1. Melanie #2
“Plumbing tape,” he murmurs. “Something wrong with your pipes, Melanie?”
My face burns, it goes so hot. I snatch the tape off him, gritting out, “No. My pipes are working perfectly.”
His mouth twitches as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “Haven’t seen your husband ’round lately.”
My mouth parts in shock at his audacity. There’s no way he hasn’t heard what happened or where my ex-husband is. Sterling Creek is a small town, and gossip runs through it like wildfire. Cale looks confused as I forcefully slam the trunk closed, stepping back to put some space between us.
He doesn’t seem like he’s on board with my plan. As soon as I go to walk around him, he reaches out and deftly snatches the tool kit and tape from my hands, nodding toward the house. “Go on. I’ll follow you in.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I mutter testily, but his chin firms stubbornly. Unwilling to engage in a tug-of-war in front of the other neighbors, I reluctantly lead him up the path to my front steps. He waits quietly, his eyes searing into my back as I unlock the door and push it open.
“Where’s Oakley?” Cale asks as he follows me inside, looking around my living room curiously as I stand awkwardly, still holding the door, glad I cleaned up last night.
I follow his stare, taking in the L-shaped sectional that dominates the open space, the dove-gray walls with a white trim, and the lush charcoal carpet.
“Oakley’s at school.” I point toward the side table by the couch. “You can put it all down there.”
“Right.” He does as I ask, smiling wryly as he rubs the back of his neck.
“It’s Monday. This last week has been so crazy, I lost track of my days.
” Cale looks around again, and I catch it when he zeros in on some pictures on the wall.
Oakley as a red-cheeked baby, the two of us at the playground, one of him in his uniform, ready for his first-ever baseball game.
Cale’s attention lingers on those photos, and my mouth thins, already knowing what he’s not seeing.
“So, I’d better get—”
“You haven’t told me what the problem is,” he interrupts. My neighbor looks at me now, something indecipherable flashing through rich maple eyes.
I fold my arms over my chest, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that I put a bra on this morning before taking Oakley to school. No bra is one bonus of working from home, and I take advantage of it most days.
“It’s a small leak,” I say with forced brightness. “I’ve got everything in hand. Oak and I are going to watch YouTube videos.”
“YouTube,” Cale repeats disbelievingly, his eyes flaring. “You’re going to fix a leak by watching YouTube videos?”
“There are experienced plumbers making content. It’s a thing.” My nose inches into the air at his tone. “It’s a perfectly acceptable method for learning.”
“I suppose you’ll be moving onto electricity next.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my prerogative. Now, if you don’t mind”—I gesture toward the still-open door with an exaggerated flourish—“I’d like to get everything organized before Oakley gets home. Thank you for your help, but—”
He steps closer—not to the door, but to me.
His cologne tickles my nose, a woodsy musk that has my pulse fluttering.
I fix my stare on his chin, studying the square jaw, wondering if romance authors would describe it as chiseled.
He isn’t clean-shaven, dark bristles covering the lower half of his face.
It doesn’t detract from his looks. If anything, it enhances them.
He leans down slightly until all I can see is him, his eyes blazing intently into mine.
This close, I notice a small scar on his temple, a sliver of white against olive skin, and the flecks in his eyes that look almost golden.
His dark hair flops forward over his forehead, and my palms itch to push it back.
“You don’t like me.” His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile, and a pit forms in my stomach. “Do you, Melanie?”
It’s a battle to keep my expression neutral, but I manage. “I don’t know you well enough not to like you.”
“We’ve been neighbors for years,” he protests lightly. “We know each other.”
I scoff. “We’re acquaintances. Passing ones. You know, the kind who wave at each other because it’s polite, but we never ask how are you, because we don’t actually care.”
He blinks before a rough chuckle rolls out of him. “Thought about this a lot, have you?” A serious expression crosses his face. “Look, I don’t know what went down with Dennis—”
“Davis.”
He frowns. “What?”
“You said Dennis. His name is Davis.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Something sparks in his eyes. “I don’t know what went down with Dexter, but if you ever need anything, I’m your guy.” He falters just slightly before adding, “Well, your neighbor. I’m your neighbor.”
“Right,” I drawl. “Well, neighbor, thank you for your help. I’m good now. I’m sure there’s another helpless damsel out there for you to play hero with.”
“Yeah, okay.” His amusement falls away, and I almost feel bad.
Almost. “Look, my friend is in construction. He owns Rough Oak Builders. He’s not a plumber, but he knows his way around pipes.
” His eyes gleam at the double entendre, and inwardly, I roll my eyes.
“Why don’t I give him a call? He can come check out the leak, and if he can’t fix it, I know he’s got some names he can give you. ”
“I can handle this on my own,” I say doggedly.
Cale’s eyes bounce between mine before he shakes his head, stepping through the door. He looks back at me. “Fine. If you change your mind—”
“I know where to find you,” I finish, giving him one last pleasant smile…right as I shut the door in his face. I press my forehead against the cool wood, waiting to hear his footsteps. It’s only a few seconds, each one feeling like an eternity, and then he slowly walks away.
It takes a minute—or several—before my heart settles back into a semi-normal rhythm as I contemplate what just happened. I don’t know what it is about that man, but I’ve never felt as on edge as I do right now.
I’ve never responded to anyone like that. Even my reaction to Davis felt like a watered-down version of whatever’s happening in my body right now.
There are some things I know for certain.
One being that Cale is single—unapologetically so.
The woman who left his house this morning was unfamiliar, but she’s also not the first one I’ve seen leaving that house on an early morning.
Another thing I know is that as much as my neighbor makes my palms sweat and butterflies soar to life in my belly, I don’t need another man in my life—or Oakley’s.
Not when we’re still repairing the damage the last one did.