Page 20 of Roar & Lizzy: A Forever Kind of Love

Chapter 7

Lizzy hummed to thesong playing on her phone and tied her sneakers. After a month of working at The Fire Ring, she'd mailed off a thousand dollar check to the hospital, taking her debt down to a little over thirty-three thousand dollars.

And, she could've paid more, but she put the money into her savings account until she felt more comfortable with her job security. Luckily, when she'd had the operation, the hospital understood her situation of being without insurance and had allowed her to make payments.

Some people had car payments and house payments. She had medical payments.

Once she'd wrapped her head around being responsible for her bills, she'd accepted the huge liability, and she removed buying a house from her five-year plan.

Renting worked for her. She wasn't married. Barely had a social life because of working all the time. She and Coco got along great sharing the rental, and together, they could afford a nicer house than if she were living on her own.

She stood and moved the wire of her earbud over her shoulder and grabbed her gardening gloves. Going out of the door to the garage, she sang along to the music.

She and Coco had neglected to mow the lawn over the last month in exchange for sleeping after work, trying to change their schedule. While Coco went shopping today, she chose to stay home and get some of the housework done.

Fighting with the above-door lock, she finally got the garage open and wheeled out the push mower.

The small yard only took fifteen minutes to complete and another ten minutes to rake and dispose of the cuttings. Once she finished, she'd have time to tackle a load of laundry before Coco got home and all her ambition fled in preference of hanging out and doing nothing.

She checked to make sure there was gas in the mower, pumped the choke, and took up the stance to start the engine. Then, she put all her strength and weight into pulling the cord.

Nothing.

Not even a putter.

She tried again. And, again.

Knowing too many tries would flood the engine, she let the cord rewind. She studied the mower, wondering what to try next. The last time she'd used the machine, it'd worked.

A rumble drew her attention out to the street. A motorcycle pulled up in front of her house. She recognized Roar by his sculpted body and the way he cut the sleeves off some of his shirts.

Roar removed his sunglasses and helmet and walked across her lawn. "Problem?"

"It won't start. I'm letting it sit for a few minutes so I don't flood it, and then I'll try again. We haven't used it for a month, so maybe it'll take a few pulls." She took in his face with the top of his hair pulled into a braid that went down the back.

At the bar, he always kept his hair loose. She wasn't sure how she liked it the best. Wearing it down made him come across formidable and kept her on her toes, ready in case she made a mistake and fearing his anger if she made him mad—though it was sexy. With it braided away from his face, he...well, he still looked like someone she shouldn't mess with, but he appeared more open to conversation—she hoped.

"How many times have you pulled?" he asked.

"Three."

"You shouldn't have to wait after that few. I'll give it a go." He bent over, slipped the handle into his hand, braced his foot on the mower, and pulled the cord.

The engine remained quiet.

Roar checked the gas, the oil, and looked at her. "It's not getting a spark. I'll go over to the clubhouse and get you a plug. That should do it."

"You don't have to do that. I'll go buy one at the—"

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to do." He stepped away. "I'll be back."

True to his word, five minutes later, he walked across the street, having left his motorcycle behind the gate, and went to work getting the mower started. The first pull of the cord had done the trick.

She stepped forward, and Roar pushed the mower away from her and kept going. After he'd made three laps around the yard, she decided there was no use telling him he couldn't mow her lawn and went and sat on the four-inch step in front of the door.

Unlike her mom who'd stressed women empowerment and independence, she had no problem with a man doing one of her chores if that was his prerogative. It was nice.

If he wanted to work up a sweat while she got to enjoy the view, who was she to stop him? She planted her elbow on her knee and propped her chin on her hand. Completely happy to sit in the shade, she enjoyed checking Roar out when he wasn't aware of her looking—which was impossible to do at work.

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