Page 1 of Polished Off

Chapter

One

JILL ELDERS

“This is not happening. So, so, so not happening.” There’s no one around to hear me as I step through the mini-flood that greeted me when I unlocked the back entrance of my bar, The Diddled Fiddle.

If I use the solitude to let some choice expletives fly, well, who can blame me. It’s barely seven A.M., and there’s water pooling on a floor definitely not meant to be submerged.

“I’m not even supposed to be here today!” I grumble.

I was here ‘til long after close last night, helping my bartender deep clean the keg cooler and then finishing the weekend deposit. It’s only thanks to the water-leakage alarm, one of several high-tech gadgets my uncle had installed before he sold me the place, that I even know a pipe burst.

All this to say, it’s not really a shock to walk in and find an inch of standing water pooled in the narrow kitchen of The Diddled Fiddle, my bar and livelihood. It’s already too damn early to be awake when I drag my exhausted self through the door this morning, but as the owner, I’m used to it. I’m definitely less used to the puddles of icy water splashing over my feet as I make my way to the dish pit. Thankfully.

I drop to my knees and crawl into the space beneath the sinks to shut the valve. Immediately, the whooshing spray of water from the formerly U-shaped pipe beneath the sink quiets. I flop backward onto my butt in the pooling liquid, at this point, unbothered by the idea of getting wet. I’m already soaked. Bothered-ness is reserved for the bigger problem at hand.

Since buying this place from my Uncle Roger, I’ve become an internet searching professional at DIY repairs and restorations, but plumbing has always eluded me. Sure, I can plunge a stopped-up toilet or unclog a sink with whatever sludge is in those bottles of drain cleaner. But replacing a pipe? Nope. No way. No how. I need help. Cheap help that can be here five minutes ago.

A knock on the kitchen door leading into the alley between the Fiddle and the shop next door startles me. It’s too early for any of my employees to be getting here, and the vendors scheduled to make deliveries today won’t be here ‘til closer to opening.

“Hey, Jill, you in here? Everything okay? There’s water pouring out—” Tate Bishop, owner of the business next door and my de facto bestie, pokes his head through the door I must’ve left unlocked in my rush.

“—the door,” he finishes lamely. His sea glass blue eyes widen comically when he spots me on the floor next to the sink. In true best friend fashion, there’s no hesitation in his stride as he sloshes through the standing water to get to my side. He crouches down beside me and peers under the sink to see the problem.

“Got the water shut off. At least, there’s that.” Defensiveness lends a flatness to my statement, and I’m sure he can hear it.

It’s been a sticking point between us when I won’t let Tate take over and handle the repairs this place needs. He always insists he’s the best person for the job, seeing as he owns a business that involves construction. Never mind that Bishop’s Glazing is a custom window builder, and nearly everything he does is stained glass and specialty windows for the wealthy.

“I see that. Am I allowed to offer…”

“Help? Yes. Please. Seriously, yes a hundred times. Tell me what to do; I’ll do it. Whatever you want in trade, it’s yours. Just tell me this can be dealt with before the singles show up for tonight’s speed date event!” I’m begging, and I don’t even have a shred of remorse for it. Pride takes a backseat to necessity right now.

A slow smile spreads across his stupidly handsome face as he considers my plea. I bite back the snarky comment dying to burst out while he lets the silence and my desperation grow. Sometimes, like now, this weird snap of sexual tension crackles to life between us, and I have to smother it like a candle left to burn too long.

I’ve lived in Magnolia Point for two years now, and we’ve been friends since nearly day one. Friends. Only friends. The gossip train, which runs through every small town in existence, made sure I knew as soon as I hit town that pining for the sexy glass working artist would be a mistake. Tate Bishop doesn’t date locally. They say he only hooks up with women when he travels to install complex projects. And since I haven’t once seen or heard about him with a local woman, I assume the rumor mill got that one right.

Besides, at times like this when I really do need help, having Tate as a friend is way better than being a fling from his past. If I have to remind myself to keep my eyes from devouring his sexy as fuck form, so be it.

Chapter

Two

TATE BISHOP

“Not gonna lie, Jilly, you make an open offer like that, and it’s hard to hold myself back from taking you up on it.” I say it jokingly, but it truly is getting harder and harder to hold back everything I feel for Jill Elders.

She swept into town two years ago and turned me inside out with one look. Not that Jill has any idea what she does to me. I’ve never been friendzoned so fast in my entire life. It took the girl two-point-zero seconds to snatch my soul and stuff it into her purse right alongside my balls and my sanity—all without losing her sunny smile as she shot down my attempt to flirt and rendered me useless for any woman but her.

“Can it, Tater-head. I need real help here, not a wiseass. Get down here and help me figure this out!” I hear the smile in her voice, but she’s already ducked back under the sink. Leaving me to stare, completely inappropriately, at her soaked to the skin body.

I drop to my knees beside her and hope the frigid water leads to shrinkage, because as always, when I’m this close to Jill, my cock’s trying to cross boundaries and bust zippers.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here, okay?” I roll to my back and shimmy under the sink next to her. The problem is easy enough to spot. The PVC pipe leading into the U-joint has separated from the rest of them, and it looks like the threaded piece is cracked.

“Can you fix it? I don’t know if I can get a plumber out soon enough to avoid canceling that speed date thingy Shelly talked me into.” Jill sounds more irritated about the matchmaking event booked here tonight than this mess. If that doesn’t say everything there is to say about her views on relationships, I don’t know what could.

Jill’s got a chip on her shoulder when it comes to love and dating, and after two years, I’m still unsure the origin of it. All I know is, the merest hint of romance sends her into ostrich mode where she buries her head and pretends to ignore it.

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