Page 34 of Handy

I’ve always found something soothing and grounding about repetitive tasks like this. When I was a moody teenager, my dad used to send me out into the backyard to chop wood when I needed to clear my mind or get my emotions under control. Ledger isn’t as chatty as usual tonight, but he seems relaxed in the silence of our shared labor. Maybe that’s what loosens my tongue unexpectedly.

“He died nearly a decade ago. He was an ER nurse, on his way to work at the ass crack of dawn, and somebody in the oncoming lane of traffic fell asleep at the wheel. They said he died on impact, probably didn’t even have time to realize what was happening.” My eyes are on my work, but I can hear the soft, sympathetic sound Ledger makes across the room.

“That had to fucking suck.”

I snort without any humor. No one ever knows what to say when you tell them depressing shit like that. Usually they stumble over “I’m so sorry” or just look at you with pity. Ledger cuts right to the heart of it though, and fuck, I like that about him.

“It really did. We were together for a long time; met through friends in our twenties. Fuck knows what he saw in me, but hewas good for me.” The words tumble out, a little easier now that I’m talking about Riley the person and not just the accident that took him from me. “He was funny and loud, always the center of attention everywhere we went. Everybody loved him. It was impossible not to. You remind me a lot of him, actually.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, heat rushes to my face and I bite down on my tongue.

“Shit, I hope that didn’t sound bad. I don’t mean that I only like you because you remind me of him.” I rush on. “Not that Ilikeyou.” I swallow hard. “Not that Idon’tlike you.”

What am I, in middle school? This is why I choose to communicate primarily in grunts and scowls—much less chance to make an ass out of myself. I risk a glance over my shoulder and he’s looking right back, red in the face from trying not to laugh, biting his lip with his shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

“Message unclear, big bear, do youlikelike me or not?” he teases, finally cracking and letting out a peal of laughter. “Tell you what, pass me a note in chemistry.”

I growl and shoot him a glare without any heat behind it. The knot in my chest loosens though. Ledger is easy to talk to. Even when I do shove my foot directly into my mouth or act like an ass without meaning to, he’s ready with a snarky comment that smooths it all over.

“I’m guessing you haven’t dated much since Riley?”

“Is it that obvious?” I deadpan. “I figured I was hiding it well behind all this charm.”

He chuckles again. “I’m charmed.”

I’m sure he’s just being sweet and reassuring, going out of his way to make me feel like I’m not fumbling whatever is happening between us. But he says it so simply, like it justis, that it’s easy to pretend that maybe it’s true. Maybe he could like me a little bit too?

Hell, I managed to win Riley over with my resting grump face and limited communication skills, maybe it’s not too much to hope I could get lucky twice.

I’m not going to get ahead of myself. As far as I know this is still just a little bit of fun for Ledger and a way to get his house fixed up without emptying his bank account, and I’m fine with that. I guess I’m just easing open the door to the possibility that there could be something more and that I might want that.

Maybe.

LEDGER

“Alright, if I don’t eat in the next five minutes, I’m going to pull a TP and start chewing on this drywall,” I declare, tugging my shirt up to wipe the sweat off of my face.

Griff makes a noise that sounds a lot like agreement. Considering his stomach has growled three times in the last fifteen minutes, I’m sure he doesn’t mind me calling an end to our work for the night.

“Mind if I wash up?” He holds up his hands, and I nod towards the hallway.

“Of course. You know where the bathroom is.”

While he does that, I head into the kitchen, washing my hands in the sink in there and then putting some music on. Hearing Griff in the other room as I put the finishing touches on dinner and pull out plates and silverware feels so domestic I can almost convince myself that it’s the real deal. That I’m not just bribing my hot, grumpy neighbor to do handiwork with dinner and sexual favors, that he’s mine and I’m his and this is a relationship based on things that aren’t transactional or fleeting.

Griff opened up to me tonight, but there’s no telling whether he’ll panic about that tomorrow and build his walls back up twice as high. I’ve seen it before, but, fuck, I want to believe he’s different. Thisfeelsdifferent.

I open the cupboard to grab glasses and laugh when I find TP curled up inside, napping, all the glasses toppled over or shoved out of the way.

“Excuse me, Princess Trash Panda,” I say politely, grabbing a couple of glasses and then closing the cupboard again so she can continue with her beauty rest.

Griff steps into the kitchen with a lost-puppy expression on his face, tucking his hands into his pockets then pulling them out again like he’s not sure what to do with himself. I bite back a smile and nod at the small kitchen table.

“Take a seat. I’ll dish up the food and bring it over.”

“Thanks, it smells incredible.”

“Wait until you taste it, it’s better than sex.” I chuckle, remembering the way he fucked me into the mattress last night, the sounds of his growls and my name on his lips still echoing in my ears even now, twenty-four hours later. “Well, better thansomesex,” I amend, shooting him a wink.

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