One More Time Read online

  “Sara said you’re some big-time author,” Tide starts, and every inch of me grows tense as he comes toward me. “I don’t think you need to stress about a few grand.”

  “I’m not a big-time author. I’m just an author, and a few grand is a lot of fricking money when you’re responsible for taking care of another living, breathing human being besides yourself.”

  His expression changes at my statement, and he mutters, “Point taken,” before he pulls out the stove and hops behind it. “Gas line is good. You’re safe to use it.” He hops back out then pushes it into place. When he’s done, he starts to move toward the door. He stops with his hand on the handle then turns to look at me. “If you pay for supplies, I’ll cut you a deal on labor. Come do the work myself after I’m done with my other job for the day. It won’t be much of a discount, maybe a few hundred dollars, but it’s something.”

  My chest gets tight, and my throat burns.

  “That said, I’m gonna assume you want to get started on repairs, so you’ll need to let me know where you want to go from here.”

  I pull in a shaky breath and let it out. “You don’t have to cut me a deal or do that. I have some money put aside for renovations; I’ll dig into that. But thank you. That offer is really sweet.”

  “If you’re sure. I’ll go pick some stuff up and start this evening. The ceiling can’t be salvaged at this point, but if I can get the carpet out tonight, you might be able to save the flooring underneath.”

  “I don’t want you to have to work on this when you’ve spent the whole day at your job. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

  I watch his eyes flash with frustration. “My daughter is with her mom this week, which means I’ve got time to kill. If I can do that making money, all the better for me.”

  Daughter.

  He has a daughter? How did I not know that? I mean, I’m not up to date with the lives of the people I went to school with, but I still check Facebook from time to time, and that should have at some point come across my newsfeed. And he said she’s with her mom. Does that mean he’s not with his girl’s mother?

  “You good with that?”

  “Umm, yeah, of course. Thank you again for... well, for everything. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” He jerks up his chin then turns and opens the door, stepping outside. Flicking his fingers over his shoulder, he orders, “Lock up. I’ll be back.”

  I close the door and lock it, then ask my empty house, “What the heck just happened?”

  I get no reply, so I head upstairs and check the washer to make sure it’s not leaking. Seeing it’s not, I go to my room and lie on my inflatable mattress until it’s time to put my laundry in the dryer, because one thing is for sure.

  I want to at least be clothed when I see Tide again.

  Chapter 3

  Aria

  SITTING IN THE middle of my inflatable mattress, I sip from my can of Diet Coke while watching YouTube videos of funny cats on my cell. My internet won’t be in for two more days, which is a good thing, since my home computer, TVs, and furniture will be arriving tomorrow. Having everything here and in place will make it easier for the technician to hook things up in my office, the living room, and my bedroom. The last couple of days I’ve been in the house, I haven’t been working. The rom-com I started writing has been replaced with a different kind of romance story, one I’m not sure I have the ability to write, which means I haven’t been writing at all. Something my agent and publisher haven’t been happy about at all.

  Still, it’s been nice having a break from technology. Even with access to my author pages and email with my phone, I haven’t felt the need to check things every few minutes. I answer emails when I get them, most coming from my agent and publisher, but besides that, I’ve been laying low and enjoying this much needed break.

  I’ve also managed to avoid seeing my parents by telling them the sale went through on my new house and that I’m working on getting things ready for the movers who will be here soon. They haven’t been happy with me or my avoidance, but I’ve placated both of them with promises of having dinner here after things are set up.

  I take another sip from my Diet Coke to wash away the tightness in my throat then lean to the side and carefully place my still half-full can on the floor. I feel it vibrate against my fingers, and an image of Tide, who is currently downstairs replacing the ceiling in the living room, fills my mind.

  I can picture his dark-blue tee tight against his muscular chest, abs, and arms as he hammers in the drywall for the ceiling. The visual in my mind is crystal-clear, since for the last two evenings I’ve witnessed him ripping out carpet and removing the wet ceiling. We haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since he’s been around, but I have watched him work without him knowing I’m doing so. I’ve been trying to keep out of his way, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been avoiding him.

  When I hear a loud crash and a few not so nice curse words spoken loudly, I push up off my bed and move quickly downstairs. I hit the living room and stop to look around. There is a piece of broken drywall leaning against the wall, and Tide is hefting a new sheet up over his head and moving toward the ladder in the middle of the room.

  “Are you okay?”

  At my question, he turns to look at me. “It’s all good,” he huffs, walking forward to the ladder and taking the metal steps up with practiced ease. I hustle across the room and go up the other side of it. Once I’m on the sixth step, I lift my arms above my head, placing my hands on the drywall while helping to hold it in place as he pulls out the nail gun from the tool belt around his hips. “Babe, what the fuck? Get down.”

  “No.” I don’t look at him. I go up another step to take some of the pressure off my arms that are starting to shake.

  “Get down.”

  “Just do your thing,” I hiss, struggling to keep my arms up. God, I need to work out.

  “Jesus fuck,” he growls before the sound of the nail gun goes off, the loud noise making me jump each and every time. Only once I know it’s safe to do so, I lower my arms and start down the steps with the gun still sounding. When quiet fills the room, I look up, and my eyes collide with Tide’s. He’s pissed. Even not really knowing him, I can see the anger in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “What the fuck were you thinking?” The tone of his question vibrates though the room and me.

  I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “I was helping.”

  “I see you think that, babe, but what would you have done if the ladder gave out from our combined weight?”

  Crap, I didn’t think about that happening.

  “Right... now, what do you think would’ve happened if one of the nails ricocheted and hit you?”

  Damn, I didn’t think about that either. “Is something like that even possible?”

  “Ask my friend Tiny, who recently had to have a nail removed from his shoulder.”

  Ouch.

  “I was just trying to help,” I say softy.

  “You can help me out by not trying to help me out.”

  I feel my nose scrunch up. He’s been working by himself, and obviously, even with his strength and experience, it’s not easy installing drywall on a ceiling alone. “Why aren’t there guys here helping you?” I question as he gets off the ladder.

  “I don’t need help with this stuff,” he responds, moving the ladder across the room before going to where the sheetrock is stacked at an angle against the wall. I watch his muscular arms flex as he grabs a sheet and once more lifts it up over his head.

  When he reaches the steps of the ladder and goes up, I instinctively move forward without a thought and help him move it into place, going up the opposite side.

  “Seriously?”

  I don’t apologize again. I just wait, not meeting his gaze. I listen as he lets out an annoyed breath, and I jump when the sound of the nail gun startles me. When the loud banging comes to an end, I let my arms drop and start back
down the ladder. When a warm, strong hand wraps around my fingers, I stop with one foot firmly on the ground, the other floating in the air.

  “What did I say?”

  Oh, Lord. I thought he was pissed before, but I was wrong. I realize how wrong I was when I peek at him through my lashes.

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “And again, I don’t need help, and if I did, I’d call one of my guys here and have them help me.”

  “Fine.” I toss my arms in the air. “But don’t come crying to me if one of these pieces of drywall crashes into your head and knocks you out.”

  “Not gonna happen,” he mutters, stepping down off the ladder and walking across the room to get another piece. Once more, I watch him heft it over his head, and when he gets to the ladder, he looks at me to make sure I haven’t moved.

  “I’m not moving.”

  “Yeah, I bet it’s killing you,” he grumbles, and I narrow my eyes on his. He’s right; my feet are itching to move and help him, but if he wants to be a chauvinistic alpha male who refuses help, then so be it.

  “Carry on, sir.” I sweep my hand out and lift my chin, watching his lips twitch as he goes up the steps. Then I watch in awe, because he doesn’t seem to need any help as he lifts the piece in place and nails it in before taking a screw gun and adding screws along the seam.

  “The peanut gallery is silent all of a sudden.” He smiles at me, resting his elbows on the top of the ladder looking far to hot for his own good.

  “Being a showoff is not a good quality.”

  “So you’d rather me be unconscious on your living room floor with no help in sight because you refused to help me?” He raises a brow.

  “Don’t be annoying.” I turn on my heel, listening to him laugh as I go into the kitchen. I open the fridge and get out the stuff to make one of my favorite dishes, a simple stir-fry with rice noodles, chicken, and pad Thai sauce.

  With the chicken cooked, the noodles boiled, and the veggies done, I mix them all together and then add in the sauce, using a spatula to turn it over and make sure everything is evenly coated. Once it’s done, I grab a paper plate then look to the living room. I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but that doesn’t stop me from walking around the wall and doing it anyway.

  “Umm.” I run my hands that are suddenly sweaty down the front of my shorts when Tide looks at me. “I don’t know if you ate, but if you haven’t, I cooked, and there’s enough if you want some.”

  “I thought I’d have to go in there and steal a plate after you disappear upstairs,” he says, walking toward me. “It smells good.”

  “Thanks.” I fiddle with the bottom of my shirt then turn for the kitchen with him on my heels. “Do you like Thai food?”

  “I haven’t had it,” he tells me as I grab another paper plate from the cabinet and hand him one.

  “Sorry, this is all I have, since my stuff isn’t supposed to be here for a couple of days.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel bad?” he asks, and I pause with a spatula full of noodles, veggies, and chicken above the plate in my hand then watch him shrug. “I’ve been living in my place for a couple of years and still use paper plates. Then again, I hate washing dishes.”

  “You’re a man. I’m pretty sure it’s ingrained in your DNA to do anything and everything to avoid cleaning of any sort.”

  “Touché.” He grins, and I laugh then take his plate and pile it high with food, because judging by his size, he eats a lot. Once I hand it to him, I give him a plastic fork then grab two bottles of water from the fridge, giving him one.

  “So we have two options for where we can eat—either the steps of the porch or on the floor anywhere in the house.”

  “The porch works for me,” he says, and I move toward the front door, shove my bottle of water under my arm, and open the door. When we get outside, I take a seat on the top step of the porch and rest my plate against my knees, setting my water next to my hip.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” Tide says, taking a seat next to me.

  “It is,” I agree, wondering if I will ever get used to living someplace as beautiful as this. With the setting sun sparkling through the leaves of the trees, casting shadows on the ground below, it makes it look like the set of a fantasy novel described by an author. Like at any moment a knight on a white horse could ride up the lane, kicking up dust as fairies drop out of the trees, warning of impending doom. Shaking my head, I wipe away those fantastical thoughts. “I knew when I saw this property that I had to have it. Then I saw inside the house and had second thoughts.”

  “Your house is solid. It just needs to be updated a little, but you chose well.”

  “Thanks.” I swirl some noodles around my fork and take a bite. Even though it’s a dish I’ve made pretty often over the years, I haven’t had it in a while, so I groan in approval when my taste buds light up.

  “Damn, this is good,” Tide says, and I turn to smile at him. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.”

  “Except this isn’t a home-cooked meal. This is a bag of stir-fry veggies, a box of rice noodles, chicken, and a bottle of Thai sauce.”

  “It didn’t come from a drive-thru, so for me, that means it’s a home-cooked meal.”

  I don’t mean to do it, but I honestly can’t help but check him out. He’s not thin by any means. He’s thick and solid, with bulky muscles that proclaim he takes care of himself but that he still drinks beer and likes to eat. Standing or sitting next to him, I feel petite, and it makes me feel more feminine in an odd sort of way.

  “I can give you the list of what to buy from the store, and you can make it sometime. It’s really easy to toss together.”

  “The only time I take the time to cook is when I have my daughter, and she’s pretty picky.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s four almost five.”

  “That’s a fun age,” I tell him quietly. My ex’s sister has two boys, and when we got together, one was four and the other was just about to turn six. Some of my favorite memories were when we would take them for the weekend. Even if I was exhausted after they went home, I always enjoyed having them around.

  “How old is your kid?”

  “What?”

  “You’re kid how old is he or she?”

  “I don’t have any kids,” I tell him with a frown, wondering why he thinks I do.

  “You said you take care of someone. I thought that meant you had a kid.”

  Warmth floods my cheeks as I realize how he could have misconstrued what I said and look away from him, dropping my eyes to my plate. “I don’t have any kids. My ex-husband worked for me, and during our marriage, I took care of him. So when we got divorced, he asked for alimony.”

  “Seriously?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his disgust. “He actually went after you to have you take care of him after you divorced?”

  “It happens all the time.” I don’t know why that’s my first response. It shouldn’t be. My ex Josh is fully capable of working and taking care of himself; he’s just got a lifestyle that he’s used to. And since he can’t make enough money on his own, he expects me to make up for things, and unfortunately, the courts agreed with him.

  “You’re right; it does,” he mutters before continuing to eat, and I try to do the same, but feeling awkward and embarrassed, every bite is forced. “My ex sent me flowers.”

  “Pardon?” I turn to look at him, and he meets my gaze.

  “The day she left me, she sent me flowers, and the card she attached said by the time I got them, she and my daughter would be moved out of the house we shared.”

  “Ouch.”

  “The only part that hurt was her taking my kid from me.” The pain in his voice makes my heart hurt for him, and I lean into him, resting my shoulder against his.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We all got shit in our lives that’s gone tits up.” He nudges my shoulder with his then motions to my plate. “Now
stop making me feel bad and eat.”

  I press my lips together to keep from smiling and start to eat, watching the fireflies come to life while the sound of crickets chirping fills the evening air, making the moment seem somehow magical. Even though it’s just me and a guy I hardly know sharing a meal and nothing more.

  Chapter 4

  Aria

  I WAKE TO the sound of an odd ringing noise and reach for my cell phone on the floor to check the time but stop when someone pounds on the door downstairs.

  “Shit.” I toss back my blanket, roll off my air mattress onto my hands and knees, and shove up off the ground. I look around the room for something to put on over my nightgown and spot a hoodie lying on top of my suitcase, pulling it on over my head as I rush down the stairs. I don’t know what time it is, but I do know the movers are due here today, and it’s most likely them trying to break down my door.

  I skid around the corner, almost falling on my face before righting myself and rushing to the door. I swing it open and blink against the bright sunlight that is almost blinding. “Hi,” I pant, adding cardio to my list of things I will likely never do but, need to start doing.

  “Aria Spencer?” a very rough-looking gentleman asks with a clipboard in his hands.

  “Yes.” I tug down the bottom of my nightgown under my hoodie when his eyes drop to my legs.

  Clearing his throat, his eyes meet mine once more. “We’re here to deliver your stuff.”

  “Great.” I close the door slightly as I try to hide behind it. “Can you give me ten minutes to get dressed?”

  “Sure.” He steps back. “Do you mind if we back the truck up to the porch?”

  “Not at all.” I send him a smile before he turns to walk away. Once he’s heading down the stairs, I shut the door and lock it then run back upstairs to change into a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. I then brush my teeth and run a brush through my long strawberry-blonde hair before tying it up in a ponytail. When I’m done, I head back downstairs and open the front door to the three guys waiting on the porch.