Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1)

by Carey Heywood

  I drag my gaze up to meet hers. “The insulation we put in your walls is going to help this winter but not by much with the windows you have.”

  She surprises me by walking out of the kitchen and into her den, where she face plants onto her sectional.

  I follow her, sitting near her head and pushing her hair back from her face. “You okay?”

  She turns onto her back and looks up at me. “It never ends.”

  Now is not the time to point out there’s a decent chance she’d only be halfway done with the first floor if I hadn’t started helping her.

  “Maybe you need a night off from working on the place,” I suggest.

  She pops up, shaking her head. “No. No, we need to go to the store because people can see in here. Curtains. I’ve got to get curtains.”

  I stand and move to her side, offering her my hand. Once she’s up, I grasp her biceps.

  She gulps, and tips her face up to look at me.

  “You’re going to get an ulcer if you keep stressing yourself like this.”

  She nods. “I know. You’re right. I know.”

  My hands glide up and down her arms as she relaxes. It’ll piss her off but I decide to cover the cost of her new windows. There’s an expression that to get to a man’s heart you have to go through his stomach. To get to Finley’s heart, I have to go through this house.

  She arranged the payment for wood floors going in upstairs around payday. Even if she holds off on the windows for the third floor, she still needs twenty-two windows. That’s not counting the French door that leads out to her back patio or the transom and side windows around her front door.

  Twenty-two windows will not be cheap, even if I’m doing the labor for free. She could get by with cheap windows but in the long run it’d be more efficient over time to get higher quality ones up front.

  “I can get blackout ones,” she blurts. “They help on heating bills. Right?”

  She doesn’t fight it when I take her hand; she just grabs her keys and purse before we walk out the door. After we park, I reach for her hand again and hold it until we get inside. It sucks when I have to let her go to grab a cart.

  She’s quiet and it’s unnerving. Each time I took her hand she didn’t flinch. Did she even notice, or was she more preoccupied with the window bomb I dropped?

  “Do you like these?” She asks, pulling a display curtain out for me to look at.

  I grin at her. “I’m no home decorator.”

  For the first time since I’ve seen her tonight she smiles. “You can at least tell me if you think they’re hideous or not.”

  “They are not hideous.”

  Her nose wrinkles before she huffs, “You’re no help.”

  “You pick out curtains. I’ll go get the hardware for them.”

  She frowns so I say, “or I can stay and help pick out curtains.”

  She shakes her head and comes over to me, surprising me by hugging me, her arms circling my waist, her cheek pressing to my chest. “I said you were no help but I didn’t mean it. I was joking. I’m sorry.”

  I wrap my arms around her. “Don’t worry babe, I knew you were joking.”

  Her head jerks up in surprise and she stares at me. I hold her gaze, my hands moving up and down, as I rub her back.

  She breaks the silence. “Promise?”

  I nod. Since she’s upset I focus on anything other than how perfect she feels in my arms, her breasts pressed up against me.

  She takes a step back. As much as I hate it, I let her go.

  “I’m being silly. Go, get the stuff you mentioned and I’ll grab curtains.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, taking a step closer to her.

  She nods, and goes back to sorting through the curtains on display. “I’m good.”

  The hardware for the curtains is all in the next aisle. I grab the bare necessities and hurry back to Finley.

  “Find anything you like?” I ask her when I make my way back by her side.

  She pulls up the first display curtain she showed me. “I like these the best. They’re neutral, lined, and even better, on sale. I’m going to use them for the whole first floor.” She takes a step to the left and pulls out another curtain. This one has a white background with a pale yellow and grey pattern. “I’m going to put these in the master. I get it’s not done yet but since they’re the same brand as the others they’re on sale too and I like them.”

  “I like them. Do they have enough of the first curtains for the first floor?”

  She moves closer to me, and counts. “Crap. They don’t. It’s only enough for the living room and dining room.”

  She pulls out her phone and starts tapping away with her thumbs. “Let me check online.”

  After a minute she holds her phone up in victory. “Ordered online for pick up later this week.”

  I load what they do have into the cart as she gets enough curtains for her bedroom and then some sheers.

  “I feel good about this,” she says as we make our way to the registers.

  I’m not sure if her words were for herself or me. “Your house is looking more like a home everyday.”

  “More like a home,” she repeats, a soft smile on her face.

  When she sees the total at the register, she gulps before paying. I want to offer to cover it for her but I already know she’d never let me. It’ll be hard enough doing the windows for her.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, once we’re driving back to her house.

  She gives me a tight smile. “I was doing math in my head.”

  “How’s your budget looking?” I ask.

  “Well, the materials we need for the next couple of weeks are already paid for. The idea of buying windows this soon wasn’t something I had considered. It threw me off. But, now that I’ve had some time to let it sink in, I understand your point in needing to replace them.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” I admit.

  She reaches across the console to squeeze my arm. “I appreciate it. It’s better to know and be able to plan for it instead of having to scramble on the fly.”

  “Scrambling is bad unless it’s eggs,” I joke.

  She doesn’t laugh. “How much do you think windows will cost?”

  “I’d have to measure your windows to make sure we wouldn’t need to special order them. Otherwise, decent ones can range from three to six hundred dollars.”

  “Six hundred dollars?” She pants.

  “Babe, calm down,” I order, kicking myself for telling her the truth.

  “No, I’m calm. I am,” she nods her head, like she’s convincing herself.

  I don’t believe her.

  She’s quiet the rest of the drive and as we unload her purchases. As soon as we have everything inside, she pulls out a calculator. When I take it from her and shove it into my back pocket she scowls up at me.

  “Not now Finley. We have curtains to hang and you promised me a brownie.”

  Her scowl disappears as she tries not to smile. “The brownies were for something else I made.”

  My brows furrow. “Do I get to try what you made?”

  She smiles outright this time, her attention off of the windows, before dashing off to the kitchen. While I wait, I get started on the first window.

  I’m not far along before Finley shouts for me to go to the den. I do as I’m told and watch as she approaches, carrying two glass dishes. Whatever dessert is in them appears to be stacked.

  “What are these?” I ask, accepting one from her.

  There’s a spoon already in it.

  “It’s a chocolate mousse trifle,” she replies, and then points out each layer. “Brownie, mousse, whipped cream, another layer of brownies, mousse, more whipped cream and shaved milk chocolate on top.”

  “Jesus, it’s almost too pretty to eat.” When her eyes widen I add, “I said almost.”

  Then I take a bite and groan, my eyes rolling back. She giggles, clearly loving my reaction before taking her own bite.
<
br />   Not even caring that I’m not done chewing I mumble, “This is amazing.”

  She takes another bite, licking her lips after. What I would give to lick this chocolate mousse stuff off her.

  “I’m not going to be able to get off of this couch. I’m going to be in a chocolate coma after this,” she jokes.

  I don’t share my reason for not being able to stand.

  11

  Finley

  “When can we come out and see all the work you’ve done?” My mom asks.

  “Come now,” I laugh.

  “Honey, are you pulling my leg or are you serious? Because if you are serious I’ll pop on to the computer and book the next flight.”

  My chest tightens. I’ve missed them so much. The moment I got my new mattress and box spring I knew it was finally time for them to come out. They can sleep on my new bed while I sleep on the sofa or my stacked air mattresses.

  “Book it,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion.

  “Well shit. If you cry, I’m going to cry,” she whispers back.

  My laugh is wobbly when I choke out, “You cussed.”

  “It happens,” she laughs back. I can just picture her shrugging her shoulders and smiling.

  There’s a knock at my door and my eyes move to the time display on my microwave. “Crap mom. We’ve been on the phone for an hour and Noah is here. I gotta go.”

  “Will we get to meet him when we come out?”

  I hurry to open the door. “Of course mama.”

  Once my door is open I point to my phone and motion for Noah to come in.

  “I can’t wait to meet him!” she shrieks.

  I blush, hoping my parents don’t get the wrong idea about our friendship. As much as my feelings for Noah have grown, he only sees me as a friend and I need to be okay with that.

  “Alright, Mama. I love you.”

  “I love you too, honey. Big hugs and kisses from your dad and me until we can get there and hug you for real.”

  “Okay, email me once you book something.”

  “I will. Bye honey.”

  I look up to lock eyes with Noah. “Bye.”

  “How’s your mom?” He asks once I hang up.

  “She and my dad are going to come out for a visit to see the house,” I explain, my face hurting from my grin.

  “That’s great news,” he smiles.

  It hits me how awful I would be to ask him to meet my parents since I’ve avoided meeting his family, minus Abby, who doesn’t count since I met her first.

  “Do your parents still want to meet me?” I blurt.

  He blinks, doesn’t do anything for a couple of seconds and then nods.

  I had a couple of logical, I thought at the time, reasons for being scared about meeting them. I didn’t want to read too much into our friendship. When he first mentioned it, I had flashbacks to meeting Allen’s parents for the first time. It did not go well.

  “Are they busy tonight?”

  He cocks his head to the side and gives me a lopsided grin. “You want to meet my folks?”

  I nod, my stomach flipping.

  He keeps his eyes trained on me as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Hey Dad. Got any dinner plans?”

  I try not to hyperventilate as I listen to him agree that we will meet his parents at some restaurant I’ve never heard of. Before he’s done talking I start heading for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” He calls out after me.

  “I can’t wear this!” I shout. “I need to change.”

  “What you’re wearing is fine,” he argues.

  I skid to a stop. “Are you joking?”

  His eyebrows go up an inch but he doesn’t respond. I roll my eyes and get moving. What I’m wearing is fine? That man has lost his mind. There’s no way on earth I can meet his parents wearing ratty old sweat pants and a tank top.

  I need to change. Since we hadn’t started working yet I’m not sweaty. I tug on a comfortable cotton dress with three quarter sleeves. It’s not that fancy but it won’t wrinkle and I can dress it up a bit with a cute cardigan and ballet flats.

  As soon as I’m dressed, I dash into my gorgeous bathroom to fix my hair and swipe on some mascara. It’s the best I can do on short notice.

  Noah’s back is to me when I walk into the den. “All set.”

  He turns at my words and stops dead. His gaze drops to my feet and then moves upward. When his eyes reach my face, he wets his lips. Holy crap. The last thing I need is for him to draw attention to his lips, his full sensual lips.

  “You look—“

  When he doesn’t finish his sentence I start to worry. Maybe what I think is cute he thinks is hideous. I had assumed he liked what I was wearing but that could be the face he makes when he’s disgusted by clothing.

  “I look what?” I ask.

  “Beautiful,” he rasps.

  I gulp.

  Okay, apparently he was not disgusted.

  “Thank you,” I whisper and then add, “I’m nervous.”

  He grabs my hand. “You have nothing to be nervous about.”

  It’s not until he leads me to the passenger side of his truck that I realize he’s held my hand the entire way. Okay, he’s called me babe and held my hand other times, too, but hasn’t tried to make a move. Or is this a move?

  My knees bounce as we drive. “Have you eaten here before?”

  He grunts his assent. “Best frappes in Woodlake. I’ve been there a hundred times.”

  “What’s a frappe?” I ask.

  “Like a milkshake but better.”

  “Sign me up,” I giggle.

  When we park he points out his dad’s SUV. “They’re here.”

  Suddenly nervous, I start to wring my hands together. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I murmur.

  His response is nonverbal. He steps down from his truck, walks straight to my side, opens my door, and leans over me to unhook my belt before helping me down. Once my feet hit the ground his hand reclaims mine, giving it a squeeze.

  The hostess grips the edge of her podium when she sees us. “Hi Noah.”

  He lifts his chin in acknowledgement, and asks, “Hey Mindy. We’re meeting my folks.”

  She turns, pointing with her breasts as much as she does with her hand. “Want me to walk you back?”

  He doesn’t seem to notice but I do. Her body language towards Noah shouldn’t make me jealous but it does. I mean, I’m standing right here holding his hand.

  He shakes his head. “No, thanks. We can manage.”

  He leads me, his hand still wrapped tight around mine. I don’t know if he’s holding it to keep me from running. Why am I so nervous?

  When he stops us at a table, I can see the family resemblance at once. Noah gets his build from his father and his coloring from his mother.

  They both stand, Mr. Thompson offering me his hand and Mrs. Thompson coming to kiss my cheek.

  “Hello.” Even I can hear the nerves in my voice. I swallow, the back of my neck beading with perspiration.

  Mrs. Thompson’s eyes lock on our joined hands. With a gentle tug, I pull it free. He smoothly moves to pull out my chair.

  “Finley, these are my parents, Daisy and Dennis.

  Mom, Dad, this is Finley.”

  “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

  “Please, no Mr. And Mrs. Thompson. You can call me Daisy and him Dennis or Denny,” Daisy says as she sits.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to dinner before—“

  My excuse is cut off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  Some of my tension melts away. I’d built up meeting his family into this thing to be afraid of. Two minutes with them proved how wrong I was.

  “Noah says you do customer service from your house for a travel company. Do they send you any fun places as a perk?” His dad asks once we’re settled.

  I shake my head and smile warmly at him. “It’d be cool if th
ey did, but sadly, no.”

  “I’ve been trying to talk Dennis here into taking me on a cruise,” his mom complains.

  His dad frowns at her. “I told you I’d go.”

  Mrs. Thompson glares at him. “To Alaska? You told me to book a cruise to Alaska. I’ve seen enough snow and ice to last me a lifetime. I want to go somewhere tropical.”

  His dad grumbles something about climates and sunstrokes as our server takes our drink orders.

  I go for a chocolate frappe. Noah grins at me as I order it. My attention is pulled away from him when Mr. Thompson grunts. Mrs. Thompson is all smiles as she tucks her elbow to her side.

  Did she just elbow him?

  “I’ll take a chocolate frappe too,” Noah orders.

  This time I don’t miss his mom elbow her husband.

  “I see. I see,” he groans. “Stop poking me.”

  “Shhh,” she whispers.

  Noah presses his lips together and folds his arms across his chest.

  “I’m only happy to see you looking so happy. It’s all a mother could hope for.”

  Oh boy. Do they think we’re dating?

  “Mom,” Noah warns.

  She bugs her eyes at him.

  “Oh leave your mom alone. It’s her job to pester you kids.”

  They think we’re a couple. My eyes flash to Noah, who is cool as a cucumber next to me. Did he tell them we’re together?

  With each minute that passes where Noah doesn’t set them straight, my anxiety grows. “Noah’s been explaining and showing us pictures of all the work you two have been doing on your house,” Mrs. Thompson boasts. “We’d love to see it in person sometime.”

  “Mom,” Noah laughs. “You can’t just invite yourself like that.”

  She purses her lips. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Of course you can come by,” I blurt, not wanting them to argue. Then without thinking better of it, I make it even worse. “My parents will be visiting soon. Maybe you could both come over for dinner.”

  She elbows Mr. Thompson again. “We’d love to.”

  Noah stretches his arm out to rest across the back of my chair.

  “Abby said you were pretty and she was not lying.”

  Oh wow. “Thank you.”

  Noah’s hand squeezes my shoulder.