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Miss Fix-It

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I froze.

Jesus, was there a part of this man that wasn’t completely delicious?

I blinked several times as I took in the sight of his lean, toned torso. Perfect pecs, lightly shaded abs, a dangerous ‘v’ that teased way below the waistband of his sweats…

He pulled on his t-shirt, covering up his body and forcing me to come back to the here and now.

“Hi,” I said, shaking myself out of the daze. “Sorry—I tried to call, but you didn’t answer the phone.”

“Inside,” he said to Ellie, grasping her by the shoulders and directing her to the front room. “Come in. Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him inside. “Eli was playing a game on it this morning and put it down somewhere safe, apparently.”

“Ah.” I stepped inside and closed the door, then went with him to the kitchen. “I have a lot of safe places. Not entirely sure where any of them are, though.”

He snorted, stirring in a mug. “If you were a four-year-old boy who had to give back your dad’s phone, where would you put it?”

I blinked. “Where all lost change goes to die. Down the back of a sofa.”

Brantley paused, mid-stir. “Hold that thought.”

The spoon clinked against the countertop as he dropped it and went to the living room. I watched him go, my gaze dropping to his ass two too many times for it to be appropriate.

Oh, whatever. Even once was inappropriate, but still.

Gray sweatpants—sent from the gods for the viewing pleasure of women everywhere.

“You’re a genius, Kali.” He returned, phone in hand. “You got a list of safe spaces for future reference?”

I laughed and shook my head. “If I had a list, I’d know where to find all the stuff I’ve put somewhere sa—damn it. I just remembered where I put my credit card bill so I wouldn’t lose it.”

His laugh was deep and rich. “Which is?”

“My underwear drawer. That’s what I get for being lazy and not putting the laundry away.” I sighed and leaned against the counter. “Hold on, let me email myself that.”

More laughter. “I’d offer you a coffee, but I see you came equipped.” He paused as I tucked my phone away. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to come either,” I replied. “But the furniture delivery company let me know they’re delivering today and not next week as planned.”

He blew out a long breath and looked around helplessly. “Shit,” he whispered. “I have no idea where that’s gonna go.”

“I called them, but it’s already on the truck and it’s gonna be here within the hour, so they refused to redeliver.”

“Didn’t you specifically pick the date so it could go right upstairs?”

“Yeah…Uh, as a sidenote, you should probably greet them when it gets here. I think the delivery note might be a warning about the crazy, angry lady who ordered it.” I bit the inside of my cheek when he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Off the professional record, my mom might have plied me with sangria last night and they contacted me very early.”

He stared at me, turquoise eyes shining as his lips curved into an oh-so-sexy smile. “You don’t look hungover.”

“I’ll write to Sephora to thank them for their flawless coverage.”

He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “All right—I think we can do this. Would you just give me a hand in the garage to move some stuff around to make room for it?”

“Sure. I promise, I’ll get out of your hair as soon as it’s delivered and I’ve checked it all. It won’t take long.” I smiled.

He held up his hands and backed toward the garage door. “Don’t worry—I plan to do nothing but try to get through some of these boxes. I figure we should have more than one cup in the cupboard at this point.”

That was a hard fact to disagree with. “You do give off the impression you plan to leave at any minute.”

“Yes, well, after meeting that damned cat at the grocery store, it’s tempting.”

“Ah, you’ve made the acquaintance of Mr. Prickles.” I stepped into the garage. Fuck, it was like a sauna in here.

Brantley whacked a unit on the wall. A light flashed and it whirred to life, instantly shooting out cold air. “Damn thing,” he muttered. “Prickles? I thought it was Pickles.”

“It is.” I smiled. “Prickles suits him better.”

He lifted his sweatpant leg up and showed me his ankle. An angry, red scratch decorated it. “No kidding.”

“Did you step on his tail?” I glanced at the scratch before meeting his eyes again.

“No, I dared to walk in front of him,” he said dryly.

“Ah. Yes, such a thing will anger His Highness.”

He snorted. “It might not have been my finest moment when I told Irma that if he scratched me again, I’d kick him.”

“Been there, done that.” I nodded. “Accidentally, of course.”



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