Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1)

by Carey Heywood

  “How do you stay so clean when you paint?” She asks, breaking the silence that had ensued since she came back.

  Frowning, I look down at my clothes and then at her. My frown shifts into a smile.

  “How do you get so much paint on yourself?” I counter.

  Shocking the hell out of me, she jabs me in the chest with her paintbrush. My chin dips as I look down at the glob of off-white paint now marring my maroon tee.

  Lifting my roller I grin. “You’re going to regret that.”

  With a squeak she turns toward the door. Lunging, I hook her by the waist and haul her flush against me.

  “Noah,” she exhales.

  “Shh. I’m looking for a clean spot.”

  Squirming in my hold she lifts her paintbrush.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

  Ignoring me, she drags her brush across my forearm.

  Dropping my roller into the pan, I pluck her brush right out of her hand.

  “No,” she shouts, reaching for it.

  I hold it up above our heads as she turns to face me. Pushing up onto her toes she tries to get it back from me. Her hand is on my shoulder, her breasts pressed to my chest. She has no idea what her physical proximity does to me. All I want to do is kiss her, instead I brush some paint onto her cheek.

  “Noah,” she snaps, stepping away.

  “What?” I innocently ask.

  With a huff she spins and leaves the room muttering something about washing her face as she goes.

  My gaze follows her and I will my body back under my control. It’s a full minute before I start to clean up all of the paint. She hasn’t decided what colors she wants to use so we’ve been using standard builders’ beige.

  After I clean and pack up all of the materials into one of the spare bedroom closets, I head downstairs. Finley can cook and bake like a master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make a damn good sandwich.

  I don’t turn when I hear her footsteps behind me. “Want one?”

  “Yes, please.” There’s a touch of a Texan twang to her voice. I’m not sure what it is but I can’t stop thinking about her someday saying please when I have her in my bed.

  Snapping my attention to the food in front of me, I will the hardening in my boxers to stop. She chatters away behind me but I can’t hear a word of it until I have my body back under my control.

  She pulls a pitcher of sweet tea from her fridge. Before her, I drank mine unsweetened. She’s converted me since then.

  “I want a table.”

  That statement has me turning my head to look at her. “Okay. There are a few places around here that sell tables and chairs. Want to check them out after we eat?”

  “Can we build one?”

  I choke back my surprise. “Sure, but not before your parents get here.”

  She walks out of the kitchen and before I can stop her and agree to build her a table right now, she comes back holding her cellphone. “What about something like this?”

  On her phone is a how-to video of a man attaching legs to a paneled door. The process to attach all four legs takes the man twenty minutes from start to finish. We sell legs like the ones he uses at Thompson’s for five to ten bucks a pop, depending on how tall of a leg you get. Finley and I found an old door in her shed weeks ago.

  “You sand the door and I’ll go get the legs.” I tell her, my own excitement building.

  Still holding her phone, I catch her when she throws her arms around my neck to hug me. Closing my arms around her, I let her warmth seep into me.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs.

  Not wanting to, slowly, I let her go and set her phone on the counter. “I’ll set up the sawhorses and grab the door from the shed.”

  She surprises me again, this time by framing my face with her hands and kissing me.

  She’s gone before I can react. I watch her go, my eyes entranced by the way she moves. Yep, I can work with this. Once she’s out of sight, I pick up my sandwich and eat it as I walk out to her shed. The door she was talking about is on top of a pile of junk. Finishing my last bite, I hold onto part of the frame and stretch to reach the door.

  Pulling it out of the shed, I inspect it for wood rot. Pleased to find it in good shape, I carry it to the back of the house and lean it near her kitchen door.

  “I’ve got a sawhorse,” Finley says, trying to carry it and hold open the kitchen door at the same time.

  “Here, let me,” I say, hurrying over to take it from her.

  “I’ll get the other one,” She replies as soon as I have it.

  This time I meet her in the kitchen and she holds the door for me. While I set up the sawhorses and place the door on them, Finley gets my sander.

  “Want me to pick up some wood stain?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I can run out with my dad tomorrow. He’ll get a kick out of helping me with this.”

  “I’ll be back,” I reply and lean in to press my lips to her temple.

  Kissing her last night unlocked this need to touch her, kiss her. I can’t keep my hands off of her.

  “Surprised to see you in here today,” Eli says when I walk up to the register with what I’ll need to turn her door into a table.

  “Surprised to see you up front.”

  He frowns. “I had to fire Vicky today.”

  “No way. That sucks,” I say, trying to remember which one Vicky was.

  There’re some employees at the hardware store who have been here since I was in high school. Then there’re short timers who don’t stay long at all.

  “What’d you have to fire her for?” I ask.

  “She was always late. Since it was never more than five minutes I let it go but.” He points up to a camera aimed at the register. “I caught her on the tape pocketing a fiver from the till.”

  I shake my head. “What’s wrong with people?”

  He nods. “Fucking sucks. I’ve been going over all of the tapes to make sure I didn’t miss her taking more and until I can hire her replacement, I need to cover for her.”

  “Want me to see if Justin can come help out? You’ll have to pay him but he knows his way around the store and can work in the afternoon.”

  Eli blinks. “Thanks.”

  I punch his arm. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  Finally, we had an entire conversation where he didn’t give me shit about Fin. As much as we can get on each other’s nerves, he’s still my brother. I load up my truck and head back to Finley’s.

  She’s still sanding when I get back.

  Since she won’t hear me over the noise of the sander, I reach over and unplug it.

  “Hey!” she complains when it stops working.

  “Hey yourself,” I greet, and then peer over her shoulder. “How does it look?”

  She twists her face to look back at me. “I love it.”

  I shift away from her and drag my fingers across the wood. The sanding smoothed away layers of black paint, leaving a cool distressed pattern.

  “That’s good news because I bought something I think you’ll like.” I tell her, not being able to keep the smile off my face.

  She squints at me. “You got me something?”

  “Wait here,” I order.

  At the store they sell sheets of acrylic that can be cut to size. The door Fin wants to use is paneled. She can cover it with this clear sheet to make it a level dining surface.

  I set it on the door, and start to unroll it.

  Once she sees what I’m doing, Finley jumps to help. “This is perfect.”

  “We’ll need to mount it so it won’t move while you’re using it.”

  “It’s—“ She pauses, looking from her table and then to me. “Amazing. Thank you.”

  “Anytime. It felt pretty smooth. Were you done sanding?”

  She grins. “Just about, it’s beat up at the bottom of the door. I was finishing up on it.”

  I roll the acrylic back up. “You finish up that part and I’ll
get the legs ready.”

  I drill a hole into the center of each leg and then screw a hanger bolt into each one.

  “Can we flip the door now?” I ask, as soon as I’m done.

  She nods, unplugging the sander and then moves to one end.

  After we flip it on the sawhorses, she asks, “Can I do the drilling?”

  Can she do the drilling? If she weren’t at the other end of that door, I’d kiss her right now. Picking up my drill and one of the metal leg plates, I move to her. Before I give her either, I press my lips to hers. Her hands move to grip my waist. She doesn’t pull away and I’m grateful for it.

  “Of course you can,” I rasp, after breaking our kiss.

  I hold the plate steady for her while she drills in each wood screw. As soon as we have all four plates mounted, we screw each leg in.

  “Ready to flip it over and see how it looks?” I ask.

  She nods excitedly.

  Once it’s flipped, her eyes go dreamy. It’s the same look she gets whenever what we’re working on starts taking shape.

  We’ll need to clean off the dust from sanding before we mount the clear top, and the legs are unfinished so Finley and her dad will still have a project they can work on together.

  “I’ll get some cleanser and a rag.”

  When I reach the kitchen door, I glance back at her and find her watching me. She bites her lip but doesn’t look away.

  I don’t care how long it takes, I will earn her trust.

  And then her heart.

  13

  Finley

  I think I agreed to date Noah. My gaze drifts to him and then over to my father sitting in the front passenger seat.

  “He’s so handsome,” my mom whispers from beside me.

  After Noah and I finished my new table, we went to a store to buy chairs. I almost passed out when I saw how much they were, so Noah took me to a second hand shop instead. I wasn’t able to find enough matching chairs that I liked to make a complete set.

  It worked out though because I found two cool benches that I’m going to use with two of the chairs. I got all four for less than one chair from the other place. We brought them back to my house and set up my dining room. I was so overwhelmed by how great it looked I agreed to let Noah drive me to the airport.

  Why is it impossible to say no to him?

  My plan has now morphed into a new plan, one that includes Noah. After all of our kisses, I’ve decided I want to keep on kissing him. I’ve also decided, after experiencing his body pressed to mine, I don’t want that to end either.

  I’ve worked side by side with him for months now. I feel like I know him better than my ex-husband of ten years. That doesn’t mean I’m anywhere near ready to dive into this. No, I’m sitting on the edge of the dating pool with my toes in. But so far, the water feels great.

  “I know,” I whisper back.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you started seeing each other?” She asks, her voice low so it won’t carry to the front row.

  “It only happened last night,” I admit.

  Her eyes widen and move back to Noah. “I can’t wait to tell Charlotte and Jane.”

  My aunts are going to freak.

  “I brought some things for you from home.”

  When I look over at her I’m surprised that she doesn’t meet my gaze. “What things?”

  Everything I wanted I brought with me when I moved.

  She glances my way before reaching for my hand. “A box of odds and ends and some photo albums.”

  I tug my hand free, not ready to think about the album she might be talking about. I need to change the subject, now.

  “His parents are coming for dinner tonight,” I blurt, loud enough for my dad to look back at me.

  My mother goes ramrod straight and silent, which is never a good thing.

  “Mama?” I ask.

  Slowly, she turns her head so she can glare at me. “They are going to meet me after twelve hours of travel in which my clothes have wrinkled and my skin has been dried out from two separate flights?”

  Instead of answering her, I ask Noah, “How long do you think it will take to get to my house?”

  “Thirty or so minutes. Want me to step on it?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, loud enough for him to hear, my eyes on my mom.

  She pulls a mirror from her purse and starts powdering her nose.

  “Your folks are coming over for dinner?” My dad asks Noah.

  “Yes sir,” he replies.

  My dad nods, enjoying the sir. “Tell me about them.”

  Noah clears his throat and I feel guilty for my dad putting him on the spot. “Dad, no inquisitions please.”

  “No, no. It’s fine,” Noah assures me. “My mom and dad have been married for forty-one years. They were high school sweethearts. My family owns a local building supply store. My mom and dad ran it together for over twenty-five years and my older brother, Eli, runs it now.”

  “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?” Dad queries.

  “There are five of us. Eli is the oldest, and then me; next is my brother Asher, my sister Abby and Gideon is the baby.”

  “Four boys,” my mom says, sympathetically.

  “We sure kept our parents on their toes,” Noah laughs.

  “From middle school on I felt like a glorified taxi driver with all of Finley’s extracurriculars,” my mom complains.

  “Eli and I were driving once Abby and Gideon needed rides. My mom made sure we all pitched in.”

  “Your family sounds close.” There’s appreciation clear in dad’s tone.

  It was one thing he never liked about Allen. The Wiltshire’s were not warm and inviting. They couldn’t be bothered with meeting my parents. Even after our marriage, we rarely saw Allen’s parents. It was sad how uninterested they were in spending any time together.

  When we get to my house, my mom spends one minute looking at the first floor before racing upstairs, her carry-on in hand, to change and freshen up.

  “Don’t mind her.” My dad motions after her as I stand. “She wants to make a good impression. Now, give me the grand tour.”

  I don’t include the second floor in the tour to avoid interrupting my mom. When I show my dad the kitchen, I make a point to thank him for my appliances. Then I peek at the roast I have going in my crock-pot.

  “It smells great kiddo,” my dad says. “And, I can’t get over all of the work you’ve done. Your mom and I were so scared when you moved out here. I’m relieved to see those fears were unfounded.”

  I give him a hug, my arms wrapping around his middle. “Thanks Dad.” When I pull away my gaze moves to Noah. “I never would have managed a quarter of this without Noah’s help.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of my girl,” my dad says to Noah.

  Noah offers me his hand. I take it and he uses it to pull me close, tucking me into his side.

  “It’s been my pleasure,” he answers my dad.

  “Okay, okay!” my mom shouts, coming down the stairs. “I no longer look a fright. Show me all of the work you’ve done.”

  Noah lets me go, staying in the kitchen with my dad.

  I lead her to the dining room. “Noah and I built this table today. Ignore the legs. I was saving those to do with dad.”

  “Oh, your father will love that.” She pauses, looking closer at the table. “You built this? It’s gorgeous honey! Did you make the benches too?”

  I shake my head. “Nope, I found those at a second hand shop.”

  She does a slow spin.

  Other than the furniture in the center of the room, it’s mainly empty. “You should add some crown molding and maybe a chair rail in here, that would really finish it off.”

  I move over to her and wrap my arm around her. “You like it?”

  She hugs me back. “I do honey.”

  She oohs and ahs over each room on the first floor.

  She lifts the decorative box from the top of my desk. “I
love this little box.” Opening the lid, she asks. “Why is it full of fortune cookie fortunes?”

  Before I can answer her I hear Noah’s bark of laughter from the hallway. I’m guessing he heard her question. Taking the box from her, I put the lid back on it and return it to the shelf of my desk.

  My cheeks redden. “They’re from all the times Noah and I had Chinese.”

  She smiles at me and wraps her arm around my waist. “I was in such a rush to powder my nose earlier. Do we have time for you to show me all the work you’ve done upstairs?”

  “Of course mama.”

  My dad joins us when we head upstairs, Noah bringing up the rear. My mom already saw the master bedroom and bath when she freshened up. She followed us upstairs to let my dad know once they got back to Texas she wanted one just like it.

  Noah and I moved my stacked air mattresses to one of the spare bedrooms. I’m going to sleep there while my parents are in town.

  “This place looks great sweetheart.”

  I can’t help but look over his shoulder to lock eyes with Noah. He holds my gaze.

  Last night he heard my no, fought the fear that prompted it and turned it into going slow. He’s my dream man and I know deep down I don’t deserve him. I’m terrified of the day he’ll realize that as well. For now, I’ll consider myself lucky he’s more stubborn than I am.

  A knock at the door, presumably Noah’s parents, has us all moving back downstairs. Noah takes my hand and together we go to answer it.

  “Hello,” his parents greet when we open the door.

  “Hi. Welcome. Please come in.” I usher them through the door.

  “We brought you a bottle of wine.” Mrs. Thompson leans in to kiss my cheek as she passes it to me.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking at the label. “This will go perfectly with the roast.”

  His father inhales. “Smells fantastic.”

  “Thank you,” I say again. “Come meet my parents.”

  Noah handles the introductions, “Mom, Dad, this is Tom and Georgiana Reeves, Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, this is my mom, Daisy, and my dad, Dennis Thompson.”

  “Please call me Georgie,” my mom says, offering Noah’s mom her hand.

  After the introductions, Noah shows his parents around the house while my mom helps me in the kitchen. After my divorce, I got rid of everything that reminded me of Allen, including all of our kitchen tools, glasses, and dining sets. Even though my budget has been strapped, new plates, glasses, silverware, pots, pans, and a new serving set was a priority. I love to cook; I wasn’t going to have Allen taint any part of it.