Chapter Three
Repairs and Revelations
Mr. Dillingham returned my call six hours after the ceiling collapsed.
He behaved as though the leaking pipe had been an inconvenience I created for attention.
“I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you think,” he said through the phone.
I stood beneath the missing ceiling tiles and stared at the exposed beams.
“Sir, part of your building tried to drown me.”
Mr. Dillingham sighed. “I’ll send someone within the week.”
“You’ll send someone tomorrow.”
“I’m currently in Houston.”
“Your location has no effect on water damage.”
“My regular contractor is unavailable.”
“I have a contractor.”
There was a pause.
“How much is he charging?” Mr. Dillingham asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Don’t authorize anything without approval.”
I smiled even though he couldn’t see me. “Then approve it.”
The next morning, I arrived at the bookstore to find two Vance Restoration trucks parked outside.
Three workers carried plastic sheeting and equipment through the entrance.
LaKeith stood near the damaged section, speaking to Jakari.
I dropped my purse onto the counter. “What is happening?”
LaKeith turned toward me. “Good morning.”
“Do not ‘good morning’ me while invading my business.”
His workers exchanged glances and kept moving.
“I told you I would handle this,” I said.
“You told me your landlord would send somebody within the week.”
“He said he was working on it.”
LaKeith pointed toward the exposed ceiling. “Your insurance company will love that.”
“You can’t keep arriving and taking over.”
“I’m preventing mold.”
“You are overstepping.”
“You have damp drywall above books, carpet, and customers.”
“Stop using facts during an argument.”
LaKeith’s mouth twitched. “I’ll try to fight dumber next time.”
“LaKeith.”
“Mr. Dillingham approved the work.”
I blinked. “When?”
“This morning.”
“You called my landlord?”
“He called me after I emailed photographs, a repair estimate, the section of your lease that holds him responsible for structural plumbing, and a reminder that customers witnessed the incident.”
I stared at him.
LaKeith folded his arms. “He’s paying.”
“How did you get a copy of my lease?”
His gaze shifted toward the café.
I turned slowly.
Norelle ducked behind the espresso machine.
“Traitor!” I shouted.
“You’re welcome!” she called back.
LaKeith’s crew worked for three days.
They removed damaged drywall, replaced the broken pipe, treated the area for mold, installed new ceiling tiles, and repainted the section.
LaKeith came each morning.
Some days, he worked alongside the crew. Other days, he sat in the café with his laptop, reviewing estimates and answering calls while drinking coffee he insisted was too fancy for a man who preferred his beverages “brown, hot, and uncomplicated.”
Every afternoon, he purchased a book.
By the third day, I stopped asking whether he was truly reading them.
Instead, I started asking what he thought.
“The hero apologized too fast,” LaKeith said as I rang up his latest purchase.
“He apologized for three chapters.”
“He humiliated her in front of her family.”
“He bought her a vineyard.”
“Grapes don’t erase trauma.”
I paused with his credit card in my hand.
LaKeith leaned against the counter. “What?”
“That was a solid point.”
“I have those occasionally.”
“I wouldn’t become arrogant.”
“Too late.”
That evening, after his crew left, we sat across from each other at a café table eating shrimp fried rice directly from the cartons.
Rain tapped against the front windows.
Norelle had gone to meet someone for drinks. Jakari claimed he had another job, though Norelle had spent twenty minutes accusing him of leaving because he feared losing another argument.
The store smelled like coffee, paper, fresh paint, and LaKeith’s cologne.
I twisted noodles around my fork. “How did you get into restoration?”
“My grandfather,” LaKeith answered. “Silas Vance.”
“Was he a contractor?”
“Carpenter. The old-school kind. He could build cabinets without looking at instructions and tell whether a wall was crooked from across the room.”
“Is he the one who raised you?”
“My mother raised me. Grandpa helped keep me out of prison.”
I looked up.
LaKeith’s expression remained calm, though his eyes had changed.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” I said.
“I was nineteen,” he explained. “I had friends with fast money, clean cars, and bad ideas. One night, I got into a car I knew didn’t belong to the driver.”
“What happened?”
“We were stopped. There was a gun under the passenger seat and stolen property in the trunk.”
My appetite disappeared.
LaKeith continued. “I sat in parish jail for eight months waiting for my case to be resolved. The men I was trying to impress suddenly couldn’t remember my name.”
“Were the charges dropped?”
“Most of them. I still pleaded guilty to receiving stolen property because I knew the car was hot.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It was embarrassing. Fear came later.”
“What do you mean?”
LaKeith rested his fork inside the carton. “At nineteen, I thought getting arrested made me look tough. Then I watched my mother cry during visitation. I watched my grandfather sell tools to pay my attorney. That was when I understood what my choices were costing other people.”
“What happened when you came home?”
“My grandfather handed me a hammer and told me I owed him eight months of work.”
I smiled faintly. “No emotional reunion?”
“He hugged me first. Then he handed me the hammer.”
“I like him already.”
“He was a good man.” LaKeith looked around the bookstore. “He liked restoring old buildings. He said people were too eager to tear down things they didn’t understand.”
“You followed him into the business?”
“I learned framing, roofing, electrical work, plumbing, anything he could teach me. Then I started taking side jobs.”
“When did you open your company?”
“At twenty-seven.”
“You built Vance Restoration from scratch?”
“Pretty much.”
I tilted my head. “Why do you say that like it isn’t impressive?”
“Because being impressive wasn’t the goal. Staying free and taking care of my family was.”
The quiet stretched comfortably between us.
I looked at the faded scar near his wrist. “How did you get that?”
“Fell through a rotten porch.”
“That is less dramatic than I expected.”
“It hurt dramatically.”
I laughed.
LaKeith picked up his fork again. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why a bookstore?”
“You’ve never asked?”
“I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”
The answer was so unexpectedly considerate that I stared at him.
LaKeith smiled slightly. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No. You said something annoyingly mature.”
“I can take it back.”
I glanced toward the shelves Mama’s books occupied.
“My mother loved romances,” I began. “She worked at a dry cleaner and read during every break. She could finish a book in two days, then complain for a week if the ending disappointed her.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“She would have liked you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
LaKeith’s expression softened. “I would have liked her too.”
I looked down at my food. “She died before I could open the store. We planned it together, though. She chose the name.”
“Between the Lines.”
“She said the best parts of love were often hidden there.”
LaKeith’s gaze stayed on me. “She was right.”
Emotion pressed against my throat.
I reached for humor before vulnerability could embarrass me.
“Now tell me why you aren’t married. A man with a functioning business, a vocabulary, and all his teeth should have been captured by now.”
LaKeith rubbed his beard. “Are you interviewing me?”
“Curiosity does not equal interest.”
“Of course.”
“Answer the question.”
“I spent a lot of years trying to prove I wasn’t the same nineteen-year-old who got arrested. Every relationship came after work, family, and whatever crisis needed fixing.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was. Then I dated a woman who liked the version of me she thought she could create. When I didn’t become him, she found somebody more cooperative.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” LaKeith leaned back. “She taught me that being chosen for my potential isn’t the same as being loved for who I am.”
The sentence slipped beneath my defenses before I could stop it.
I stared into my carton.
“What about you?” he asked gently.
“You already know about Remell.”
“Norelle gave me a summary.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Norelle had no business telling you anything.”
“She said you had an ex who confused forgiveness with unlimited data.”
That sounded exactly like her.
“Remell was charming,” I said. “He could make a lie sound like a surprise party. I thought he believed in me. It turned out he believed in accessing my credit.”
LaKeith’s jaw tightened.
“I recovered most of the money eventually,” I continued. “The wedding fund disappeared. My trust went with it.”
“So you shut everybody out.”
“I redirected my energy.”
“You built a wall.”
“I established boundaries.”
“You installed a drawbridge and released crocodiles into the water.”
“They’re emotional-support crocodiles.”
LaKeith laughed.
I smiled despite myself.
Then he reached across the table and rested his hand palm-up between us.
He didn’t grab me.
He didn’t demand anything.
He waited.
I looked at his hand.
Large. Callused. Steady.
My own hand moved before fear could stop it.
I placed it inside his.
His fingers closed gently around mine.
A small touch should not have felt so intimate.
I suddenly understood why romance authors could stretch a handhold across six pages.
“You’re shaking,” LaKeith murmured.
“I had caffeine.”
“You drank herbal tea.”
“I am experiencing delayed coffee.”
He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles.
Heat moved straight through me.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” LaKeith said.
I swallowed.
There were a hundred intelligent reasons to decline.
My mouth ignored every one of them.
“Yes.”
His smile made me regret agreeing and anticipate it at the same time.
“Seven?” he asked.
“Seven.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“That’s fine.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You aren’t going to argue?”
“You said yes. I’m conserving my energy.”
“For what?”
His thumb moved slowly across the back of my hand.
“Tomorrow.”
I pulled my hand away before I agreed to something else.