Page 16 of Now That It's You
Meg smiled. “Did your mother really ask you to bring them?”
“Not in so many words. But she asked where I was taking them, and when I told her, she said it was a good idea. And she did tell me to take these ones, instead of the ones in a tacky plastic pot. Does that count?”
“Close enough,” Meg said and turned away. “Follow me.”
Kyle would have followed her off the end of a dock with his pockets full of rocks, but he guessed that wasn’t her plan. He wasn’t surprised when she trudged toward the kitchen, her bare feet making a soft slap against the wood floor.
She surprised him by spinning around with a red flowered apron and began tying it around his waist. He looked down, conscious of Meg’s hands fluttering near his belt buckle.
“Your idea of a peace offering involves dressing me in ruffles?”
“Doesn’t yours?”
Kyle smiled. “What are we making?”
“A coconut lime tart. It was Matt’s favorite.”
Kyle nodded, annoyed with himself for feeling jealous of a dead guy who still had the power to dictate dessert from beyond the grave. “What can I do?”
“Wash your hands first,” she said, moving past him toward the kitchen sink. “Then I’m going to have you grind up those graham crackers for the crust.”
He watched her flip the water on, then grab a plastic bottle of dish soap to lather her hands. “Why don’t you use that little built-in soap dispenser thing next to the faucet?”
“It’s broken,” she said. “Hasn’t worked since I moved in.”
“Let me see.”
He put a hand on her waist and nudged her aside, then dropped to his knees and crawled under the kitchen sink. “Do you have a screwdriver?”
“Flathead or Phillips?”
“Phillips.”
“No.”
“Flathead?”
“No.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “How about a butter knife?”
She handed one under the sink while Kyle fiddled with the soap dispenser.
“Sorry,” she called from above. “I left all the tools with Matt when we split, and I never got around to buying my own.”
“It’s fine.” Kyle twisted the knife into the screw head, careful not to bust the tip. He pried off the dispenser, checking for air leaks and clogs. He adjusted one of the valves, then used his shirt-sleeve to wipe some goopy green residue from the mouth of the bottle. He screwed the whole thing back into place and crawled out from under the sink, wiping his hands on his pants before giving the dispenser a good pump.
“Holy cow, it works!” Meg turned to him, beaming. “Thank you.”
“No sweat.”
She bit her lip. “That’s one thing I always liked about you.”
“That I fix soap dispensers with a butter knife?”
She laughed. “No, that you don’t give me a chance to argue that I don’t need help or I can do it myself. You don’t shout at me from the couch asking ‘Need help?’ in that way most guys do when they’re hoping the answer is no. You just jump right in and make yourself useful.”
“Wow.” Kyle ran his hands under the water and worked up a good lather. “That’s a whole lot of psychoanalysis for a soap dispenser.”
