Chapter 5
Cal opened the van’s sliding side door and stalled for time by fiddling with junk on the floor, pretending he needed to make room for his gear.
The toolbox was overkill for this small job, but he’d learned a long time ago that it was less annoying to come to a task fully prepared than to have to trudge back and forth to the van a hundred times for tools he hadn’t thought he’d need.
His dumbass words from inside came back to him. I thought Vic was here. I need to speak with him.
Now it seemed so obvious. Vic was an androgynous name, as equally likely to be the short form of a feminine name as a masculine one.
Why had he automatically assumed it would be a man arranging home repairs?
Was he the sexist Melanie had always accused him of being? Vic must think he was an absolute clod.
“Um,” a hesitant voice came from behind him. “Did you say you needed to talk to me?”
Cal gave himself a mental shake. What was wrong with him? He pushed the toolbox into its spot and turned to face Vic.
He stuck out his hand. “I’m Cal. Cal Anderson. Hire a Handyman. You’re Vic.” Cal’s face exploded with heat. Normally he considered himself, if not eloquent, at least capable of speaking in compound sentences. He might as well have introduced himself as Tarzan.
Definitely-not-male Vic smiled up at him.
(Those breasts! Curse her awful mother for pointing them out, but the woman wasn’t wrong.
The long sweater coat thing Vic wore clung cozily.
Very cozily.) Even more distracting than some of her other features, however, were her eyes.
In contrast with her tentative smile, they were big and brown and full of pensive shadows.
(Pensive shadows? Who was he? Some character from a Jane Austen novel?)
“Yes, that’s right. Short for Victoria, not Victor.” Her smile fell away so quickly that Cal wondered briefly if he’d imagined it in the first place. The sadness in her eyes deepened. No imagining that. “I’m sorry about—” Vic bit her lip and motioned back toward the house. “My mother.”
“She’s, uh . . .” Cal was at a loss for words, wanting to be honest, but not hurtful.
“Awful? Terrible? Rude? Mean?” Blotches of color rose on Vic’s cheeks and neck as if she hadn’t meant to blurt all that. “Anyway, I’m very grateful you could come. Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
Cal named his price minus the pain-in-the-butt tax he’d originally planned to add after tangling with Vic’s mom. “Carrie, my . . . assistant, will invoice you sometime next week. You can pay by credit card or eTransfer.”
“Great, thanks.” A tiny crease appeared between Vic’s brows. It was cute. “Is that all?”
Right. He’d asked her to “talk” outside.
That implied more than a one-liner about billing.
“I was careful with your old toilet and tried gentle, consistent plunging first. Then, when that didn’t work, I used the toilet auger.
It’s designed specifically to avoid scratching the porcelain bowl, but sometimes even with the most careful work, old pipes crack or break, especially if there’s already some corrosion. ”
Vic nodded.
Cal groaned inwardly. What was he doing? Telling her that he’d damaged her pipes? What was she supposed to say to that?
“Also, I don’t know if you’re aware of it or not, but the grout on the tiles in that bathroom needs resealing, and I noticed the window doesn’t close all the way.
Must lose a ton of heat out of that room in the winter.
” He held up his hands like she’d already accused him of something.
“I’m not making things up to get work from you or anything. I swear.”
Vic’s sheet of shiny hair swayed as she shook her head. “I know you aren’t,” she said urgently. “I’m not my mother.”
“Says every woman.” Cal meant the comment as a joke but regretted the words immediately when he saw how they landed. Vic visibly winced and took a step back.
“There are quite a few repairs that should be done sooner rather than later,” she said apologetically, as if she was worried that asking a person who literally fixed things for his livelihood was somehow inappropriate. “Is there any chance you’re available?”
It was Cal’s turn to sound apologetic. “November and early December are pretty booked up, unfortunately.”
Vic sighed and nodded as if she’d expected to hear as much. “Well, thanks again.” She took a step toward the house as if that was that.
“But if you can wait until mid-December, I could probably fit a few things in—and then I can make your work a priority in January till you’re satisfied.”
“Oh, that would be great. I’m not in a rush. They’ve waited this long, after all. Thank you.”
Cal pulled his wallet from his back pocket and withdrew a business card. “Email me a list of what you want done.”
A small gust of wind kicked up as he went to pass the card to her, stealing it from his hand and sending it fluttering toward the ground.
Vic bent in a flash to save the card from landing in a mud puddle. That was another thing that should be done around here, Cal observed. The potholes in the gravel driveway hollered for attention. As she stooped, something square and orange threw itself out of her pocket and landed by her feet.
Cal reached out and rescued the package.
It was a bar of soap—really good-smelling soap.
He was fully intending to hand it back to her, of course, but Vic, suddenly pale-faced and frantic, snatched it from him like he was stealing it or like it might burst into flame or something.
She shoved it deep into her pocket again, along with his business card. What the heck?
He didn’t get a chance to ask what the deal was with the soap because she’d turned on her high heels and bolted back to her house.
Weird. Cal lingered by his van for a moment.
Should he go after her to see if she was all right?
Or confirm that she still wanted him to work for her after all this, whatever “this” was?
No, he decided. She’d email him or she wouldn’t.
He honestly couldn’t decide which option he was hoping for more.
No, that was a lie. He wanted her to contact him.
Of course, he did. But what was with him and his attraction to women with issues?
Okay, scratch that. He kind of knew now.
Still, he hated that the more problems a woman seemed to have, the more drawn he was to them.
And with a mother like hers, plus whatever the thing with the soap was, Vic seemed like she might have, well, at least a problem or two.