Page 3 of His Big Pipe

He stands there and shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes are pale green, but he can barely look at me. He tugs his cap down nervously. He must be shy.

And damn, he really is big. Tall, sexy…

“Let’s start over,” I say, straightening my drenched clothes and hair as best I can. I put my hand out. “I’m Talia Yang.”

He shakes my hand. “Sully O’Neill. I live on the property next to yours.” I’m trying to ignore the electricity shooting up my arm as his big hand envelopes mine.

Wait. I pull out of his grasp.

“You’re the jerk who’s been leaving the nasty notes on my door about the noise?” My heart sinks a bit. Just my luck. My hot savior is a bonafide douche.

He glances down. “It’s loud and disruptive. Makes it hard to enjoy the peace and quiet the lake is known for.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Sorry, but how am I supposed to do construction quietly?”

His eyes flick away again. I can tell he doesn’t like confrontation. “You could keep it to specific hours. Especially nothing after dark.”

I shake my head, aware of my wet clothes pulling at me. “I need to work anytime I can. Every day this place isn’t done, I’m losing more and more money.”

“You’ve been doing everything yourself?” He’s looking around and I know he’s thinking I’m out of my mind. He’s right. But still.

“Mostly,” I hold my head up.

“Do you have any experience with renovation?”

This time I avert my eyes. “No, but I’ve been watching YouTube videos and tutorials.”

He whistles. “Brave.” He takes his cap off to scratch his head, and I notice how thick his dark hair is. “But unrealistic. You need professionals for big projects like these.”

My eyes narrow. And here I almost forgot I’m not supposed to like him.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I say, sarcasm dripping off my tongue. “But as I’m sure you heard as I was blubbering before…I’m broke.”

He sniffs the air, ignoring my comment. “What smells so good in here? You order Chinese?”

I’ve got whiplash from the change in subject. “Oh, um, I made a bunch of dumplings. I cook when I’m stressed.”

His brow raises.

“I made a lot of them.” I give him a sheepish smile.

He licks his lips, and damn him for having such a sexy mouth.

“You a good cook?” he asks.

“My dad was a chef. He taught me everything he knew.” I pause. “I may not cook for Michelin star restaurants like he did, but I’ve never had anyone complain.”

He cocks his head to the side and rubs his jaw. “Maybe I can help you with the plumbing.”

“What are you some kind of contractor or something?” He did look the part—all rugged and in flannel.

“I’m a plumber.” He digs in his back jean pockets, searching, until he pulls out a card and hands it to me.

O’Neill Plumbing. Where had I seen that before? Probably one of my many internet searches in the area.

“I own the company, but haven’t actually done jobs in a while.” He glances out in the direction of the lake. “I’ve been trying to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

“I get it, I get it. I’m noisy!” I roll my eyes, then hand the card back to him. “Thanks, but I can’t afford you anyway.”

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