Fix Her Up (The Fix Book 1)

by Carey Heywood

That’s when I hear a shouted, “Get him! Shoot him right between the eyes!” from her den.

  Mrs. Reeves looks up at the ceiling.

  “My dad gets loud when he watches Westerns,” Finley explains unnecessarily.

  “Do you need anything else for the house?” Her mom has to raise her voice for us to hear her over her father’s shouts.

  Finley grabs my hand and her mother’s hand and pulls us to the front door.

  Once we’re outside she says, “I don’t want you spending any more money on me.”

  “Not even for a couple light fixtures?” Her mom counters.

  I bite back a smile as I watch Finley consider this, after a beat she answers, “Not even for some new light fixtures. Christine and Keith, the couple who live next door, said there were some good walking trails in the woods that border the neighborhood. The leaves are so pretty, Mom, people come from all over to see New England in the fall. Want to go for a walk?”

  In a few years, Fin will start calling people who come to see the fall leaves, leaf peepers, like a true Yankee.

  Her mom grimaces. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go shopping?”

  “I’m sure Mom.”

  “There aren’t any bears in those woods are there?”

  Finley looks at me.

  When I shrug, she takes a step closer to her mother and hugs her. “Are there bears in my woods?”

  I frown and gesture towards the trees. “That’s a decent sized forest, I don’t know the exact acreage but if I had to guess I’d say there’s a chance there’re bears in there.”

  Finley looks at her mom. “I changed my mind about the light fixtures.”

  With wide eyes, her mom nods her head. “I’ll go get my purse.”

  When her mom leaves, I ask, “Want to bring your table back in first? The legs should be dry.”

  “Okay,” she agrees, stepping close to me and looking over her shoulder at the woods that surround her house on two sides.

  “Hey,” I say. “Don’t get all scared about bears now. Sightings are rare in the city.”

  “How rare?”

  “I’m not Google,” I reply, taking her hand.

  “Do they break into houses?”

  I stop in my tracks and bend forward, my hand braced on my knee to laugh. She tries to shake her hand free but I hold tight.

  “You don’t have to laugh at me,” she snaps.

  Dropping her hand, I straighten and cup her face as I kiss her.

  Lifting my head I start to laugh again. She smacks me in my stomach and storms away.

  “I was just picturing a bear trying to pick a lock,” I explain.

  “It’s not funny,” she grumbles.

  “It’s a little funny,” I argue.

  She smirks and moves to one end of the table. I head to the other end and together we move it back into her dining room. From the moment we walk back into her house, her father’s shouts become audible again.

  “Has he always done that?” I ask when we get to my truck.

  “He’s been like this when it comes to Westerns for as long as I’ve known him,” her mom, who Finley made sit up front, answers.

  “My mom isn’t allowed to watch the Patriots play,” I reply.

  “Why?” Finley and her mom ask in unison.

  “She’s bad luck for football,” I reply.

  “That’s crazy,” Finley snorts from the backseat.

  “It’s the truth,” I reply. “My brother played football and he and my dad banned her from coming to his games. I played hockey so it pissed him off she came to my games.”

  “What does your mom do when they’re watching football?” Finley asks.

  I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. “She won’t tell us.”

  “She probably watches the game from somewhere else.”

  “She might,” I reply with a grin. “But, if she does she’d never admit to it.”

  When we get to the store, Finley lets her mom talk her into a simple chandelier for the dining room, and two matching ceiling fixtures to go in the kitchen and the room she uses as her office.

  “You should leave your desk in there and make that room a library,” her mom suggests, as we walk out of the store.

  “A library?” Finley repeats, surprise evident in her tone. “The only books I collect these days are cook books and I store those in my kitchen. When I read, I use an app on my phone.”

  “That’s a travesty,” her mother replies. “There is nothing,” she looks over at me and repeats, “nothing better than holding an actual book in your hands.”

  “Until you have to travel and your carry on bag weighs a ton because of all the books you packed.”

  “Your argument would hold more weight if you traveled sweetie,” she teases.

  Finley and I spent hours getting to know each other as we worked on her house. In all the topics we covered, travel never came up.

  “Do you like to travel?” I ask.

  She shoves one of the light fixtures onto the bed of my truck. “Yes and no.”

  I unload the other fixture. “You’re going to need to elaborate.”

  Her mouth twists. “I don’t enjoy the getting from point A to point B part but once I’m in point B, I like it.”

  I shut the tailgate. “Any places you’d like to see someday?”

  She waits until we’re in the truck to reply, “Greece. I’d like to go to Greece someday.”

  “I’ve been to Crete. It was—“

  She cuts me off. “You’ve been to Crete?”

  I meet her eyes in the rear view mirror and nod while her mother chuckles from the passenger seat.

  “What was it like?” Finley asks.

  “It’s almost as beautiful as New Hampshire in the fall,” I reply.

  “Come on,” she groans. “Leaves changing colors can’t compare to the history of Crete.”

  “But the leaves are so stunning,” her mother argues.

  “Crete is the birthplace of Zeus,” Finley shouts.

  “Which light fixture do you want to install first?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  “Why did you go to Greece?” Finley asks, ignoring my question.

  “I spent a summer backpacking through Europe.”

  “Where else did you go?” She asks.

  “I hit all the major cites; London, Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Lisbon, Venice and Crete.”

  “That sounds amazing,” she breathes.

  I laugh. “There was a whole lot of that getting from point A to point B part that you don’t like.”

  “He’s got you there,” her mom jokes.

  “Were you all by yourself?” Finley asks, undeterred.

  “I was not,” I admit and leave it at that.

  “A woman?” She guesses.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  Unbidden, my thoughts are flooded with memories of Candace.

  “What happened?” Her mom asks.

  “She stayed in Crete,” I reply.

  “She… why would she do that?” Finley asks.

  I park. “To be with her new boyfriend I suppose.”

  Finley’s face is illuminated by the interior light when I open my door. I do not miss her lips parting.

  She moves to my side the moment she’s out. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  I silence her with a kiss. “We didn’t date that long and it was years ago.”

  “Sure?” She asks.

  I nod. “Which light do you want to put up first?”

  She grins. “The dining room one.”

  Mrs. Reeves opens and then holds the door open for us as we carry the boxes in.

  “It’s quiet,” Finley whispers, looking at her mom.

  Mrs. Reeves presses her index finger to her lips and then silently walks back to the den. Finley and I set the boxes down.

  “He’s asleep,” her mom whispers once she returns.

  “We should hold off on installing the light,” Finley says in a hushed tone.
/>   I nod in agreement. “What do you want to do instead?”

  “Georgie? Finley? Where are you?” Her father shouts from the den.

  I cringe. “Did I wake him?”

  Mrs. Reeves shakes her head. “Coming.”

  I tip my head towards the boxes. “Install back on?”

  “I’ll grab my toolbox.”

  Nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to use tools. Since I taught Finley myself, her toolbox a gift from me, she knows more than most.

  This install will be easier than most. When Finley had the entire house rewired, she was smart enough to have each room prepped for ceiling fixtures.

  When we replaced the drywall, we put in ceiling boxes to brace any future light fixtures or ceiling fans Finley got. We marked each spot with a gold star sticker. Normally, I would have used painter’s tape. The gold stars were Finley’s idea. She didn’t want blue painters tape on her ceilings while she saved up for fixtures and, she thought the gold stars were funny.

  Since we’re alone, I say, “Your parents are cool.”

  Her face softens and she looks toward the den. “They’re the best.”

  We move the furniture out of the way and set up ladders under the gold star.

  “Do you mind an audience?” Tom asks from the doorway.

  “Not at all sir. How’s your back feeling?”

  He shrugs. “It’s been better.”

  “Dad, you should try out my bath. It’s amazing.”

  “You wanna give me a sponge bath?” He asks Mrs. Reeves, wagging his eyebrows.

  Finley’s nose wrinkles.

  She turns to me with wide eyes. “Can I drill?”

  I point up. “We’ll need to cut a hole first.”

  “Oh right,” she laughs.

  I get my saw and make a hole to expose the ceiling box we installed and the wiring the electrician put in.

  Without walking her through it, I let Finley take the lead on the install. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to showcase all she’s learned for her parents. She has a couple of questions along the way but other than holding the fixture up for her, she does all the work.

  After her mom gives her a light bulb, Finley asks, “Want to flip the switch and see if it works?”

  “Let there be light!” Tom cheers when the bulb lights up.

  The look on Finley’s face is one I’ll never forget. She blossoms under his praise. “She’s incredible,” I say and watch her smile grow wider.

  “She takes after her mother,” Mrs. Reeves puts in.

  It takes even less time to put in the fixture in the kitchen. Once they’re in, and the mess we made putting them in is cleaned up, we all move to the den.

  “Is it time to make the fire yet?” Her mom asks as soon as we sit down.

  15

  Finley

  With a bit more force than necessary, I close out my last ticket for the day. Before I can celebrate, there’s a knock on my front door. Since I’m not expecting anyone, I hesitate, staring at the door for a moment before standing. I don’t get a lot of visitors and I almost never get unexpected ones.

  Noah has a key, not that he’s spent the night or the physical side of our relationship has gone past kissing yet. He has a key because my parents thought it was silly he didn’t have one. Their reasoning was more sensible than romantic. They argued it would give them piece of mind to know he could get to me if I ever needed him.

  Heaven forbid the fact that I’ve only known him months and there’s no guarantee our relationship will go anywhere. After they left, he offered to give me the key back but my mom can tell if I’m lying so I made him keep it. That was over a month ago and I have no plans on asking for it back.

  It can’t be Abby because she would have texted to say she was dropping by. Pushing away from my desk I hurry to the door. When I open it, it’s shock that keeps me from slamming it as soon as I see who’s standing on my doorstep.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Allen, my ex-husband asks.

  Allen, the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with; the man who also traded me in for a woman more than a decade younger than me; and the man I never thought I’d see again.

  Concerned that I’m not only experiencing delusions but that said delusion is talking to me I start to close the door.

  “Finley,” he shouts, throwing his hand out to keep the door open.

  “You are not here,” I snap.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  I blink and then blink again. He’s here; Allen is really here.

  The urge to punch him right in the chin is strong. Why in the hell would he think I ever wanted to see him again?

  “I don’t want to talk to you or see you,” I shout.

  He rears back as if struck. What he doesn’t do is remove his hand from my door.

  A car door slams. “Is there a problem here?”

  Allen looks over his shoulder while I look past him to watch as Noah approaches.

  “Noah.”

  Allen’s head twists to look at me. “You know this man?”

  Noah doesn’t give me time to answer; he pulls Allen off my doorstep.

  “Unhand me,” Allen shrieks, shaking off Noah’s hold.

  As soon as he’s free, Noah moves to place himself between us and ask, “Who is this guy?”

  “My ex-husband,” I reply.

  Noah’s eyebrows shoot up and he glares at Allen. “Why are you here?”

  Allen’s face twists. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  Noah’s shoulders give a slight lift and he turns, stepping into the house. He tucks me into his side, and with his gaze locked on Allen’s, he shuts the door.

  I look up at him, fighting back a smile.

  A second later Allen starts knocking on the door. “I’m not leaving until I talk to Finley!” He yells through the door and I find myself once again grateful for the distance between me and my neighbors.

  “Do you want to talk to this guy?” Noah asks, his eyes shifting just once to the door before returning to me.

  I shake my head.

  He gives me a lopsided grin. “I’d ask how your day was but…” He trails off and we both chuckle lightly.

  Allen knocks again. “Finley!”

  I tilt my head back and stare up at my ceiling.

  “Anything interesting up there?” Noah teases.

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  Allen continues to knock.

  “Is he going to go away?”

  I close my eyes. “I have no idea. I don’t know what he wants.”

  “Only one way to find out,” He winks, not seeming at all bothered by Allen’s presence.

  “Finley,” Allen shouts.

  “Fine,” I grumble, tipping my head back down to look at the door.

  Noah opens the door and before Allen can say anything, says, “You stay right there. Say what you came to say and then leave.”

  Allen squints in confusion as he focuses on me. “Who is this man?”

  My eyes travel over him. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen his annoyance. Over the years of our marriage it’s a look I was all too familiar with. His dark brown, so dark it looked black, hair is perfectly styled and recently trimmed. He had a standing biweekly appointment at a salon, not a barber, a salon. He was more particular about his appearance than I ever was about mine.

  It would kill him to know that either all his knocking or when Noah pulled him off of my doorstep, wrinkled his button up shirt. Appearance always mattered so much more to him than it ever did to me. It wasn’t only the way I dressed or the fact that I wasn’t obsessed with makeup or getting my nails done.

  He hated my job, hated that I worked from home and enjoyed it. Standing there, in a wrinkled shirt, dress slacks, and loafers, I wonder what I ever saw in him. With a start I realize his power over me is gone, that emotional poison purged from my body.

  “This is my boyfriend, Noah,” I reply.


  “You’re seeing someone?” He asks incredulously, a wounded expression on his face.

  “Yeah, she is,” Noah mutters, draping his arm across my shoulders.

  “But our divorce has only been final for—“

  “Are you kidding me?” I snap, cutting him off. “You’re offended I waited for our divorce to be final to start dating? We were still married when you started dating.”

  “It was a mistake.” As if belittling and then cheating on your wife of ten years was no big deal.

  “A mistake?” I whisper.

  “I want you back,” he replies.

  He said he wanted me back. There was a time I would have jumped at the opportunity to reconcile. I thought the breakup of our marriage was my fault, that I somehow drove him away.

  Noah stiffens beside me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’ve come to win—“ he starts.

  “She heard you,” Noah snaps.

  “I just didn’t believe you,” I add.

  Never in a million years would I ever have imagined I’d see Allen and Noah together. The side-by-side comparison does no favors for Allen. It’s hard to remember what attracted me to him in the first place. There’s a hardness to his face I never noticed before, as if his mouth was always ready to deliver some criticism and froze that way.

  Allen tilts his head to the side. “Why is it so hard to believe?”

  That question surprises me. At this point, looking back on our marriage, it’s harder to believe he loved me at all. Nothing I ever did was right or good enough for him.

  “You don’t even like me,” I reply.

  “I love you,” he scoffs.

  “You have no idea what love is,” I argue. “If you did, you would understand.”

  “Was there anything else you needed to say?” Noah asks.

  Allen glares at him.

  Noah looks at me and repeats his question, ignoring Allen. “Was there anything you needed to say to him?”

  Since our divorce was finalized I’ve probably imagined a million different things I’d say to him. In my head I’d ask him what I did wrong, or why he couldn’t love me the way I was. Staring at him, I know even if I ask those questions nothing he could say would ever make me trust him again. More importantly, I no longer care.

  My gaze moves to Allen. “I never want to see you again.”