Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
PENNY
On Sunday morning, I once again jerked awake to the house shuddering, and it was déjà vu as I leapt out of bed. It was still dark, and I had no idea what time it was as I flew down the stairs.
“Grandma? Is that you and the generator again?”
The smoke alarm suddenly went off and I whirled around in a circle, looking for the fire, knocking a lamp off a side table, barely catching it in time to save it.
No fire.
I stilled. “Pika-boo, is that you?”
“Meow.”
I ripped the blanket off his cage to find him looking very proud of himself. I pointed at him, then turned at the sound of a chuckle.
Hank sat on our couch holding the remote, pointing it at the TV.
Tall and broad, he always carried himself like he was a five-star general.
That was, if a five-star general was nonverbal, wore a white t-shirt and sleep pants with little hearts on them, and had the sweetest disposition I’d ever seen.
He was hitting a button on the remote with his thumb repeatedly to no avail, but at the sight of me, he waved cheerfully.
“Morning,” I said, skidding to a halt, breathless, wondering why he was here on a Sunday.
He gestured to the remote.
We’d been here before, so I moved to his side and turned the remote right side up. “Try that.”
“Ahhhh.” He hit the button again. The TV went on and he gave another “ahhhh,” smiling at me and doing something with his face that looked like he was having another stroke, but which I now knew meant he was trying to wink. So I winked back.
Grandma appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt that said: Cougar Of The Year.
I narrowed my eyes at her feet, which for as long as I could remember, had never been in anything but beat-up blue Keds sneakers, but now were in brand-new work boots. And just as pink as her shirt and tool belt.
“What was the banging? You’re not killing the generator or dishwasher again, are you?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Poop?” Pika-boo asked.
Budgies had the capacity for a vocabulary of two thousand words, and ours just wanted to talk about poop…
“No.” Grandma looked at me. “Guess.”
Oh boy. Her last surprise had been trading in grandpa’s ancient junker truck for a slightly less old 4Runner, a manual, which she’d never used before. She’d promptly crashed it into our mailbox.
“Do I need to call the insurance company again?”
“Haha, and no.” She grinned. “I’m giving our kitchen a little makeover. Who knows, maybe you’ll love it so much that you’ll stay,” she said carefully.
“Grandma, we can’t afford to renovate.”
“We’ll start small—with the kitchen.”
“That’s the opposite of small!”
She waved this off. “I wanted to do it so you can go back to working for yourself, making home-cooked meals, working toward your dream of opening that café?—”
“But that’s the thing about dreams…they’re not really meant to come true. Not for people like me.”
“You’re wrong.” She put her hands on her hips. “ No one deserves it more than you.”
“Ahhhh,” Hank said, nodding in agreement.
The truth was, a kitchen remodel would be amazing. “Two problems. One, we’re so broke we can’t pay attention, and two, neither of us knows the first thing about renovating our lives , much less a kitchen.”
“But…we both know someone who’s learned a few things about renovations. And, surprise, he’s willing to help us. We’ll be his worker bees.”
A very bad feeling settled in my gut. “He who?”
Ryder poked his head out of the kitchen.
He wore army-green cargos that emphasized his long legs and fit his body in a way that left my mouth dry.
There were a lot of pockets for his goodies, although I was pretty sure not all of his goodies were relegated to the pockets.
His black t-shirt stretched taut over broad shoulders and was loose over his abs, and dear God, he wore a tool belt low on his hips—not pink.
His ball cap was on backwards, that sun-kissed, multifaceted brown hair curling out from beneath it.
He was a walking Taylor Swift song, and I was shockingly here for it.
I’d never seen him in anything but a suit before, which had only hinted at a leanly muscled body, but today’s look shorted every circuit in my brain.
“Morning,” he said.
I rolled my tongue back into my mouth. “I don’t know how she conned you into this, but you’re not obligated?—”
“He’s here because when he picked up Hank a few days ago, he found me trying to check the smoke alarm battery,” Grandma said.
“On a ladder about to electrocute herself via screwdriver,” Ryder said, giving me a yeah, I couldn’t believe it either look. “She said she was working on the kitchen next. Without any knowledge or the right tools and equipment.”
“Hey,” Grandma said. “I got some of the right equipment. Have you seen my new boots?”
“Grandma, the astronauts on the space station can see the boots.”
“Well, I’ll have you both know I watched a bunch of YouTube videos on kitchen remodels,” she said. “But now I don’t have to know everything because Ry stepped in to help. Don’t you love a man who can take charge and work with his hands?”
Ryder looked like maybe he was regretting getting out of bed that morning.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told him.
“I’m happy to.”
That was hard to believe, but Grandma smiled at him. “Actually, he said he’d do whatever needs to be done only if I promised not to help, and when I said I really, really wanted to help, he said only if I did exactly what he said. No going rogue.”
Dear God. My grandma had emotionally blackmailed Ryder Colburn. I now had an eye twitch and my brain was firing on zero cylinders, and not simply because he was leaning against the doorjamb, posture relaxed and easy, commanding the room with a confidence I couldn’t have managed on my best day.
Okay, maybe that was exactly why my brain wasn’t firing.
But why did he rev my engine? I was supposed to be on empty!
Except with him standing there in that damn tool belt slung on his lean hips, I didn’t feel empty.
I felt a whole bunch of things I shouldn’t, like how that stubble on his jaw would scratch against my skin, and the shocking desire to feel his calloused palms gliding over my body?—
“Pen? Honey?” Grandma waved a hand in front of my face. “You just got all flushed. You’re not having hot flashes already, are you? You’re a little young for that. You okay?”
No, I was most definitely not okay. I’d just swallowed my tongue and had possibly just gotten pregnant as well.
Ryder’s lips curved into a small smile, as if he knew exactly what he did to me. Smug bastard.
“Anyway,” Grandma went on before I could further embarrass myself, “Ry’s going to come by either in the mornings when he drops Hank off, or in the evenings when he has spare time. I mean, think about what you might do with a newly renovated kitchen, Pen. You could even open that café…”
All very tempting. But I couldn’t let her rope Ry into this. “I don’t think?—”
“He’s going to take down the cabinet doors today to refinish them. Can you imagine how wonderful that will look? He’s also going to check out our appliances to see what needs upgrading.”
Okay, yes, I moaned about our avocado-green stove and sunshine-yellow fridge on the daily, but?—
“Did you know that as a general contractor, he can get appliances at a deep discount? I’m so excited! I’ve been wanting to do this forever. All I needed was someone with the knowledge to be the boss?—”
“I’m not anyone’s boss,” Ryder said. “I’m just helping out.”
I let out a short laugh. “You do remember you’ve got something like a hundred employees, right?”
He swiped a hand down his face, and I was fairly certain he sighed. I’d be willing to bet he’d never been a sigher in his life. Not surprising that I brought it out in him, I had that effect on men.
“The bottom line is we aren’t going to take advantage of him, Grandma. He’s a busy man?—”
“I’ve got the time,” he said.
I stared at him, wondering why he would do this for us.
He stared back, giving nothing away.
“I just ordered everyone pink tool belts,” Grandma exclaimed, waving her phone. “Team Pink!”
“Ahhhhh?” came from the couch.
“Don’t you worry, sweet cheeks,” she yelled out to Hank. “I got you one too.”
Ryder looked pained, whether at the nickname for his dad or just the morning so far, I had no idea. But I felt…confused. “You already work a gazillion hours. Why would you give in to her?”
He shrugged. “It’s a way to do something I love.”
“Which is?”
“The work,” he said simply. “I miss it.”
I tried to read the lie, but I was pretty sure there wasn’t one. He actually wanted to do this, and I had to admit, the thought of an updated kitchen, where maybe we could use the toaster and the dryer at the same time without blowing fuses, made me nearly as giddy as Grandma.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Okay, so maybe I needed to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
His smile softened in a way I’d never seen as he looked into my eyes?—
“Please turn the fuckin’ TV down!” Pika-boo yelled cheerfully.
“That one’s on you,” Grandma said, pointing at me.
“Shit, damn, hell, hot balls on a stick, cocksucker!” the bird replied.
I gave Grandma side-eye.
She winced. “Okay, yeah. I’ll work on it.”
Ryder fought a smile, and we stood there staring awkwardly at each other. Well, okay, I was the awkward one. He looked perfectly at ease with himself.
Hank pushed himself up from the couch and shuffled toward the doorway to the kitchen, pointing to the coffeepot.
“I’ll get it,” Ryder said. “Sit.”
Hank shuffled back to the couch, and a minute later Ryder brought him a mug filled only halfway. He’d added ice cubes. “Careful.”
Hank nodded and smiled at his son. “Ah.”