Page 6 of Like Home
As I grab my tools, she swings into the driveway in an older, red Honda Civic that looks like its heyday was sometime in the late nineties. She waves through her window and pulls into the garage. I shut the tool bag and can’t help but stare as she gets out of her car. It feels like she moves in slow motion; her heeled foot slinks out and the rest of her shapely body follows it in a serpentine motion. I’m fucking hypnotized.
She bumps the car door closed with a plump hip, and it startles me out of my stupor. “Come on in! You’re getting soaked,” she calls from inside the garage. I hustle towards her because she’s right. I’m drenched. I was standing there in the rain drooling over her like an idiot, and now I’m paying the price. She kicks off her shoes just outside the door that leads inside and I step into my boot covers. We walk into her kitchen and I set my tool kit on the small kitchen island.
The kitchen is definitely an original build, probably early 2000’s judging by the worn tile countertops and honey-coloredcabinets. The kitchen is a bright white, and the bay window to the left lets in a lot of natural light. She has plants and books taking up all the real estate on the window ledge. I can just picture her curled up on the built-in bench in that breakfast nook with a cup of coffee and a book. It’s a cozy space.
“Sorry, I hope I’m not dripping on your floors,” I say sheepishly as I realize my hair and tool kit are, in fact, forming a steadily growing puddle on the linoleum floor. It was raining so hard, it soaked through my hat.
“Well, I doubt you could do much more damage than that damn leak.” She points an accusing finger toward her living room where furniture has been pushed around haphazardly.
She opens a drawer and pulls out a kitchen towel before handing it to me with a smile. “Here you go,” she says, gesturing to my dripping face.
Damn, but she really is pretty. Her bright hazel eyes are offset by her fiery hair, and a constellation of cinnamon-colored freckles dot her face and chest. Without permitting them, my eyes trail down her body as I towel off. She’s curvy in a way that almost feels sinful. I flit my eyes away, not wanting to creep on her in her own home. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
I follow her into her living room, squinting up at the ceiling where a wet spot forms inside a larger, dried stain. Her dark-green couch is askew, the rug is rolled up and pushed aside, and the bowl catching the water sits in the middle of the floor.
My eyes catch on what looks like a family portrait on the wall next to the TV. “Is that your husband and daughter?” I ask, pointing to the framed picture hung on the wall. In it, I recognize a slightly younger Summer with an adorable pigtailed toddler on her lap. Behind them, a blonde man who looks about Summer’s age has his hand on Summer’s shoulder. He’s smiling down at them adoringly. Lucky man. I try not to let the kernel of disappointment sprout.
“Oh, um. No?” I hear the question in her response.
I shouldn’t pry into a client’s life, but I can’t help myself. I’m intrigued. “No? Is he your brother or something?”
“God, no!” She goes a little green and continues, “He’s my ex and that’s our daughter. Sorry. It’s a pretty new breakup, and I’m still figuring out how to tell people that.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile.
“Oh, got it. Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. Cute kid.” I want to throttle myself for making her uncomfortable again. “Do you have access to your attic?” I quickly change the subject so I don’t make it worse.
Not married,a devious voice whispers in my mind.Not exactly available either,I whisper back. It sounds like she just got out of a relationship. One serious enough to result in a child. She's probably not interested in anything but getting her leak fixed right now.Why don't you find out?I roll my eyes at myself as I follow Summer down a hallway lined with doors. She shows me the attic access and I head back to my truck to grab my ladder.
I quickly find the leak, head out to the roof to do the repair, and finish up in about thirty minutes. I’m toweling off my hair again when I pause, realizing this will be the last time I’ll get to talk to Summer, unless I have urgent banking needs or her house springs another leak. Her ceilingcoulduse a fresh coat of paint. Maybe she has other repairs. I don’t typically take such small jobs, but it’s worth it to see her again. Reassured by my new plan, I finish drying off and head back to the living room.
Summer has changed into some cozy sweats and a thermal shirt that hugs her every curve. My mouth runs dry. “Fixed it?” she asks, popping up from the couch where she was curled up. She flips over the book she was reading so the cover rests face down on her coffee table. The corner of my lips twitch. My sister used to do that when she didn’t want me to see what she was reading. Judging by Summer’s cheeks turning a pretty pink, I’d say she was reading somethinginteresting.
“Yeah, you’re all good. I’d like to come back in a few days or so to check on it and make sure it holds up.”
She gives me a relieved smile. “Okay, great. Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?”
For some reason, the thought of her paying rubs me wrong. “On the house. Don’t worry about it. If it’s a bigger issue when I come back, you can pay me then. You also might want me to paint your ceiling,” I gesture up to the brown spot, made a deeper, uglier shade by the fresh water.
“Are you sure? I can’t not pay you.” She crosses her arms defiantly.
I hold up my hands, “I’m sure. It doesn’t feel right to charge you for less than thirty minutes of work.” I can be stubborn too.
“Is your new boss going to be okay with that?”
“I’ll handle Dan. For the most part, we do our own billing. It shouldn’t be a problem. The rain is supposed to clear up by the end of the week, so can I come by Saturday morning? That way I can take a look at your attic once it's dry to make sure I don’t see any mold forming.”
“Yeah, that works for me. Can I offer you anything to drink before you go?” She moves towards the kitchen. It’s always telling when someone offers me a drink while I’m working. I’ve had my fill of customers who act like I’m an inconvenience even though they’re literally paying me to fix or install something for them. Kind people like Summer stick out.
“A bottle of water would be great, thanks,” I say.
“Sure,” she replies. I try not to stare as she squats down in her pantry to grab me a bottle. “Here you go.” She hands it to me with a small smile. I chug it, realizing I haven’t had anything to drink since lunch. Thinking about her got me so derailed afterward, I didn’t even notice I was thirsty.
A bead of water trickles from my mouth. When she shifts on her feet, I side-eye her watching it trail down my neck before disappearing under the collar of my black t-shirt. I try not tosmile. I fail. She clears her throat, the hungry look gone from her eyes. “Thirsty?” she asks.
“Mmm,” I respond nonchalantly as I recap the empty bottle and place it in a basket on the counter labeled “recycle.”Thirsty in many ways it would seem. “So, I’ll see you Saturday. Call me if you see it leaking again before then.” I hand her one of my new cards with the Davidson Construction logo on the top and my information underneath. I need to get out of here before I do something inappropriate, like ask her what she was reading that had her so embarrassed before I walked in a few minutes ago.
CHAPTER 5
Summer
