Chapter 5
Theo
I pull into the lot behind the building just after four, toolbox on the passenger seat and Chloe safely deposited at her art class across town.
She’s spending the next hour and a half learning watercolor techniques from Mrs. Lowrey, which gives me plenty of time to handle the cabinet situation Emma called me about and still pick her up before the dinner rush starts at the restaurant.
Normally tenants go through Danny for stuff like this, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased to hear Emma’s voice on the other end of the line when she called about the hinge. I jumped at the chance to help a little too quickly, said yes before she’d even finished explaining the problem.
I get out of the car with my toolbox and head for the side entrance, taking the stairs up to the second floor. I knock on the door and footsteps approach from inside almost immediately.
The door swings open and Emma appears, her face breaking into a smile that hits me somewhere in my chest. Her red hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing shorts so short they’re practically nonexistent, paired with a thin white t-shirt that leaves very little to the imagination.
I can see the outline of her nipples through the fabric and every intelligent thought evacuates my brain.
I drag my eyes back up to her face, trying to ignore the fact that my body just woke up in a way it absolutely shouldn’t around my daughter’s teacher. A very young teacher at that.
“Theo, hey! Thanks so much for coming by.” She steps back to let me in. “I really appreciate it. I know you’re probably busy.”
“No problem.” I clear my throat. “Happy to help. Which cabinet is it?”
“It’s the one over here by the stove.” She walks ahead of me into the kitchen, and I keep my eyes up, focused on the back of her head and definitely not on those shorts or her legs or anywhere below her shoulders.
I force myself to look around the room instead.
The studio is completely transformed now.
Plants line the windowsill and dresser, more than I would have expected from someone who just moved.
There’s a bright throw blanket tossed over a reading chair, colorful pillows on the bed, framed prints on the walls, a basket of yarn with knitting needles sticking out beside the chair.
Books are stacked everywhere—nightstand, floor, kitchen counter.
The whole place has this energy to it now, warm and vibrant and lived-in.
It feels strangely personal seeing her space like this, like I get to see a tiny glimpse into her world and I find myself wanting to slip into it and stay there.
“It looks really nice in here,” I say, setting down my toolbox. “You’ve made it feel like home already.”
“Thanks,” she says, looking pleased. “I’ve been trying. You should see it at night.”
My eyes automatically flick to the bed and my brain supplies an extremely detailed image of her in it. Those long legs wrapped around my waist, that white t-shirt on the floor, my hands gripping her thighs while—
“The lighting is super cozy and homey,” she says, interrupting my thought and smiling sweetly. “Perfect for reading or knitting before bed.”
Right. Reading. Not me finding out what she tastes like when I bury my face between those thighs.
I clear my throat. “So which cabinet was giving you trouble?”
“This one here.” She crouches down to point at the lower cabinet, and those shorts ride up, revealing the curve of her ass in a way that makes my mouth go dry. All I can think about is gripping her hips and pulling her back against me while she moans into the mattress.
I’m going straight to hell.
I crouch down beside her, my shoulder brushing against hers, and test the door. The top hinge is loose, just needs the screws tightened. A five-minute fix, maybe less. I reach for my toolbox and pull out a screwdriver, grateful to have something concrete to focus on.
“Is it fixable?” she asks, leaning in closer to watch what I’m doing. Her arm brushes against mine and I nearly drop the screwdriver.
“Yeah, easy fix.” I work the first screw, feeling it catch and tighten. The metal bites into the wood the way it should, secure and solid. “Just needs some adjustment on both hinges.”
She’s quiet, watching me work, and I’m hyperaware of her presence beside me.
The way she’s sitting, the warmth coming off her body, how if I turned my head even slightly we’d be face to face.
Close enough to kiss. I haven’t been this close to a woman in years, not like this, and my body is responding in ways I can’t control.
It’s been, what, two years since my last disappointing hookup?
Maybe three? Long enough that apparently just crouching next to a pretty woman in short shorts is enough to get me half-hard like a teenager.
She stands and I take a breath, trying to get myself under control.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” she asks. “As a thank you for coming out on such short notice. I know Mondays are probably busy for you.”
I should say no. Keep this professional.
Crystal clear boundaries are important when dealing with a tenant who’s my daughter’s teacher and also ten years younger than me.
The fact that I’m even entertaining the idea of staying makes me want to kick myself.
I like to think I’m a decent guy, but the thoughts that keep intruding about her are anything but decent, and I need to be a gentleman here.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say, “coffee would be great.”
Fuck me.
I turn back to the cabinet, adjusting the second hinge with more attention than it probably needs. Behind me, I hear the clink of ceramic, the sound of coffee pouring.
“How do you take it?” she asks.
“Black is fine.”
I test the cabinet door again, opening and closing it.
The movement is smooth now, no scraping, no resistance.
Fixed. Done. I give it one more look, checking the screws to make sure they’re secure.
Or maybe that’s just an excuse to stay here a little longer, kneeling on Emma’s kitchen floor like some kind of lovesick idiot.
I shove my tools back in the toolbox and stand up, brushing off my knees. “All done. Easy fix.”
“Oh great.” She hands me a mug covered in little cartoon cats, and I have to suppress a grin. “Thanks again for coming by.”
“Happy to help,” I say, taking a sip. The coffee is strong and smooth, exactly how I like it. When I look up, she’s watching me over the rim of her own mug, and there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite read. Interest? Curiosity? Probably just friendliness.
“I wasn’t sure if it was okay to call you directly,” she says, leaning back against the counter. “I know I have your number for emergencies, but this doesn’t really qualify. I’d just seen you at the restaurant, so I think you were on my mind...”
On my mind. Fuck. The thought of her thinking about me makes my blood run south fast. I can feel my cock straining against my zipper, and I shift my body slightly so she can’t see what those three little words have done to me.
“No, it’s completely fine to call me about stuff like this. Call or text me whenever you need something.” I hear how that sounds and add quickly, “For the apartment, I mean. Or reservations. Whatever.”
Real eloquent.
“Good to know,” she says, and there’s a smile playing on her lips that makes me wonder if she caught my fumble.
“Speaking of the restaurant, my sister and I couldn’t stop talking about it.
I’ve been to loads of nice places over the years, but I think that risotto was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. ”
“Thanks, that’s nice to hear. Alex will be thrilled. He takes his risotto very seriously.”
“Well, he should. It was perfect.” She takes another sip of coffee. “The whole experience was just... I don’t know. It felt special. You’ve built something really lovely there.”
“We try. It’s been a lot of work getting it where we want it, but it’s worth it when people enjoy themselves.” I look down at my coffee, feeling oddly exposed by the compliment.
Is she flirting with me? No. She’s just being friendly and I’m reading into it because I haven’t gotten laid in forever and my body has apparently decided this redhead is the answer to all my problems.
She laughs, and it’s light and warm. “Well, you’re definitely succeeding. My sister was ready to move here just for the food.”
She leans back and hops up onto the counter behind her, settling there with her legs dangling, ankles crossed.
Despite the coffee, my throat feels dry at the sight of her sitting there, the hem of those shorts riding up even higher on her thighs.
I barely know this woman. I have no idea why she has such a pull on me.
I want to brush it off as pure physical attraction—it’s been long enough that anyone would get me going—but it feels like more than that each time I see her.
She’s smart and funny and lights up when she talks about teaching, and that combination is dangerous.
“So, uh, how’s teaching going?” I ask.
She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear and tilts her head. “Really good. I mean, it’s hard, harder than I expected, but I still love it. At the end of the day I feel like I’m doing something that matters, you know? And even when the kids make me crazy, the good moments make it all worth it.”
I lean back against the opposite counter, putting some much-needed distance between us. “I know I’ve said it before, but Chloe really does talk about you constantly. I’ve never seen her this excited about school. I mean it.”
“Don’t make me cry,” she laughs, and her whole face lights up. “Honestly, she reminds me a bit of myself at that age. Just this ball of curiosity and energy. I want to make sure she stays that way, you know? That she doesn’t lose that spark.”
I take another sip of coffee. “ She needs that sometimes. Someone who gets her.”