Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
R eagan woke refreshed on Monday morning. She’d been tired after the busy day yesterday, which had included golfing in the sun, spilling her guts to Kel, and washing her truck. She’d slept like the dead.
She hadn’t heard from Brody since her last text on Saturday when she bailed on him. Which meant they hadn’t had a chance to discuss the kiss. She figured it was in her best interest to pretend it never happened, or to at least behave neutrally when she was around him.
Which she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing. She’d never grabbed a man by the face and made out with him before, so she was in uncharted territory. But. She could control herself.
That theory needed testing, which was what she intended to do today.
With the possibility of purchasing her grandfather’s house shimmering in the distance, optimism came naturally. The chance she’d be able to afford to buy it at market value was slim, but maybe she could strike a deal when the time came.
Her schedule was fairly open this week, save a handful of customers scheduled for monthly maintenance. That left her available to work on Maplebrook Drive more often than not. Now to reach out to Brody and coordinate her schedule with his.
She waited until she was driving toward his house to call. When the phone began to ring her stomach floated above her head before sinking again.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said to herself. “You’re not asking him on a date, you’re aligning your schedules. There’s a difference.”
“A date is okay with me if it’s okay with you,” a deep male voice said from the truck’s speaker.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“If you were to ask me out, I wouldn’t be offended.” Without waiting for her response, he said, “What time are you coming over?”
“I have to stop by the hardware store, but I can come over after.”
“Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”
“Knowing what goes into homeownership is part of writing the book, remember? Plus, what if you need my opinion on paint color or what kind of ceiling fan I like? You’re going to want me there.”
He made a good point. She knew what she liked but wasn’t sure what style he preferred. And her shopping list was long. Frankly, she could use the help. It would cut her time in half if he was gathering supplies while she selected lumber.
A giddy little zing ran through her bloodstream. Every project she completed in the house would make it better. Soon it’d be back to its former glory, like when her grandmother was alive.
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
Reagan loved the home improvement store. She stepped through the sliding double doors and inhaled. The fresh smell of broken-down cardboard boxes and the faint hint of paint lingered in the air. A tinny voice announced over a loudspeaker that help was required in the kitchen department. Forget Disney World. This was her utopia.
Since she was a kid, she’d loved fixing things. Simple changes made a huge impact—an adjustment to a wobbly chair made it comfy again. Painting the baseboards in a fresh coat of white brightened the entire room. Her grandfather had been content to let her tinker when she’d been young.
“I’d never been inside one of these box stores until I moved here,” he said.
“And?”
“Intimidating.” He slanted her a glance.
“Really? All I see is possibility.”
He tipped his head back to take in the massively high shelves before offering a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I would feel that way if I was as masterful as you at repairs.”
She allowed a small smile. Masterful. Once again, he had pointed out her capability. She could get used to that. “Well, I know from experience that return visits to swap one sink for another have a way of sucking the fun out of being here. No one likes to stop a project in the middle because you don’t have the right O-ring.”
“Sounds kinky.” He canted an eyebrow, holding her gaze for so long that her thighs tingled. She ignored the sensation and focused on the task at hand—they were in public. “This will go faster if we split up. Can you find your way around without me?”
“Of course.” He scoffed. “Give me half the list. We’ll race.”
“You’ll lose,” she said, her competitive side materializing at the slightest nudge.
“We’ll see.”
She copied half of the list from her Notes app and texted it to him. Five minutes later she was on the other side of the store placing the lumber order for a project she was excited to begin. She’d always wanted to build shelves in the closet in the larger of the two spare bedrooms.
Once she’d paid and an employee had loaded the lumber into the bed of her truck, she went back inside to see how Brody had fared with his half of the list.
She found him in front of a washer-dryer combo, arms folded over his chest, mustache smiling, and a twinkle in his eye. A woman with red curly hair wearing a floral-patterned dress was standing close to him—too close, in Reagan’s opinion.
An unexpected surge of jealousy shot through her. She’d recently read an article about opportunistic women who lurked around hardware stores to pick up men, and here she was witnessing it in person!
Before she could scold herself for overreacting, the woman touched Brody’s arm. As far as Reagan knew, he had one sister, and Reagan and Jaylyn had met. No way could the adorable redhead’s cheery attire be confused for hard-as-nails Jaylyn’s glam-goth style.
Reagan marched toward them, arguing with herself along the way. There was nothing to be upset about. The kiss between her and Brody was over and done and nothing she planned on repeating. Plus, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.
“But he’s here with me,” she said under her breath, a breeze kicking her hair as she sped toward him. It didn’t matter if they never kissed again. The fact that he was flirting with another woman so soon after kissing her made her blood boil.
He threw his head back and laughed at whatever the woman was saying.
Before she thought through what she was going to say, Reagan was standing in front of Brody, practically touching him with her body. “Hey, honey! Did you find everything okay?”
He spared her a brief surprised glance before apparently deciding to go along with the whole honey thing. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his firm torso. “Hey, sweetheart . Funniest thing. I was lost, turned around and asked for directions, and look who I ran into.”
The red-haired woman stuck out her hand for Reagan to shake. “Hi, I’m Chloe.”
“Zander’s girlfriend,” Brody supplied, smug. “Can you believe it? Small fucking world.”
Zander’s girlfriend. As in Brody’s brother.
Reagan swallowed a groan. Nice to know she was still capable of sticking her foot into her mouth. As awkward as that made this exchange, she felt a hefty dose of relief as well. Chloe was most certainly not flirting with her boyfriend’s brother.
“I’m Reagan.” She shook Chloe’s waiting hand. “Brody’s handywoman.”
“Oh, wow.” Chloe’s eyebrows rose. “It’s good to meet you. Both. I wondered when I would finally meet the enigmatic Brody Crane, but I didn’t expect to run into him while shopping for a new washer and dryer. And I definitely didn’t expect to meet his, um, handywoman .”
Reagan kept her smile pasted on her face, aware of Brody’s gaze drilling a hole through the side of her head.
“I’m sure Zander will send a formal invitation,” Chloe continued, “but we are having a housewarming party. I’d love for you both to attend. I’m over the moon to be moving in with him. Wait until you see the apartment.” She fluttered her hand in front of her face. “Heaven.”
“It’s huge. Tons of windows. Great balcony with plenty of seating,” Brody told Reagan as he tightened his hold around her shoulders. “The kind of place you’ve always dreamed of living.”
She snorted at his assumption. Little did he know that her dream home had creaky floorboards and was acting as temporary housing for a billionaire.
“Do you do design work?” Chloe asked.
“Oh, no. I’m not a designer,” Reagan said quickly. “I just fix what’s broken.”
“Like me,” Brody laid on thickly.
“I promise not to put you to work as my guest.” Chloe winced, an expression that was out of place on her open, heart-shaped face. “But there are a few things I was thinking about changing. I would love a second opinion.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to opine on every corner of your new home.” Reagan pressed her lips together before she said more. Now who was laying it on thick?
“Great!” Chloe clapped her hands together. “I will see you there. I assume you’ll share your invitation with Reagan? No need for me to send hers to a separate mailing address?”
It’s okay, I don’t have one.
“Absolutely.” After Chloe said goodbye and vanished down another aisle, Brody faced Reagan. “Didn’t know how possessive you were over your customers .”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She surreptitiously shrugged off his hold and pretended to study her phone.
“Did you think I was flirting with her?”
She started humming, and he plucked her phone from her hands. “Hey!”
“You called me honey .” He offered her phone to her. She snatched it back and then stuck it into the back pocket of her jeans.
“I call lots of people honey.” Not true.
“Well, I've never heard you call anyone honey. I called you honey, though. The night you asked me to kiss you.”
“I didn’t ask you to kiss me!” she argued through a laugh. Their conversation garnered the attention of an elderly couple perusing refrigerators nearby. She lowered her voice. “ You asked if you could kiss me.”
“I asked if it would be unethical to kiss you, and you said no so fast my head spun.”
He had her there. That was, unfortunately, true. She opened her mouth and snapped it shut, choosing silence.
“Jealousy is a natural human emotion.”
“I’m not jealous!” she blustered, unsure why she was bothering to defend herself at this point.
His narrowed eyes suggested he didn’t believe a word she was saying, but rather than continue arguing, he dropped the subject. “All right. Let’s finish this list and get out of here.”
Brody had never seen a woman so happy to be in a home improvement store. Reagan excitedly hunted down items on their list, reminding him of a previous girlfriend in a jewelry store.
An interesting comparison to make since after he paid for two large bags of various wares, he found Reagan at the entrance-slash-exit admiring a row of gumball machines, one filled to the brim with tacky fake jewelry. The other one was packed with candy and yet another was stuffed with assorted plastic toys.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out change—who had change nowadays?—and then twisted her lips. “Do you have a quarter? I’m short.”
“What do you have your eye on? A jawbreaker or a…”—he cocked an eyebrow as he read the label—“‘sticky gummy octopus’?”
“I’m going to buy jewelry. As soon as I find another quarter. I hope I don’t get the gold grill.”
He chuckled as he inspected the machine, its contents packed with gaudy gold-painted baubles. There were rings with giant red plastic “jewels,” the aforementioned gold “grill” meant to cover the front teeth, and at least one necklace that resembled the Heart of the Ocean from Titanic . “Seriously?”
“It’s a thing I do.” She shrugged one shoulder. When she batted her lashes over bright, excited eyes, how could he refuse her?
He couldn’t.
He transferred both bags to one hand and reached into his pocket, showing her his Spanish coin. “This is the only coin I have, and it’s worth a hell of a lot more than a quarter.”
She plucked it up and examined it closely. “Antique?”
“Probably. My dad gave it to me. It’s lucky. Sort of.” Lately he’d wondered if it’d lost its luster. He’d been stumbling for a while—not his normal MO. She returned his coin, which he dropped back into his pocket.
“I need one of those.” He tapped the plexiglass next to a gold watch with a face that read Faux-lex . “Be right back.”
He set their bags at her feet and returned a minute later with three dollars in quarters. He piled the coins into her palm. “Knock yourself out.”
Her eyes lit up like he’d handed her a thousand dollars instead. She continued to surprise him at every turn, which, as a guy who liked unpredictability, suited him just fine.
She fed the machine four times. Then, her hands full of clear plastic balls with trinkets inside, she started for the door. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He carried the bags to the parking lot. “What was that about, anyway?”
“Nothing. Just a thing I do.”
“So you mentioned. Why don’t you explain it over lunch?”
“No way. I have too much to do. You’re piling bags full of my to-do list into the backseat,” she said as he did just that. “But before we go back to the house, I need to make a pit stop at my storage unit.”
“Why?”
“ Because. ”
That was all the explanation she offered until they arrived at said storage unit. She hopped out of the truck, and he followed. When they arrived at number 805, she brandished a key from her jeans pocket.
“The suspense is killing me,” he said. “Is the whole unit packed with crates of plastic jewelry?”
That earned him a laugh that made him want to kiss her. And not for the first time. The kiss from Friday night had been on his mind often over the last few days.
She raised the door, revealing mostly empty space. There was an armchair, a stack of cardboard boxes marked with neat block lettering, a matching dresser and nightstand, and an empty clothing rack on wheels.
“Dustin hated this.” She brushed her fingers along the red upholstered armchair. “This, and the dresser and nightstand, was the only furniture I kept after I moved out. He had an old-world style I didn’t much care for.”
She popped the top on one of the cardboard boxes. “And I couldn’t move furniture into Kelly’s apartment. It’s a one-bedroom, so I couch it.”
“I couched it plenty when I wrote my first book,” he said. “Sleeping on the couch was more comfortable than in my car.”
“You slept in your car?”
“More times than not.”
“And this was when you wrote the book where you pretended to have no money.”
“The book where I chose not to live off my wealth,” he corrected.
“But you still had access to it.” Her forehead crinkled.
“Yeah, but I didn’t use it.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just hard to picture you crashing on a couch with a million or so in the bank. You do seem approachable, though.”
“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. And you know exactly how approachable I am after Friday night.”
She pulled out a small wooden chest from the box, her lips twisting in thought. “You’re talking about the kiss.”
“Did you think I forgot?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you forget?”
“ No . Come on. I have what I came for.” She tucked the box beneath her arm. It was about the size of a shoebox. There were deep scars in the wood and a glob of adhesive on top that hadn’t kept hold of whatever ornament used to decorate the lid.
She gestured for him to step out of the unit before locking up. When they reached her truck, she popped the top of the box open and showed him its contents. “My collection. Don’t be jealous.”
He was greeted by a pile of rings, watches, necklaces, and gold coins—of the plastic, gumball-machine variety.
“I’m impressed.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re making fun of me, but I asked for it.”
“Not making fun of you.” He picked out a ring with a massive purple plastic jewel in the center and turned it in the sunlight. “How did you come to acquire such riches?”
With a soft laugh, she closed the box and tucked it under her arm again. He handed her the ring, which she placed on her left ring finger. “This was my mom’s jewelry box. She pawned every piece of real jewelry she ever owned. Even the gold-plated decoration on the lid.”
“That explains the blob of glue.”
“She pawned my grandmother’s engagement ring too. She’s not with us anymore, so that sucks.”
“I’m sorry.” He could hear the regret in Reagan’s voice. He hated that for her. “That does suck.”
“Ronnie Palmer liked to gamble and didn’t know when to stop. When I was about ten years old, I saw her chuck this box into the trash. So, I pulled it out and decided that I would fill it to the brim with jewelry she couldn’t pawn. Jewelry no one but me would want.” Reagan smoothed her hand over the lid of the jewelry box, the plastic ring still on her finger. “Knowing it’s full, even full of plastic, feels so much better than it sitting empty.”
He felt like she’d tied a slipknot around his heart. The tug in his chest brought with it a hefty dose of nostalgia for his own childhood. His father had never squandered money or jewelry, but wanting to connect with him had been a very real need when Brody was a kid.
“My dad gave me the lucky coin when I was thirteen. He traveled for business in multiple countries, so whenever he went, I’d beg to go with him. He took me on a lot of adventures, which I loved.”
“You’ve always been a traveler.”
“Yeah. Always.” His smile faded. “When I got older and lived with my mom, I realized what was missing. The deals Dad brokered during those trips were the star of the show. A lot of times, I was at the hotel with a nanny doing my homework. I guess holding on to the coin was my way of having him close whenever he wasn’t physically there.”
He cleared his throat, instantly aware that what he’d shared with Reagan wasn’t something he’d put into words before. Not for his siblings or his dad, or even himself. Uncomfortable, he palmed the back of his neck and deflected with, “Poor rich kid, right?”
She pushed to her toes and feathered a kiss on the side of his mouth. Before he could recover from that tender surprise, she cocked her chin toward the truck and said, “Come on, rich kid. We have work to do.”