Chapter 12
SIX YEARS AGO || OCTOBER
I’m not the kind of girl who calls guys at night. I’m definitely not the kind who calls guys late at night.
I don’t really call anyone at night, in fact, unless my mother insists that we must talk right this very moment and texting is deemed insufficient.
By her, of course. Texting is always sufficient for me. I am stupidly bad at talking on the phone, and I think it’s because I don’t properly plan what I’m going to say beforehand.
This Friday evening, however, I find myself pulling up Dominic’s phone number at nine-thirty.
We’ve spent the last several weeks studying together a few afternoons a week.
Sometimes we talk a lot, sometimes we don’t.
He’s either easily distracted or difficult to pry away from his work; there’s very little in between.
We text most days, though, about when we’re meeting up next or about things that remind us of home.
He doesn’t seem to enjoy school, no matter how hard he works. It always puts a tired furrow between his brows. So tonight I’m glad to be asking him about something totally different.
It takes a few rings for him to pick up the phone.
“Berkeley,” he says briskly down the line.
I let out a mock gasp as I settle myself on my bed, because he’s supposed to call me Reese. “Rude.”
“Sorry,” he says with a tsk, “but a late-night call usually means only one thing, and I can’t condone such behavior.”
“Yes, well, tonight the late-night call means we’ve lost our hot water,” I say, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing.
I zip the feather charm back and forth on the chain around my neck, a habit I’ve never been able to rid myself of.
It comes out when I’m jittery or anxious or full of energy.
“Maintenance won’t be able to get here until Monday.
Do you have experience with water heaters, Mr. Handyman? ”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” he says after a second of surprised silence. “As long as you and your roommates promise not to take advantage of me, that is.”
“We would never.”
“Liar. I got nothing but googly eyes from the girl you were with when I bumped into you on campus last week.”
“She had a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”
I can hear the crooked smile on his lips when he answers. “Do you have a toolbox in case I need it?”
“You’re talking to the daughter of Reginald Berkeley,” I say, standing right back up. I cross to the closet I share with my roommate Melissa and pull it open, my eyes falling to the plastic box on the floor beside my shoes. “Of course I have a toolbox.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
And, to his credit, Dominic arrives exactly ten minutes later, dressed in a henley and faded jeans.
I hear him before I see him. A clattering sound comes from the other side of the front door, and when I open it, I find Dom setting our wooden scarecrow upright.
Dom jerks his chin at the waist-high yard decoration. “This guy’s picking fights.”
I frown at him with censure. “Picking fights? He’s not that kind of scarecrow. See the welcome sign he’s holding?”
Dominic’s sparkling eyes jump to the sign in the scarecrow’s hands, which does indeed read Welcome.
Then, with twitching lips, he looks back at me and lets his gaze roam over my outfit.
“A scarecrow decoration and a Halloween t-shirt? You’re feeling the season.
I figured you for more of a flannel girl. ”
“Thinking about me in pajamas?”
The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, before I can think better of them, and by the time I realize what I’ve said, it’s too late.
Dominic’s jaw snaps shut, and even in the sickly yellow porch light I can see a flush rising up his neck. But his response is easy, casual.
“Dream on, Berkeley,” he says. “Now show me the water heater.”
I spin on my heel and hurry back inside, grateful for a moment where he can’t see my face. I lead him through the living room, past the windows draped in twinkly lights and the couch with its little ghost pillow.
“What’s that I’m smelling?” he says from behind me.
“A pumpkin spice candle, and I am not ashamed,” I say.
Dom gives a skeptical hum. “No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think that’s it.”
I clear my throat to hide my embarrassment. “I also might have made stir-fry earlier, and there was a lot of onion, and it was delicious.”
“Ah,” he says. “Yep. That’s the one.”
I look over my shoulder at Dominic, but all I can make out is the laughter in his gaze—which is where his true feelings come through most, I’m slowly discovering. The same facial expression could mean five different things depending on what you see in his eyes.
We round the corner into the hallway, the score from Hocus Pocus filtering down from the bedroom at the end of the hall, where my roommates have promised to stay while Dom is here.
They’re enthusiastically interested in my love life—and their own. It’s better this way. So I just open the closet on the right and point inside at the ancient water heater.
“Google said there were multiple things that could be wrong, so I decided to bring in the big guns.” When he doesn’t respond, I clarify, “You. You’re the big guns.”
He steps past me and into the closet, flicking the light on and peering around. Then he crosses to a panel on the wall, opening it.
“I’m going to let you do your thing,” I say, because there’s not room for both of us in here, and I still have homework to do before I go to bed.
He waves vaguely over his shoulder at me, clearly at ease, so I let him be. I return to my room and pass Melissa’s bed to flop down on mine.
It’s weird having him in my apartment. I like it too much.
I like him, and it needs to stop.
I’m just not sure how.
It’s very ambitious to think I can get any homework done while he’s here, but I do try. My efforts last about three minutes before I give up and pull up my work portal instead. I’m able to knock out one creative brief before I hear Dominic.
“Reese,” he calls softly, and I scramble off the bed, popping my head out the door.
“Yeah,” I say, as though I haven’t been waiting for him to finish. “Figure it out?”
He nods as he steps fully out of the water heater closet. “I think you need a new thermocouple.”
The word rings a bell, doubtless from spending time in my dad’s shop, but I don’t recall much now. “Is it one-size-fits-all? Can I order it online?”
“Eh,” he says slowly. “I can run and grab one for you. That would probably be easier.”
I blink, trailing down the hall to him. “Really?”
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “It would probably have to be tomorrow, but I can do it.”
“Can I buy you lunch as a thank you?” That’s not a weird thing to ask him, is it? And lunch should be allowed. He’s doing work for me.
“Depends,” he says, exhaling loudly and stretching. “Are you going to make me eat chicken salad?”
I can’t help smiling at this. “You would be lucky if I did, but no. Your choice. Within reason,” I add hastily.
“In that case, yes. I guess I’ll allow you to feed me lunch tomorrow.”
“Good of you.”
He hums and closes the closet, heading back to the front door.
“One more thing,” I say as his hand comes to rest on the door knob.
He turns to look at me, his brows lifting.
“Want to be the official handyman of this apartment?”
A small but genuine smile tugs over his lips, and his eyes sparkle. “I would love nothing more.”
And it sounds like he means it.