Page 25 of High Density

“Fair enough.”

I’d be an idiot to argue the help he offers. I gave him a chance to back out and he didn’t take it. If he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, he’s going to regret saying anything when he sees all the stuff that needs doing.

I grab the pad from my kitchen junk drawer, where I keep it for ready access when I think of something else that needs to be added, and slide it in front of him.

“It’s already three pages long,” I warn him, adding, “Also, the list isn’t particularly organized since I simply add things as they occur to me.”

He immediately tears a couple of blank pages from the pad.

“Got a pen?”

I grab him one from the drawer, and he immediately starts dividing the first page with a line lengthwise down the middle. He writes at the top of one column in clear block letters,kitchen, andbathroomat the top of the second column. On the next sheet of paper he does the same, until each section of the house has its own list. Then he starts copying my listed items in the appropriate column.

When he’s done, he tears off one more blank sheet and writes,general,at the top, before adding items I hadn’t even thought of yet. Electrical, plumbing, HVAC, roof, all with a question mark beside them. I’m feeling a little nauseated.

He chuckles softly. “Better to check those things before you start doing renovations, if you discover problems when you’ve already done work, you’ll have wasted money and time.”

I groan, thinking of the meager budget I have allocated for work on the house. It’ll be a little better once I get paid for working the Libby Roundup, but nothing that would also cover any major overhauls.

“I just hope this place won’t turn out to be a major money pit,” I grumble. “Doc Evans is an old friend of my father’s, so I trusted him when he said the house was solid and a little TLC was all it would need.”

The truth is, I didn’t even think to ask for an inspection or anything like that. I never owned my own property before I bought this.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” JD rumbles as he gets to his feet. “I’m sure Doc Evans wouldn’t have sold you a lemon, but let’s check to be sure anyway. Where is your electrical panel?”

“Laundry room.” I point at the door off the kitchen.

I walk in, flip on the light, and quickly swipe the dirty laundry I dumped on top of the dryer into a basket of clean sheets. I’ll just have to wash it all again. Something else I’m falling behind on.

“Over there.”

I indicate the little door in the wall Doc Evans pointed out to me when I moved in.

“Good,” JD mumbles when he opens it up. “He must’ve had that redone within the past ten years or so. It’s a fairly new panel and looks well organized.”

“That’s a relief.”

My knees wobble a little as he brushes past me in the confined space, the mere hint of a smile on his face, when he bends down so his mouth is right by my ear.

“Nice undies.”

My eyes flash to the laundry basket, which shows the cow print panties and bra set Frankie got me last Christmas lying on top. I quickly turn off the light and pull the door shut behind me. JD is already ducking into the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink, pulling the cleaning products I store there out. Then he goes down on his knees and the top of his body disappears into the cupboard, his shirt riding up at the back.

“Noticed any leaks anywhere? Any pipes dripping?”

My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow when my eyes get caught on the strip of exposed skin above the jeans that stretch tightly over his fine ass.

“No,” I manage, after clearing my throat.

When I see him back out, I quickly turn around and, grabbing for the first thing to busy my hands with, remove the used coffee pod from the machine and toss it in the garbage.

“I’ll bring some tools tomorrow,” he volunteers. “Probably easier to check things by daylight anyway.”

He’s standing a few feet away, leaning his hip casually against the counter and with his arms crossed in front of him. I wish I could snap a picture of him like this, just to remind myself this gorgeous man in my house isn’t just a figment of my imagination. He’s so far out of my league, it’s not even funny.

But when I catch the warm look in his eyes, I know he must see something in me that appeals to him. Who am I to question that? My body tingles under his quiet scrutiny.

“What I wouldn’t give to know what goes on in that head of yours,” he finally says.

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