Page 8 of Restored By You

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He sets the mop and bucket down, crouches in front of the shop vac, and with three efficient movements has it assembled and humming.

“Come here,” he says to Tyler, who miraculously listens. “Keep the nozzle flat to the floor and move slow, let the suction do the work.”

Tyler takes it with the energy of someone unwilling, but with a hint of mild interest.

My hero straightens, and I suddenly realize, with embarrassment, that I still don’t know this man’s name. “I’m Shea, by the way,” I say, extending my hand. “Shea Winton. A clearly very experienced home owner.”

Those hazel eyes drop to my hand then back to my face. He takes my hand in his, his grip warm and firm and…rough against my palm.

I nearly melt.

“Rhett Montgomery,” he states proudly.

My brow furrows. “Montgomery? As in, like, related to Beau Montgomery?” The same guy who’s now engaged to my best friend.

“He’s my brother,” he says.

Also meaning, this man and those forearms are about to be very difficult to avoid.

Wonderful.

“Small world,” I manage.

He nods his agreement, reaching for the mop.

We fall into an easy, wordless rhythm after that. Him, working the mop down the hallway while Tyler makes slow, begrudging progress with the shop vac in the bathroom. I follow behind with a handful of rags Rhett brought up with the mop, crouching to press them into the baseboards where the water has settled.

Tyler appears in the bathroom doorway, shop vac still humming. “I think I got most of it,” he announces proudly.

Rhett steps in to check, nodding once. “Good work.”

Tyler blinks, seeming surprised by the praise before retreating back into his teenage indifference. “Whatever,” he mumbles, but I catch the subtle straightening of his shoulders.

Rhett disappears downstairs briefly and returns with two box fans tucked under his arms like they weigh nothing, setting one at each end of the hallway. The hum of them filling the space immediately.

“Let these run overnight,” he says, adjusting the angle of the second one. “Keep the bathroom door open. The floors should be dry by morning if the wood’s not warped.”

My stomach drops. “And what if it is warped?”

He looks at me, steady and with a ‘no problem’ attitude. “Then we replace it.”

We. I note the word but don’t comment on it.

“Tyler,” I say instead, turning to where he’s leaning against the wall with his phone back in hand. “Why don’t you head down to the car? My keys are on the kitchen counter.”

He’s already moving, but then he pauses at the top of the stairs, and in a move that genuinely surprises me, glances at Rhett. “Thanks.”

My jaw drops.

Rhett nods. “Anytime.”

Tyler disappears down the stairs and suddenly it’s just me and Mr. Forearms. “Thank you for all your help,” I say, waving a hand around us. “We’d have an indoor pool by now if it wasn’t for you.”

Rhett dumps the mop bucket and vacuum container into the clawfoot tub. “Not a problem. Glad I could help.”

I watch him. Half wanting to help, but also not wanting to get in the way. “So, um, what do I owe you for this?”

He tosses his wrench back in his tool bag. “Nothing. Count tonight as a favor for Beau and Callie.”