Page 19 of Between Now and Forever
“You thought wrong.” Even as he says it with pursed lips like he means it, his eyes shine with a kindness that makes my stomach flutter. “Do you want me to check the front porch too?”
“I didn’t know I was getting a new house and my own personal carpenter. I would’ve paid more.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I’m kidding,” I say, slipping off my robe.
Jay’s eyes drop to my chest, and I’m quickly reminded of my state of undress.Andthat my white tank is wet from the spilled coffee and that my nipples are undoubtedly putting on a show.
Not that he probably hasn’t seen them already.
I clear my throat and put my robe back on. “Thank you for coming by this morning and fixing this. It is very kind of you, and I appreciate it.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Itisa big deal.” I smile. “I might be a mess, but we aren’t a charity case. I can take care of us. I promise.”
His head tilts as he takes me in, as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. The longer we stand face-to-face, the squirmier I get.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, needing to fill the silence. “I just made a pot of coffee.”
I think he’s going to decline. He seems surprised, maybe even taken aback, at my offer. But so am I.
What am I doing, asking a man I just met to come inside my house for a cup of coffee? I don’t know him enough to be letting him intomy house. Many men who wind up being serial killers start off hot and charming.
Although he’s not exactly charming ...
“Coffee seems like the least I can do,” I say, nibbling my bottom lip.
“Are you feeling okay this morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, from your fall yesterday. Are you feeling all right?”
“Oh.That.” I glance down and grimace. “Just some scrapes, and I’m sore as heck. I convince myself I’m still twenty-one, but something happens like this, and I’m quickly reminded that I’m thirty-eight.”
He grins. “Wait until you hit forty. Getting out of bed runs the risk of pulling a muscle.”
I laugh and motion to the house. “So, coffee?”
“Sure.”
I reach for the door, but he extends his arm before me and grabs the handle. He pulls it open and waits for me to go first.
“You’re so certain you’re not a gentleman, and then you do things like this,” I say, going in first. His cologne envelops me as I pass him.Goodness, he smells yummy.“I’m not sure what to make of you.”
He slips his tool belt off and sets it on the deck before following me inside.
I take out a mug and fill it for him. Then I top off mine.
“Do you take your coffee with cream or sugar?” I ask.
“Nope. Black is great.” He takes the proffered mug. “Are you a cream-and-sugar drinker?”
“I used to be. I didn’t want it if it wasn’t the color of caramel and tasted like candy. But I overdid it one year with a cookie-flavored creamer, and now the smell of creamer makes my stomach churn.”
He leans against the counter and scopes out the kitchen.
