Basically, all my imperfections would be blamed on her temporary absence. Okay, not really. But I did have every intention of using that excuse when things got rough. And since the incident, things had been rough.
“Fisher’s coming over,” Rory announced Wednesday morning as I read a book on the sofa while Rose knitted something that resembled a scarf from the chair next to me.
“Okay,” I said in a controlled tone, even if inside she’d lit a fire of anticipation with her news. “Why? Are you two back on speaking terms?”
“He’s coming over to quickly install a rail by the toilet. My mom can’t get on and off the toilet that well right now. Her knee is bad.”
“Nothing like waiting until the last minute,” I said.
“She wanted him to do it last week, but she stopped talking to him, so he had no way of knowing,” Rose said, tossing my mom a wry grin.
“Anyway, I’m just letting you know. He’s coming over to work.”
With wide eyes, I nodded slowly. “Okay. Thanks for telling me. Otherwise, I might have thought he was coming over to have sex with me since you spoiled my last chance at it.”
Rose snorted and quickly covered her mouth. Rory narrowed her eyes at me.
Biting my lips together, I kept a fairly straight face.
Seconds later, there was a knock at the door. My tummy flipped several times and my heart did its crazy thing where it liked to skip a few beats.
“Hey,” Fisher said to Rory when she opened the door.
“Thanks for doing this,” Rory said almost begrudgingly.
“Sure. I would have done it sooner had I known you needed it.”
“Well, I’ve … been busy.” Rory led him to the bathroom.
But Fisher glanced back and saw me and Rose in the living room, and his face exploded into what I’d decided was his Reese Only smile.
I bit my lower lip, but it hid nothing.
“Fisher, are you coming?” Rory all but barked at him.
Rose sniggered as did I.
“Yes, ma’am,” Fisher said.
While he installed the bar, Rory made stuffing to be cooked the next day and Rose worked on pies. I had no cooking jobs yet, so I meandered down the hallway to the bathroom.
“Leave him alone so he can finish up,” Rory instructed.
“Yeah, yeah,” I pretty much ignored her. I was twenty-four not four. “Need help?” I asked, standing in the doorway as Fisher finished drilling holes in the wall.
“I’m good.” He stayed focused on his task.
I loved watching focused Fisher. It was foreplay for me. The stern focus on his face. The bend and stretch of his arms and large capable hands. The way his tongue would make a lazy swipe along his lower lip when he was measuring something and marking it with the pencil he kept behind his ear. The fact that his jeans rode low but only showed the side waistband of his briefs instead of plumber’s crack. Poor plumbers … it wasn’t like they all had big guts, poorly fitting jeans, and seemingly no underwear.
“Whatcha thinking about?” He caught me off guard when he shot me a quick glance over his shoulder.
I smirked. “You don’t want to know.”
Fisher’s gaze made a quick, appreciative swipe along the full length of my body. “Don’t be so sure.”
“I was thinking about plumbers’ cracks.”
“I don’t have a plumber’s crack.”
“I know.”