Page 9 of Restored By You

I shake my head. “I can’t let you—”

“You’re not letting me do anything,” he says simply. “It’s done.”

I study him for a moment. This man who showed up uninvited into my disaster, fixed it without a second thought, and taught my stepbrother how to use a shop vac without being asked. “Okay,” I relent. “Thank you.”

He nods, already reaching for his toolbox.

“Actually,” I stop him, and he turns. “Do you know any good contractors in the area? For the renovation. Since apparently my first choice was a disaster waiting to happen.”

His expression shifts. It’s subtle, like he’s considering something. “What kind of renovation?”

“Full restoration,” I beam, my hands moving on their own accord as they tend to do when I get to talking about my latest endeavor. “The whole house. I’m hoping to document it for a TV pitch.” I pause, suddenly aware of how that sounds in a previously flooded hallway at midnight. “I know how that sounds.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” he says.

“It is,” I agree with a light laugh. “Which is why I need someone who will actually show up.”

The corner of his mouth pulls into a rationed, almost-smile as his yummy gaze holds mine for a beat. “I might know someone.”

“I figured you might,” I say, smiling as I make my way toward the stairs. He follows my lead. “I mean, I’ll of course put in a good word for you. Yelp and wherever else you get reviews. I think contractors bring in their own guys? But if they don’t have a plumber, I’ll ask for you specifically.”

When we reach the front door, I usher him ahead and lock the door behind us, then turn to him. “So, do you have their card or a phone number I can call?” I ask.

Rhett tugs his wallet out from his back pocket, producing a blue business card. He hands it to me and I read: Montgomery Construction & Lumber beside his name, phone number, and business address located right here in Whitetail. Oh.

I stare at the card, heat crawling up my neck. I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “So, when you said you might know someone, you meant…”

“Me, yeah.”

“So, you’re not a plumber.”

He smirks, pushing his wallet back in place. “I’m a man of many trades, darlin’.”

My entire body flushes with heat.

Why the hell did that sound like an invitation to learn every last one of them?

I straighten, pulling every ounce of professionalism I can back into my shoulders. “In that case, Mr. Montgomery, is there…a good time to reach you for a consult?”

That rationed smile makes its fullest appearance yet. “I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning, but if you can be here around noon, I’ll swing over and take a look at your plans. See what we can cook up.”

“Perfect! It’s a date,” I hear myself saying before the double meaning fully registers in my apparent lack of a brain. Should I add this to the Yelp review?

He doesn’t correct me, or say another word to confirm I’m not insane, he just grins and crosses the porch. I watch the stretch of his shirt across his back as he walks down the short sidewalk toward his black truck wrapped in a royal blue and silver company logo parked beneath a street light.

His truck rumbles to life and pulls away from the curb and down the quiet street. I look down at the card still in my hand, shining in the front porch light.

Rhett Montgomery.

I have a house to restore, a show to pitch, and a teenager to keep alive.

I don’t have time for a man of many trades.

However tempting he may be.

Four.

Shea