestured to the dingy space around them, and dammit, she wasn’t wrong on any counts. “The good news is, once those things are done, I do think you’ll be able to sell the house, and rather quickly at that.”
For a tiny fraction of a second, Finn was tempted to say forget it and blow the whole thing off. This house, with its shitty memories, had been sitting here by its lonesome for two years. What did he care if it kept sitting here until it fucking fell down?
But that was the problem. Finn did care. He was tired of shitty memories. He’d already put one part of his past behind him in coming to make amends with Asher.
Now he was going to put another part behind him once and for all by selling this house.
“Okay,” he said, letting go of the exhale that had been stuck in his throat. “Let’s plan on putting this place on the market in three weeks then. I’ll get started on the repairs first thing in the morning.”
January’s eyes flew wide. “You’re going to do the work yourself?”
Dana excused herself quietly, the front door giving up a haunted house-style creak and rattle as she stepped onto the porch, leaving Finn to nod.
“Well, I’m not a contractor, so I’m sure I’ll have to hire someone to do a lot of the more complicated stuff. But the off-season just started, and all I’m doing is sitting around, waiting for my agent to broker this new deal with the Rage. I’ve got the time.”
Yeah, Finn could go back to New Orleans and spend that time hanging out with his teammates, but most of them were scattered all over the place now that they’d won the Cup. The work here needed to be done. Sticking around for a few weeks wouldn’t kill him.
“It’s an awful lot to take on,” January said, spinning a doubtful gaze over the dust-smudged windows and dinged-up doorframes.
“I know. But what was it you said?” He broke off in a silent rewind, reaching out to slide his hand over hers. “Getting upset is a waste of energy. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”
Grinning, she laced her fingers through his. “I guess I did say that. Lucky for you, the best you’ve got includes me. A couple of the guys at Seventeen do licensed contract work on the side. I bet they’ll be able to help you out with the bigger jobs pretty fast. And of course, I can help too.”
“Really?” Finn asked, surprise tagging him right in the sternum. “It’s going to be a ton of work.”
“Mmm hmm.” January turned, pressing up to her toes to kiss him. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to thank me later.”
8
January swung the sledgehammer in her grasp until the deck railing in front of her collapsed with a satisfying crack. Adjusting the safety goggles that both Finn and firefighter-slash-contractor Ryan Dempsey had insisted she wear, she wiped her brow with her forearm as she paused to catch her breath.
“You okay?” Finn asked, walking over from the scrap pile he’d just gathered for the dumpster to pass her a bottle of water from the nearby cooler. “Here. It was hotter than hell’s kitchen today.”
January squinted at the dusky evening sky, sliding her safety goggles to the top of her head. “Yeah, but I haven’t been out here for a full four days like you.”
Still, she uncapped the frosty bottle for a nice long draw, because A) she really was thirsty; and B) she also wasn’t stupid. She might only be clocking a few fix-it hours after work every night, but she could still wind up with heat exhaustion if she wasn’t careful.
Finn lifted a damply T-shirted shoulder, and God, she would never get enough of those muscles, clothed or otherwise. “Ah, the work isn’t so bad. Plus, I’ve had help.”
He’d no sooner finished his sentence when Dempsey rounded the corner from the front of the house with a crooked smile on his lips. “Hey. I resemble that remark,” the firefighter said cheerfully.
“Yeah, I’m glad you do,” Finn countered past his grin. “Because I’d be pretty hosed trying to replace both this deck and the rickety-ass front porch on my own.”
“Ah, they’re a piece of cake when you’ve got enough able bodies helping out. Speaking of which”—Dempsey let his bright green stare move over the small, somewhat cleared backyard before turning back to look at Finn—“it’s getting late, and you put in a helluva day with getting this yard in shape. Why don’t you let me and Gates finish tearing down this railing so you two can get out of here?”
January’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”
“As shooting,” Dempsey said with a brotherly wink. “Come on, J. You’ve been busting your butt on the fundraiser all week, and anyway, your boy here is paying me. The least I can do is spring you both with enough time to have a late meal together.”
A flush crept up her cheeks at the more-than-friends implication, but Finn just crossed the grass to shake Ryan’s hand like nothing-doing.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Dempsey laughed, tipping his navy blue RFD baseball hat in Finn’s direction. “Don’t thank me yet. When we’ve got the full crew here on Saturday, pizza and beer is on you.”
“Just for that, I am leaving now,” Finn laughed back.
After a round of goodbyes to both Dempsey and one of Seventeen’s other rescue squad firefighters, Tyler Gates, January traded in her sledgehammer and safety goggles for the keys to her MINI Cooper. Still slightly sweaty, she slid behind the wheel, trying and failing to hide her smile as Finn origamied his way into the passenger seat.
“Whoever designed this thing definitely didn’t have professional athletes in mind,” he grumbled. “Or most of the human population, for that matter. Seriously, how are you even a little comfortable right now?”
“Um, because I’m not six three. You could always go back to the car rental agency,” she teased. He’d returned the SUV when he’d extended his stay in Remington, grabbing rides to the house every day from either her or one of the guys on Dempsey’s crew. “They might have a stretch limo. Or—oooh! A monster truck.”
Mischief flickered through Finn’s whiskey-colored stare, sending an unexpected and oh-so-delicious shot of heat between January’s hips. “Funny. On second thought I’ll stick with this. Being in close quarters with you has its advantages.” He turned to gesture to her laptop bag, which was stuffed so full, it easily took over more than half the back seat. “Although we’re in a little closer than usual tonight. Not that I’m complaining, but…”
Just like that, her smile disappeared and her belly filled with a whole
lot of ugh. “Sorry. This fundraiser is killing me. It’s actually a good thing Dempsey kicked us out, because I’ve probably got hours of work ahead of me.”
“Anything I can help with?” Finn asked, and she shot him a quick, appreciative glance from the driver’s seat.
“Not unless you can come up with a theme idea that will make this event a blockbuster, and believe me, I’ve tried. Casino night, masquerade ball, wine tasting—they’re all completely played out.”
The face he made told January she’d been right to cross the themes off her list. “Yeah, no offense, but they do sound pretty overdone.”
“I know.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “The crappy part is, if I have any prayer of getting the logistics in place, I’m out of time. I guess I’ll just have to pick the least boring theme and give it my best shot.”
Finn sat back, watching the traffic around them silently for a few minutes before he said, “I know you said the patrons are Remington’s elite, but this is a fundraiser for firefighters, who are a lot more laid back. So what if you went outside the box for a theme?”
Not wanting to discard anything off the bat, January turned the idea over in her mind before answering. “It would be risky. Yes, the fundraiser is for firefighters, and of course, they all attend to socialize with the donors. But it’s always been a formal event.”
“Yeah, but it’s also a formal event that’s losing its effectiveness.”
Well, shit. Of course there was that. “True. I’m just not sure what I could come up with that would be different and fun, yet still a big enough draw to appeal to potential donors.”
“What about a sports theme?” Finn asked, a slow, sexy grin hanging in the words. “Specifically, oh, I don’t know. Hockey?”
Her brows creased in confusion. It wasn’t a terrible idea—in fact, it was pretty damned good. Except… “I only know one hockey player.”
“Maybe. But I know lots of them.”
Shock sent January’s heart smacking against her rib cage, excitement kicking it even faster as she pulled over to properly stare at Finn.
“Are you kidding me?”
She heard the gracelessness of the question only once it was out, but Finn just laughed.
“I’ve spent three years in the league, and four more scratching my way up the ladder to get there. I’m pretty sure I’m serious about knowing a guy or two…dozen.”
“Okay, that was a stupid question. What I meant was, this event is just over three weeks from now,” January said, her brain fighting for control over her giddiness as she tried to consider all the variables. “Do you really think your teammates would be willing to drop everything and come out to Remington for a fundraiser?”
Finn shrugged, his T-shirt shushing against the MINI’s passenger seat. “Realistically, I’m sure not everyone will be able to make it, but we’re in the off-season, remember? A lot of the guys on the Rage are probably at loose ends, and they’re always up for a good time. Plus, this is a great cause. I bet if I threw it out there, most of them would be up for it.”
Oh God. Oh God, with the draw of a Cup-winning team in attendance, this just might work. “We could go with a whole game day theme. Pennants, trading cards for autographs, the works. And we could make the event really laid back—no tuxedos or fancy dresses, just relaxed, casual fun to set the mood. Team jerseys, jeans, ball caps. Oh!” A fresh thought popped into January’s head, and yes! Perfect. “What if we organized a silent auction too? That way, even the players who can’t make it in person can still donate signed memorabilia or other items if they want to help out.”
“That’s a great idea,” he said. “We do things like that for local charities a lot, so I’m sure you’d get a decent response, even from the guys who can come.”
Another wave of ideas burst through her mind, each one building off the one before it. “With a game day theme, we can go low key on catering, which will free up more of the budget for advertising.”
“A couple of the guys on the team have pretty big social media followings. I bet you could sweet-talk them into making a post or two for the cause.” Finn paused, a tiny frown tugging at the corners of his mouth through the evening shadows. “The only part of this that sucks is that you’re still stuck with Chase Manor. The place doesn’t exactly scream ‘game day’.”
January’s brain launched one last idea, and for a second, she nearly balked. She was already taking a risk with this theme. A change in venue—especially this change in venue—wouldn’t just be risky. It would be downright crazy. But she’d already tried playing it safe for this fundraiser, and the only thing it had gotten her was a bucketful of blah.
Finn was right. The old way wasn’t working. If she wanted to change things—if she wanted to raise the money for that fire equipment—she was going to have to go all in.
“Chase Manor might not scream ‘game day’, but I know a place that does. Can you do me a favor and hand me my cell phone? I’ve got a call to make.”
January wrapped her fingers around the handle of a sledgehammer and swung as hard as she could for the second time in a week. But this time, she had an audience, and striking out in front of every firefighter plus both paramedics at Station Seventeen was so not on her agenda.
“Wow. Way to get it done, January!” Dempsey said after the rotted-out section of porch railing fell to the grass below with a heavy thump.
“Remind me not to ever piss you off,” added Shae McCullough as she sent a definite look of approval in January’s direction from the spot where she stood in the side yard. January was tempted to point out that Shae trained as hard as any of her male engine-mates and could probably out-sledgehammer the hell out of any porch railing on the planet, but before she could say so much as a word, Kennedy stuck her head through one of the wide-open windows on the front of the house.
“Of course January’s a badass. Look at the company she keeps. Also—hello—Sarge’s daughter.”
A chorus of murmured agreement floated through the muggy Saturday morning air, and finally, January laughed. “Okay, okay. While I appreciate the ringing endorsement of my badassery”—she paused for a dusty curtsy on the dustier porch boards—“we have a ton of work to do. If you’re not sure what project you’re on, there’s a clipboard in the kitchen with a detailed list, or you can check in with me or Dempsey, too. And make sure you hydrate! I know Parker and Quinn are paramedics, but don’t make them work on their day off.”
Everyone in the group scattered to their various posts. Grinning, January turned to pick up her sledgehammer and get to work on the next section of the porch railing, but the sight of Finn, leaning against the front doorframe and giving her a sexy, smirk-filled up and down look, stopped her in her tracks.
“You made a project schedule?” he asked, one shadowy brow lifting toward his just-unkempt-enough-to-be-scorching-hot hairline. The muscles in his shoulders flexed and released beneath his dark gray T-shirt as he straightened to a full stand, and heat flooded through her at the thought of what those shoulders had looked like less than two hours ago when she’d wrapped her arms around them and screamed his name.
Focus. On something other than Finn’s insanely sculpted body and all the magical things he can do with it, please and thank you. “Oh! Um, yes,” January said blinking herself back to the reality of the front porch. “Dempsey said assignments would be helpful, and these guys are used to that sort of thing from working at Seventeen. Plus, looking at the logistics of each project to determine how much manpower will be needed, then dividing everything up according to experience and each firefighter’s preference was easy.”
Finn’s laughter came out in a soft rumble. “As easy as making up your own filing system? Or single-handedly planning a massive fundraiser? Or—”
“Are you making fun of my organizational skills, Finnegan?” She slid one hand to her denim-clad hip to punctuate the sass in her question, but he shocked the hell out of her by closing the space between them and pulling her agains
t his chest.
“No. I’m thanking you. You rallied all your friends and got them to fork over an entire Saturday to help me fix this place up. Not a lot of people would’ve done that for me.” He stopped. Tipped his head in thought. Amended with, “Okay, no one would’ve done that for me, especially not with a plate as full as yours is right now. I’m really grateful.”
An “oh” crossed her lips, more sigh than actual word. “Well, you’re helping me with the fundraiser, too.”
Finn shrugged. “I made a suggestion and a couple of phone calls.”
“You made a couple dozen phone calls,” January corrected. “And you even reached out to the two guys you knew from the minors who play for the Rogues now so we could have some local pros in attendance, and add a whole bunch of items for the silent auction.”
“Ah, those guys were happy to help the RFD.”
She pressed up to the toes of her work boots, brushing a kiss over Finn’s lips even though they stood in broad daylight on the porch, where any of the firefighters or contractors could mosey on by and see them. “Yeah, but all of those guys on both the Rage and the Rogues were also happy to help you. The truth is, I never would’ve come up with the idea for a game night theme or the balls to take the risk for something new if you hadn’t encouraged me. If we raise the money for the new equipment—”
“When,” Finn insisted, and January gave in with a laugh.
“When we raise enough money for the new equipment, it’ll be in large part because of you.”
Lowering his mouth to hers, he returned her quick kiss with a slower, more seductive version. “Guess we make a decent team, huh?”
“Mmm. Guess so. Too bad we have work to do,” she murmured, her knees getting decidedly less sturdy as Finn’s lips lingered by her ear.
“Nah.” He nipped her earlobe, just hard enough to make her shiver before stepping back from her with a devastatingly sexy half-smile. “It’ll motivate me to get things done as fast as possible so we can go back to the Plaza and make very good use of those showerheads…especially the detachable one.”