Page 14 of The Friendly Fall

I follow her to the kitchen, and we spend the next forty-five minutes making three dozen chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

The time spent in the kitchen brings me out of the slump that I’ve felt all day. In fact, for the first time since we broke up, I don’t even think about Devon at all.

I’m moving the final batch of cookies from the cooling rack to a container when there’s a knock on the door. Granny claps her hands together, and saunters off with a little too much excitement, considering it’sjustthe handyman.

Maybe she’s got a crush.

But the moment a deep, familiar voice carries through the warm smell of freshly baked cookies, my shoulders drop.

You’ve got to be kidding me. The fireman is the handyman too?

I turn to see Nick walking into my granny’s kitchen, a bright smile on his face.

“Hi,” I choke out so awkwardly that I nearly cringe.

He raises his brow at me, his eyes darting to the cookies. “Looks like you ladies have been busy in here.”

My face grows bright red as I blow a tuft of my hair out of my face. “Um, yeah, you could say that. Want a cookie?”

He nods as I grab the container and hold it out to him. “Thanks,” he says before turning to Granny. “Sorry for being late. This year’s float is gonna be a big one.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Granny beams. “We’re just so glad that you came by.”

“I’m gonna go see what I can get done this evening,” he says, taking a bite of his cookie.

“If you don’t finish this evening, you can always come back, you know. My door is always open,” Granny says.

“Well, I certainly won’t leave it unfinished; it’s in pretty bad shape. I’m not even sure any of it is salvageable, but I’ll do my best.”

I wait a few moments before backing away slowly, hoping to slip out of the kitchen and into the laundry room. Idohave laundry to do after all…

“Anyway, thanks for the cookie.” Nick directs his attention to me. “I better get to work.”

I nod like my lips are glued shut as he heads back out the front door. It’s only when the door slams shut that I finally relax. “I need to do some laundry.”

“Why don’t you go see if he needs a hand?” Granny suggests instead.

I shake my head. “I’d hate for him to have to pull me out again.”

“Oh, stop,” she chides me, laughing. “You’re not carrying bags the size of Texas, so I doubt you’ll fall through again.”

The sound of a saw—or something like it—startles me. “I think I’ll just stick to doing laundry,” I say, not giving her a chance to protest before I slip away.

I shut the door to the mudroom behind me, and flip open the washer lid. I’m safe here, far away from Mr. Handyman’s irresistible charm and whatnot.

He’s just so … nice.

Almost too nice.

Surely, he must be hiding something behind that mile-wide smile.

Or maybe I’m just being ridiculous. I’m not a man-hater or anything, I just have a healthy dose of skepticism after being burned one too many times. I’m sure there are some genuinely nice guys out there; I’ve just personally never had a run-in with one.

I’d much prefer not to have to try and figure that out anymore.

I switch the load of my clothes from the washer to the dryer and then realize there’s nothing more for me to do. My eyes flicker back to the door where Granny is surely scheming on the other side to force me and Mr. Nice Guy into some kind of meet-cute.

Ugh. I donotwant to face her.

---