Chapter Six
I had expected Rhett to be upset when I returned to Marigold’s. I hadn’t expected to find him with his head in the ceiling.
“Uh… hi.”
He jumped in response, his back knocking into the wall as the stool he balanced on wobbled. In my mind, I lurched forward and successfully steadied it. In reality, I stumbled over something heavy and careened straight toward Rhett’s legs.
Bouncing off him, an embarrassing shriek left my lips as I flailed for a grip on the windowsill but found only air.
My bottom met hardwood with a thud, and I watched in latent horror as the stool immediately tipped to the floor.
In the blink of an eye, his body followed gravity, dropping down on top of me.
I squeaked as the full force of his weight nearly squished me. Rhett groaned and propped himself up, something flashing in his eyes as they narrowed on my face.
“I tripped!” I explained, face reddening. My head lolled to the side, and I pointed to the culprit. “Who leaves hammers just… just laying around?!”
When I turned back, his annoyed sigh fanned across my face. “Who trips over a hammer? Did you just learn to walk yesterday?”
Me. The answer was me.
Momentarily dumbstruck, I placed both my hands on Rhett’s chest and pushed.
Slowly, as if blatantly unaffected by my attempt, he rose to his knees and leaned back onto his haunches.
The corner of his lips lifted a fraction as he extended a gloved hand.
I took it with a huff and let him pull me to a seated position on the floor.
After another beat of silence, Rhett spoke. “You’re not hurt, are you? Because if I have to haul you to the ER, I’m billing you for my time.” He pulled his work gloves off finger by finger before placing them on top of his tool bag.
“Nothing but a bruised ego.” I smoothed my hair with my palms and rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. “I’m sorry, I—I’m a bit clumsy.”
The unexpected laugh that fell from his lips made my cheeks flush with something other than embarrassment. Frustration, maybe. That was it.
“More like a wrecking ball,” Rhett replied with a surprising amount of warmth. His eyes that had seemed impossibly dark shone golden brown in the afternoon light. The fall knocked a black lock from his otherwise neat hair, making the shadow of a smile on his lips appear almost roguish.
If he weren’t so insufferably emotionless.
“You ran into me this morning, too,” he explained, brows having drawn together.
Oh, right—I was staring. At the guy I definitely disliked.
Clearing my throat, I hopped to my feet and exhaled. “Why were you on the stool, anyway? Couldn’t you get a ladder?” I gathered my hair in one hand to get it off my neck.
Rhett stood and squinted at me. “I didn’t want to leave your shop unattended.”
“Well, I can’t say being open does me a lot of good when I have handymen—” I thrashed my arms toward the ceiling— “Falling from the skies. It’s like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
He laughed again, dry this time. “I can assure you, I would have been fine if a human battering ram didn’t walk through the door.”
I could feel my temper flare deep in my chest. “I said I was sorry.”
Rhett opened his mouth, scratched the back of his neck, and seemed to rethink his response. Instead, he crouched to the floor and began gathering his tools back into his bag. I watched with thinly veiled annoyance as he slung the strap over his shoulder and rose to his feet.
We stared at each other. He blinked, the bored expression having returned.
“You’re leaving?” I nearly snapped, motioning spasmodically to the missing section of drywall on the ceiling and adjoining wall. “I don’t know if you know this, but typically something goes there.”
Rhett began to reply when a loud clang sounded behind him. He paled and his eyes grew large.
A faint drip to our right.
“What’s that—”
I was promptly cut off by a louder clang and a plague-level gush of water bursting from the wall. Fruitlessly shielding my hair, I froze, my instincts about as helpful as a baby deer.
He dropped his tool bag, cursed, and tried to block the spray with his hand. “Do you know how to shut off the water?” Rhett shouted over his shoulder, looking as if he was weathering a hurricane.
“I—” My heart dropped to my stomach. The torrent was pounding into everything—the floral coolers, the already-water-damaged floor, and my poor ferns. Scraping my hair off my face, I continued to sputter even as he moved closer to inspect the pipe. I wanted to cry.
“I can’t do anything with the water on!” Rhett yelled.
“I don’t—” I grimaced. “I don’t know how.”
Without missing a beat, he turned on his heel and pushed a lock of wet hair from his eyes. “Show me where the back is?”
Nodding, I scrambled to the opposite side of the shop and unlocked the alley door. We burst outside. He darted straight for the water meter attached to the wall, his hands deftly shooting to the pipe beside it.
Rhett crouched low, twisting the large valve with both hands until his knuckles went white. The hiss of water inside the wall slowed to a trickle, but his shoulders were still taut beneath the sodden flannel.
“Good news,” he grunted, boots scraping on the pavement as he rose. “I got the main shut off.”
My exhale of relief caught in my throat at his next words.
“Bad news? That pipe’s shot to hell. You’ll be swimming eventually if we don’t patch it now.”
“Swimming? My shop?” I swallowed and frantically glanced back inside.
Rhett shot me a look—partly exasperated, slightly amused—dark hair plastered to his forehead. “Come on.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Fetch me every towel you’ve got and something to catch the water. Bucket, pot, vase, I don’t care.”
I scrambled back inside, nearly slipping on the puddles spreading across the floor.
My sneakers squeaked as I dutifully gathered a few empty flower buckets and the biggest pots from my closet.
I deposited them at the front and retreated for an armful of towels from the backroom.
By the time I returned again, Rhett was already on his knees in the corner, having sawed even more plasterboard from the wall.
“Hold this.” He shoved the flashlight at me without looking.
I fumbled, nearly dropping it into the puddle his knees were soaked in. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just…aim,” Rhett mumbled.
Huddling beside him, I tried to ignore the way his shoulder brushed mine every time he leaned forward. I fixed my eyes to the wall, determined not to notice the corded tension of his muscles as he wrestled with the pipe.
Water suddenly sprayed on my wrist, and I nearly fell backward in response.
Rhett clamped a hand over the crack in the pipe while more water leaked between his fingers. “Panic later. Right now, hand me the silicone tape in my tool bag.”
I nodded erratically and ripped through the bag, tossing aside pliers and heavy tools until I found the roll of white tape he was nodding toward. Passing it over, I murmured, “You make this sound like a normal Thursday.”
Rhett gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “This was every summer for me since I can remember.”
For ten breathless minutes we worked in tandem—I held the light, attempted to locate tools, and pressed towels against the worst of the leaks while he wrapped the pipe in layer after layer of tape. The water slowed, then finally stopped, the spurts and trickles replaced by blessed silence.
Rhett sat back on his heels, soaked and streaked with grime. He wiped a hand across his face and muttered, “Temporary fix. You’ll need a new line put in.”
I sagged onto my haunches, relief flooding my chest. “I don’t even care. Right now, I could hug you.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t make it weird.” Then, he flexed his hands and rose to his feet. “You’ll have to close the shop, Georgie.”
My skin grew cold. The gaping holes in my drywall, coupled with the steady drip, drip, drip of the plants by my window and veritable ocean on my floor made something inside burst. I hated to show anyone this side of me.
I hated that Rhett, of all people, was watching me unravel into a blubbering mess.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying. There’s about a thousand things on my mind, and I don’t know how I’m going to handle one more.
It’s just… if anyone hears that I let Marigold’s get this bad, I—” Sniffling, I swallowed the ramblings and stood.
Wherever that came from, I’d have to box it away.
It was just so easy to come undone around him.
“This isn’t your problem. Thank you—thank you for helping,” I finished weakly.
He followed suit, watching me as if I’d spontaneously grown a second head. “It’s not permanent. Just until the repairs are made.”
“That’s the thing, though. Repairs require money. And, I don’t know if you can tell—” I motioned around us. “But I don’t have any of that. Most people don’t need a small business grant just to fix a broken awning and some loose floorboards.”
Those people were good at operating their business. I, on the other hand, was the biggest failure on Main Street. Perhaps even the East Coast.
Rhett sucked in a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry about that.”
“What?” I wiped two hands over my face, even though I couldn’t delineate between my tears and the pipe water.
“I can fix it.” He rubbed his jaw and appraised the pipe beside us that was mostly held together by white stripes of silicone. “I probably dinged it with my drywall saw. So, you shouldn’t have to pay for the repairs.”
“You dinged it—” I paused and scanned the pipe. “—five times?”
Rhett shrugged. “What can I say? You hired a sketchy handyman.”
My eyes narrowed. He folded his arms and appeared to continue studying his work, occasionally peering up into the ceiling. Why would he help me? Did he pity me? My stomach turned as I searched for whatever semi-dry towels I could find and laid them across the marshland of a floor.
When I was done, I started for the mop in the closet, but stopped and frowned. “Why did you have me get buckets and pots to catch the water when you just needed tape?”
I watched in fascination as his shoulders grew rigid. He cleared his throat and appeared to tinker with the pipe.
“Because,” Rhett mumbled matter-of-factly, “I could tell that it would help if you had something to do. It’s hard to be worried when your hands are full.”
I stared at him, momentarily forgetting to find the mop. “How did you know that?”
Rhett finally looked over, expression unreadable. “Don’t make it weird again.”
My laugh came out watery, half a sob and half a snort. “You’re the weird one. Who says stuff like that?”
He ignored me, straightening to his full height. The hem of his shirt steadily dripped, pooling at his boots. Rhett picked up his gloves, turned them over in his hands, and muttered, “What are you gonna do while the shop’s closed?”
Right. Marigold’s had to close—I was officially out of options.
No more staying open with the hope someone would finally wander inside.
A fresh wave of nausea crashed over me. Missed income meant another missed bill, another notice in the mail, and another step closer to shuttering the shop for good.
I opened my mouth, but the thick lump in my throat made words impossible.
What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t hope anymore?
Rhett must have seen it in my face. He let out a long sigh, low and resigned. “Look. I’ll get it fixed as quickly as I can.”
“What about everything else?” I blinked at him. “All the booths for the Summer’s End Festival…”
Something flickered across his face before he bent to sling his tool bag over his shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”
And that was it. He was moving toward the door, leaving me standing in the middle of my soggy battlefield, staring after him as the familiar, crushing weight pressed onto my shoulders.
“Wait.” My voice squeaked.
At the threshold, he paused, his hand braced against the frame. Without turning, he said, “Yes?”
“Can I help you?” I took a step toward him. “With the booths, I mean. As a… payment for the plumbing repairs?
Rhett’s jaw clenched. He had to know it was a bad idea. I didn’t even know where the water shut-off valve was—how was I supposed to help him build custom booths from a pile of wood? But I needed this. On top of everything else, I couldn’t deal with the guilt of this stranger pitying me.
“Sure.”
He didn’t look back. The bell rang as it swung closed behind him, the only thing proving that I hadn’t hallucinated. I sank to the floor, a sodden towel squelching beneath me, my hair sticking in frizzing tendrils around my face.
The shop smelled like wet plaster and wilting dreams. My ferns sagged, leaves heavy with the onslaught of water, as though mourning alongside me.
I buried my face in my hands. I swore to save this place, to prove to everyone—Margot, Wes, Serena, Teddy—that betting my future on Bluebell Cove wasn’t a mistake. But tonight it felt like all I’d done was prove them right.
Still…
Rhett had vowed to stay and fix it.
And for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, that thought kept me from dissolving into a lump of worry.
Which is when I decided: fine. He could hate every second of this—but we were stuck together, and I was annoyingly good at making the best of things.