Miss Fix-It Read online

  Tonight had shown me exactly why I didn’t want children.

  I opened the door and almost collided with Brantley in the hall. We both stilled, each of us half-gasping as we almost touched.

  “I need to put Eli to bed,” he said softly.

  “Right. Sure.” I slipped to the side. “Goodnight, Eli.”

  He peered out from behind Brantley with a shy smile. “Night, Kali.”

  I smiled a little wider and gripped the banister. His golden-brown hair was still damp, but Brantley ushered him into the room all the same. He wore nothing but fitted, navy pants and a white shirt. He’d unbuttoned the shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

  Awkwardly, I hovered halfway down the stairs.

  Did I stay? Did I go? I was wearing my client’s t-shirt. So many things were wrong with this situation.

  “Daddy?” Ellie shuffled out of her room. “I need a pwat.”

  Brantley poked his head out of the door. “Can you give me a couple minutes, princess?”

  She pouted.

  “You want a plait?” the words left my mouth without warning.

  Ellie nodded at me.

  “I can do your hair,” I said softly.

  Ellie’s eyes widened and she looked at Brantley.

  He shrugged. “If Kali can do it, then sure.”

  I nodded and smiled. “Come on, Ellie. Grab me a hairbrush and tie and I’ll do it for you.”

  I followed her into her room and sat on the edge of her bed with my legs parted. She stood between my legs like she’d done it a thousand times, handing me the brush and tie without moving her head.

  Gently, I brushed her wet hair. It moved in thick streaks until all knots had gone, and I separated it into three to braid it. Left, right, left, right, left right, left, right. Lock by lock, I braided her hair until the perfect plait lay down the center of her back.

  I tied the end of it, ending the braid with a few swift twists of the band.

  “All right,” Brantley said softly. “Into bed, princess, okay?”

  Ellie nodded, turning briefly to smile at me. I fought my smile as I stood and headed back toward the stairs.

  She ran her hand down the one, long braid that now hung over her shoulder. “Fanks, Kawi.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smiled and ducked out of the room, heading downstairs so he could put them to bed in peace.

  I tugged at the hem of the shirt. It was soft and comfortable, a million times better than the wet tank top, there was no doubt about it.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I sighed, hovering at the bottom, gripping onto the banister. I didn’t want to leave, but I also knew I couldn’t stay. What did I say, though? Did I offer to wash the shirt and bring it back the next day?

  God, why did I accept that idea?

  I wandered into the kitchen. Floorboards creaked above my head as Brantley moved around, and I leaned against the counter, picking my phone up and checking it. I had a hundred and one notifications, including emails from clients and potential ones and texts from my mom demanding to know the real reason I bailed tonight.

  Fucking awesome.

  The woman could see right through me.

  I ignored the message and replied to an email requesting a quote for a custom-made bookshelf. That was Dad’s territory, but I didn’t think my mom would appreciate me ignoring her and texting him, so that would go on tomorrow’s to-do list.

  “Hey.” Brantley appeared in the kitchen.

  I jumped, almost dropping my phone. My heart thundered with the shock of his arrival.

  He fought a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I pressed my hand to my chest and waved my phone in a dismissive way. “Working. I have emails out my ass.”

  “That’s an interesting analogy.” He paused right in front of me. “I have to admit, that’s the first time I’ve seen a shirt of mine worn that way.”

  I glanced at the knot at my hip. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to stretch it. I didn’t think.”

  I moved to undo it, but he grabbed my hand, laughing.

  “Don’t worry about it, Kali. It’s an old shirt. Wear it however you want.”

  My skin tingled where his hand had hold of mine. Up and down my arm, across my palm, across my knuckles…I practically buzzed with the sensation of his hot skin against mine.

  I pulled my hand from his and took a tiny step back. “Thanks. I’ll wash it and return it, I promise.”

  “Don’t worry.” His lips tugged to the side. Once again, his eyes roved over me, flicking down to the faded image on the front of the shirt for a second. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me out tonight. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

  My cheeks heated slightly. “It’s okay. I mean, I have to be honest and say I probably won’t rush to do it again…”

  His laughter cut me off. “Don’t worry—I told them that if they do this again, they’ll have to reschedule.”

  “And they didn’t care?”

  “They’re not allowed to care. I’m the head of the department. They have to do what I say.” He grinned, pushing off the counter and heading for the fridge.

  “Ah, well, I can see how that would be useful.”

  “You could say that.” He paused. “Hey…I didn’t get a chance to eat yet. I was going to order in. Do you want to join me?”

  For dinner?

  That’s not in my “distance” plan.

  “I…I really should be going home.” I swallowed. “But, thank you for asking. That’s sweet.”

  He smirked, pulling a beer bottle from the fridge. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. I’m ordering pizza because there isn’t a single bone in my body that wants to fucking cook, and you should tell me what pizza you like, because I’m buying you dinner.”

  “Oh, boy, that’s the most romantic proposal I’ve had all month.”

  “I’m guessing you’re a pepperoni girl.”

  “That’s presumptuous.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  I hesitated. “Yes.”

  Turquoise eyes flicked across my face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I try.” I pushed my still-damp hair behind my ear. Kids. “Honestly, it’s fine.”

  He pushed the fridge door shut and used a magnet in the shape of Colorado state to uncap his beer. He replaced it on the door with a click. “Did you eat tonight?”

  I went to answer, but nothing came out.

  Brantley raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “It’s fine,” I insisted. “I can go home and heat something real quick. You might not be surprised to know that my stepmom regularly hands me Tupperware tubs of food.”

  He paused. “Your stepmom?”

  Crap. He didn’t know Portia wasn’t my real mom. I forgot that not everybody knew that.

  “Um, yeah.” I set my phone down and my hands instantly went to fidget with the hem of my shirt. “My mom isn’t my real mom.”

  He blinked at me. “Now, I’m definitely ordering pizza.”

  “No, you—”

  He left the room before I could finish my sentence. I chased after him, but by the time I joined him in the living room, I was greeted by the sound of “Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order for two pizzas, please.”

  I’d lost this round.

  Fine.

  I was a red-blooded, human woman.

  I wasn’t going to turn down free pizza.

  My ass wouldn’t thank me for it, but you could bet yours that my soul would throw a fucking party.

  Brantley smirked as he placed the order and handed over his card details. Honestly, he was lucky I had a terrible memory. If I had a better one, I’d be able to buy more than just pizza on his dime.

  As it was, I couldn’t even remember my own phone number. Never mind any card details.

  He hung up and put his phone on the coffee table. “Do me a favor?”

  “I already let you buy me dinner without causing a fuss.”


  “Sit down and let me get you wine.”

  “That sounds more than an order than a favor.”

  “Favor…Order…Interchangeable.”

  I stared at him. No, no, they weren’t. “Actually, they’re completely different. A favor is something agreed upon between two people. An order is something given by one person and followed by the other.”

  “Interchangeable,” he replied.”

  “No. The person on the receiving end of the order doesn’t have to agree.”

  “Are you always this pedantic?”

  I paused. “Only if the person telling me things is incorrect.”

  “By incorrect, you mean ‘idiotic,’ right?”

  “Ah, look—you understand me more than you thought.”

  Laughter filled the room. That deep, raw, rough sound that forced goosebumps onto my arms made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Slow, easy steps closed the distance between us.

  “Kali.” Brantley said my name slowly, sexily, temptingly. He set his hands on my shoulders, pulling me forward as if my feet were nothing more than his slaves, until I stood in front of the sofa. “Sit,” he said, pushing me down.

  I sat.

  He left me there, sitting in silence while he went to the kitchen and into the fridge. A cupboard, a clink, the swish of a fridge closing.

  Returning to the front room, Brantley put a glass of white wine in front of me. He dropped himself on the sofa, his beer dripping with condensation as he put it on the table.

  “Just one,” he said. “I know you drove. It’s the least I can do after you looked after my hellions.”

  “They’re weren’t too bad,” I said honestly. “But, shit. I feel like I could referee an international soccer tournament after this.”

  “Don’t. They dive a lot.”

  “They’re on grass. How can they dive?

  He stared at me. “You don’t watch soccer, do you?”

  “No. Baseball is where the tight pants are at.”

  He leaned back on the sofa and laughed at me. “Of course. All right—never mind. Tell me about your mom. Stepmom?”

  I shifted uneasily. I never really talked about Portia or my mom. Everyone here knew about my family, so it was never an issue.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “But she’s just my mom, really.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He looked at me. Not judgingly. Not even expectantly. Patiently. Waiting for me to elaborate.

  I was ready to respond when there was a knock at the door. I knew that was the pizza—there was only one pizza place in Rock Bay and they prided themselves on super-fast delivery.

  Freaky-fast delivery, actually.

  Brantley got up and took the boxes from the young guy who was responsible for it. The door clicked shut, and I tucked my legs beneath my butt as he set the boxes on the coffee table in front of us.

  “Eat it,” he said. “It’s my thank you for helping me. I know you’re hungry.”

  I glanced between the box and him. I was hungry, no doubt about it, but there was something about him buying me food that didn’t sit right. Nothing nefarious, but it felt…weird.

  Still, I slid the box from the table to the sofa in front of me.

  Silently, I picked off a slice of pepperoni, watching as the hot, stringy cheese desperately tried to keep its prisoner safe on the slice.

  We ate. Both of us. Questions faded in the silence we shared.

  Or, so I thought.

  “Portia. Your stepmom?” Brantley’s question came again after three slices.

  Man, he wasn’t going to let it lie, was he?

  I shut the lid of my box and out it back on the table. “Yep.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

  “I never have to,” I admitted. “Everyone here knows everything about me. That’s what living in a small town does to you.”

  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I’d like to.”

  I cast my gaze over him. Over that dark hair and those full lips and that stubble and those strong shoulders.

  Those compellingly bright eyes.

  “My mom died when I was five.” I pulled my wine glass onto my lap.

  Brantley took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  I drained the rest of the wine and looked at the empty glass. Words danced on the end of my tongue, teasing and playing. In the time they’d done that, Brantley had gotten up and returned with the bottle.

  He filled my glass. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why would you?” I cradled the now-full glass in my hands. “You just moved here.”

  “True.”

  I looked away from him, sipping slowly, focusing on anything but him. Anything but his gray sweats and white tees and muscles that wanted to distract me from reality.

  “When did you meet her? Your stepmom?” Brantley asked, voice soft like silk. “How old were you?”

  I didn’t even glance at him when I said, “Thirteen.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. Once. “I hated her for three months, then she became my best friend. She’s been my mom ever since.”

  “You call her Mom?”

  Side-eyeing him, I smiled. “Of course. I was so young when my mom died. Me and Dad were alone for years. Portia came along when I needed her most, and it’s just how we are. She’s my mom, but she’s a different kind of mom. She’ll never replace my mother.”

  Brantley tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. I love your perspective on it. It’s very…open and honest.”

  I brought my glass to my lips and sipped. “I don’t think it’s my perspective. It’s just how it is.”

  “You say it like it’s nothing.”

  “On the contrary, it’s everything.” I pulled both legs up onto the sofa and crossed them, Indian-style. The base of my glass rested on my ankles, and I stared into the swirling mass of my wine. “Portia was there when nobody else was. She guided me when I was alone. She was the friend and support I needed when my father was lost. Our relationship isn’t perfect, but she’s the best friend I’ve ever known.”

  Brantley nodded slowly. He tipped his beer bottle up, draining what was inside it. Wordlessly, he got up, retreating to the kitchen. I cradled my glass and stared at where he’d left until he appeared again.

  He handed me the bottle of wine.

  Against my better judgement, I poured.

  I set the half-empty bottle back on the table.

  He popped the cap of another beer. Settled back. Sipped. Sighed. Breathed easy. “Moving on is hard,” he said quietly, staring into the brown-tinted neck of the Budweiser bottle. “Sometimes it seems impossible. You just made me feel like, one day, my kids will feel some kind of happiness.”

  “You think they aren’t happy?”

  “I know they aren’t.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  He hit me with his bright gaze. “You think?”

  “I know.” I glanced into my glass before our eyes met again. “Look at them, Brantley. They love you.”

  “Sure, they do. But happiness is something else.”

  “They’re happy with you. Anyone with a brain cell can see that.”

  He stared at me.

  Really stared at me.

  Moved closer to me, closing the distance between us.

  “You’re a great dad,” I said softly, cradling my wine glass. “You have to know that.”

  “I do,” he replied. “But I have no choice. I’m a great dad because I have to be. Because without me they have nobody.”

  “You don’t believe in yourself enough.” I turned my head and finished what was in my glass. It clinked against the coffee table. “You’re an amazing father because you love them beyond anything I could ever understand.”

  He met my eyes. “You know love, Kali. I watched you braid my daughter’s hair earlier.”

  “Out of kindness.” I swallowed hard and put my glass down. “You were busy. She want
ed her hair braided. It was easy.”

  Weird, to be precise.

  But easy, sure.

  Brantley swigged his barely-touched beer and put it down. His sigh echoed off the walls.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I put my glass on the table, closing my barely-touched pizza. I had to go home. His intentions had been good in buying me dinner, but this was wrong. Mostly because I didn’t really want to leave at all.

  I looked down as I shuffled toward the edge of the sofa. “I should go. I—”

  “Kali.” He reached for me as he said my name. His fingers brushed my lower arm, and I took a deep breath in.

  Brantley’s hand raised then fell, hovering close to my hair almost as if he was going to push it behind my ear.

  I took a deep breath in.

  I wanted him to kiss me, but at the same time, I knew that if he did, I’d probably never be able to look him in the eye again.

  “Don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t have to leave.”

  “I do, I—” The words caught in my throat.

  He glanced at my lips, and my tongue flicked out across my lower one. His jaw twitched as he brought his gaze back up to mine.

  My heart thundered against my ribs.

  Yeah. I needed to leave. But I couldn’t. I was basically frozen in place, eyes focused firmly on the mesmerizing blue of Brantley’s.

  Then—he did it.

  Touched his lips to mine.

  Kissed me.

  His hands framed my face, holding me in place. Not that he needed to. I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to, because here I was, leaning into him, into the kiss, into his touch.

  He pulled back. His lips hovered inches from mine. I drew in a sharp breath. His hands were still on my cheeks, and there was no way he couldn’t feel the way they heated beneath his touch.

  Brantley met my eyes for a split second, then he kissed me again. This time, one hand slipped around the back of my neck. My scalp tingled as he wound his fingers in my hair.

  This kiss was harder, needier, more insistent than the last.

  Like he’d tested the water, and now, he was ready to drown.

  I leaned right into him. My fingers found his shirt and rested on his stomach, fisting the soft cotton of his tee.

  Closer and closer we became. His other hand trained down my body, sliding around my back, pulling me against him. His tongue flicked at the seam of my mouth, and I let him kiss me deeper.