Page 12 of Fighting for You
“Guess I got lucky.”
I know she doesn’t believe any of my shit. I’m not attempting to be all that believable though honestly.
“Right…” I can practically hear the eye roll in her voice, it makes me laugh under my breath. “And why are you calling me? Why didn’t you just knock like a normal person?”
I scoff. “Knock? So you can accuse me of stalking you again? Nah, I’m not showing up unannounced ever again if that’s how I’ll be greeted.”
She makes a “hmph” noise like I’m the one in the wrong here.
“You gonna let me in? I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
A giggle echoes through the phone, and my heart just about stops at the sound. It’s something I want to hear again and again—every damn day of my life.
“It’s only forty degrees, Brooks, don’t be a baby.”Fuck, I like the sound of my name on her lips.
I’m standing at the door now, hardware store bag in hand, perfectly content with the temperature. I just needed an excuse to make her come to the door quicker.
“I like it when you call me—”
She opens the door, cutting off my statement. I raise the bag between us, shoving my phone in my pocket as she ushers me back into her house. Being in her home is overwhelming, it’s like an overdose of Margot, the space drowns me in the lilac-cherry scent of her.
The door clicks shut behind me, and all her locks snap into place. Security-conscious is what she claimed when I asked about it. My gut tells me it’s something else, but she clearly isn’t willing to share more. I start toward the bathroom when I hear the pitter-patter of her feet behind me, attempting to catch up. I turn to look back just as she appears at my side.
“Calm down, Freckles, I don’t need directions to your bedroom, I remember,” I tease, giving her a devilish smirk.
The flush in her cheeks is instant, causing the freckles on her face to stand out even more. I love how easy it is to rile her up. Taking advantage of her shocked silence, I continue into her room and toward the bathroom. I make it right past her bed, almost to the door before she says, “Freckles?”
Sitting the bag on the counter, I turn toward her and say, “Yeah,” with a gesture to her face.
“No, I get why. But I thought I was ‘Doc?’” she questions, sounding genuinely upset at the nickname switch.
“You were. But then you reminded me on more than one occasion you’re a nurse, not a doctor. And I like Freckles better.” I shrug, not willing to give her more on the topic.
She stands there, not saying anything. I expected some kind of retort. I wasn’t going to give her anything else but expected it regardless. She’s still wearing the oversized sweater and those goddamn thigh-highs. I take the moment to look her up and down, finally landing on her face and watching her cheeks pinken again.
“This will take me about an hour, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
She shakes her head and leaves the bathroom without another word. I start to wonder if I upset her somehow, then I remember I shouldn’t care. She’s just a girl, ayounggirl. Whether or not she likes me or finds me charming shouldn’t be something I care about.
An hour and seven minutes later, I’m done. I just need to go back into the basement, turn the water back on, and hope I didn’tfuck it up. The second I exit her bedroom, the smell of whatever Margot’s cooking hits my nose. My mouth waters as I realize I didn’t actually eat lunch today thanks to the random handyman job Hayes sent me on. As I make my way down the stairs, I hear soft music playing.
When I walk into the kitchen, her back is toward me, standing at the stove.
“Hey, I—” She nearly jumps out of her skin, a yelp following. “Whoa, it’s just me, Margot,” I say to calm her down. My hands are up in front of me, attempting to reassure her I’m not trying to spook her.
“Sorry!” she says, her hand to her chest covering her heart. “I just didn’t hear you coming up behind me,” she explains.
“Oh, yeah, light on my feet, I guess,” I scramble to ease her embarrassment. “I just gotta go turn the water back on…” I point toward the basement before heading that way.
Once I’m back in the bathroom, I test my handiwork. No more leak. I clean up the mess and make my way to the kitchen where Margot is still fiddling at the stove. Jokingly, I exaggerate my steps so she’s sure to hear me and not pull a knife on me.
She spins around, less terrified this time and rolls her eyes at my dramatics. “I had to make sure I didn’t scare the living shit out of you again.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she bites her lip, a contemplative look on her face.
“Right, well… everything is fixed. I should go.” I put the trash from the repair into the trashcan in the kitchen, readying myself to leave when she finally speaks again.
“Please don’t make me regret this, but… would you want to stay for dinner?”
