Chapter 5
Kai
If there was one thing I’d learned in the few weeks since moving in, it was that Tennessee suburbia had a way of keeping a bloke busy.
Between my uncle’s seemingly endless ‘house projects’ and the neighborhood’s talent for guilt-tripping, I’d somehow become the unofficial handyman of the entire bloody street.
It started with a fence.
The thing had been leaning at a dangerous angle, just one stiff breeze away from giving up on life altogether. Judging by the exhausted circles under its owner's eyes, she might have been close to keeling over too.
Her name was Mel — single mom, two kids, one golden retriever and a voice that carried across the whole cul-de-sac.
She waved me down as I was returning from the gym.
She had sported a desperate half-smile people got when they've reached the end of their tether but still want to pretend everything is fine.
Mel didn't actually ask for help — she just gestured at the sagging fence and sighed as though she'd rehearsed it in front of a mirror. Naturally, I offered to help before I could stop myself.
So this was how I ended up spending my Saturday afternoon hammering in fence posts in the sun, sweating through my shirt while her dog tried to steal my gloves and her toddler offered me a plastic dinosaur for luck.
Halfway through straightening the last section when something moved in my peripheral vision.
Tori.
She was walking down her driveway with a gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the old, rusty Mercury.
Was this rust bucket even capable of driving? Did it break down and that’s why she walked everywhere?
Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, the bright red strands twisting with the darker ones, creating a stunning pattern.
Her expression was unreadable, except for the faint curve of her mouth, which was somewhere between amusement and mild disgust.
“You planning on rebuilding the whole neighborhood, or just hers?” she called, stopping near the fence.
I leaned on the hammer handle, pretending to think about it. “Didn’t like the way it leaned.”
“So you’re fixing it out of spite?”
“Guess so.”
“Right.” Her tone was flat, but her eyes flicked over the mess of tools and wood. “You realize you could’ve just said no, right?”
“To Mel? She offered to pay me in lasagna. I panicked.”
She snorted. “You have a pathological need to be liked.”
I shrugged. “Nah, I just like helping.”
“That’s almost worse.” Tori shook her head.
But I could have sworn I caught the slightest hint of a smile before she turned and walked off. Didn’t stop me from watching her all the way until she disappeared behind her front door.
A few days later, it was furniture.
Not ours this time.
Two suburban moms — one wearing a visor and a tennis skirt and the other clutching a tumbler definitely not filled with water — had enlisted Tāne and me to carry an antique dresser from their garage to the living room.
They claimed it was ‘too heavy for their husbands,’ which was probably true, considering one of those husbands was standing on the porch giving instructions and drinking a beer.
We heaved the thing through the doorway, nearly taking out a light fixture on the way in. The moms hovered nearby, cooing like we were prize horses.
“Oh, look at those arms,” one of them whispered, not even trying to hide it.
Tāne’s cheeks flushed.
“They’re circling.” I adjusted my grip on the dresser.
When we finally put it down, the two women applauded as though we had just won a ribbon. One of them even offered me some lemonade. I declined, fearing it might turn into something stronger.
Stepping outside into the heat, I caught sight of Tori again, standing on her porch with her arms crossed and an expression somewhere between unimpressed and amused.
“Making house calls now? What’s next, rescuing kittens from trees?” she mocked.
“Already did that last week.”
“You’re joking.”
“Wish I was. Cat hated me. Still have the scratch marks.”
“You really do have a pathological need to be liked,” she observed, tilting her head.
“Nah. Just terrible at saying no.”
“That’s even worse.”
A couple of days later, a storm had clogged Mel’s front drain with leaves and God knows what else. Since I’d already built her a new fence gate the previous week, it made sense I should handle this issue too.
By the time Tori got home, I was crouched by the drain, elbow-deep in murky water, fishing out what looked like half the .
“Disgusting,” she observed flatly from right above me.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You volunteering for swamp duty now?”
“Mel reckons her patio floods when it rains. Figured I’d give it a go.”
She blinked down at me, deadpan. “Ever heard of boundaries?”
“Ever heard of gratitude?”
“Ever heard of gloves?”
“Nope.”
That earned me the smallest sound — not quite a laugh, but close enough to make me feel it.
“You’re like a puppy with muscles.”
“Probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still counts. Puppies are cute, so you’re calling me cute.” I grinned up at her.
She pressed her lips together as though fighting a smile and turned on her heel, muttering something I couldn’t make out.
That night, I was sitting on the porch steps with my arms resting on my knees when I spotted movement in the second-floor window next door. Tori was in the process of closing her window when she caught sight of me.
I jerked my chin in her direction. “Don’t worry. I’m done rescuing the neighborhood for the day.”
“Thank God,” she muttered, her hands still on the window frame but not moving to close it any further.
“Unless you’ve got something broken at your place.”
“What there’s still stuff you haven’t fixed around here, Captain America?”
“I’m not American,” I interjected, a grin tugging at my face.
“Details.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Still a hero in need of rescuing.”
I laughed and shook my head. Man, she’s something else. “So I’m a hero who can’t handle his place?”
“You really want me to go there?” She leaned out of the window just a fraction closer. My chest tightened. “Because I’ll tell you anyway — probably not. You’re the kind of hero who gets taken advantage of.”
Her attitude was maddening. Every word, every smirk and every tiny step towards me made my pulse spike. I wanted to challenge her; I wanted to show her I could handle it … whatever it was.
“Not even close.” I leaned forward.
Her eyes glinted with the sharp, teasing fire that always made me second-guess myself.
Tori arched an eyebrow imperiously. “You know, for someone built like a linebacker, you’re not exactly intimidating.”
I grinned. “Keep talking like that and you'll find out what I'm capable of.”
The way she tilted her head made something coil low in my chest. It was dangerous and tempting. I could feel the electricity building between us.
Tori scoffed. “Oh, please. You couldn’t handle me.”
I bit back a groan as my pulse spiked. Fuck. I loved feisty women.
“Yeah?” I rose to my feet and stepped closer to the railing, my grin widening. “Wanna bet?”
She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But you love it,” I shot back, tossing in just enough of a teasing edge to get under her skin.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t love anything about this.”
“Except proving me wrong?” I countered, leaning on the railing.
She huffed and brushed a strand of hair from her face, each movement purposeful. “Keep dreaming, Pretty Boy. I eat men like you for breakfast.”
I shrugged, my chest tight with excitement. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d surprise you.”
She rested her arms on the windowsill and peered at me, raising her brows challengingly. For a moment, it was just the two of us.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tori purred teasingly. “Most guys think they can handle me. They’re wrong.”
I grinned, relishing the challenge. “Yeah? Guess I’m not most guys.”
Her smirk softened into a flicker of amusement — or maybe it was something more.
“We’ll see about that.” Finally, she closed the window. But not before she gave me a glance so intense it made my chest tighten and my mind short-circuit for just a moment.
I stayed on the porch, grinning like an idiot with my heart racing.
Oh, this is going to be fun.