Final Score

He didn’t mention that she still had the cat almost a week after they’d found it, so she felt she should explain. “I put a poster up around the neighborhood. I’m hoping someone claims her.” She did not refer to the cat as Twinkletoes, feeling that naming a stray was a straight path to cat ownership. And right now she was still struggling with the home-ownership thing. She couldn’t take on more responsibility. As cute as the kitten was.

“Any bites?”

“Nothing. I’ll keep the cat a few more days and try and fatten her up a bit before taking her to the shelter.”

He didn’t answer. Merely walked back to the kitchen and placed the now empty mug in the sink.

“I’m filling the cracks and holes in my bedroom walls today, then I’ll try my hand at painting.” She figured if she screwed up on her bedroom, it wasn’t too serious. Hopefully by the time she got to the downstairs main rooms she’d be a pro.

“I’m back in the bathroom. For the smallest room in the house, it’s going to be one of the biggest time sucks.”

She understood, and also knew how fantastic it was going to look when that bathroom was done. She’d chosen the fixtures with care. The tile, even the wall paint. He walked toward the bathroom, the cat hanging off him like a funky stole, and she headed for the stairs.

She got to work with her scraper, getting rid of some of the loose old paint and then filling in the nail holes and a few shallow cracks with filler. She kind of liked the mindless work. She put on NPR for a while and then found she wasn’t listening, so she flipped to a music station.

“Cassie! Come here,” Dylan yelled from the direction of the bathroom.

She dropped her paint scraper and ran to the bathroom, picturing him trapped under a heavy object or something, but when she got there she found him with hands on hips, admiring the latest layer of decorative wall covering he’d bared.

“This must be the original,” he said.

She walked into the bathroom, immediately feeling the closeness of their two bodies brushing as they contemplated what had to have been the ultimate in bathroom decor back in the 1950s.

He put a friendly arm on her shoulder. “It’s you.”

The wallpaper was in blue and turquoise tones with splashes of gold. It showed a mermaid riding a dolphin. Or maybe a whale. Whoever had designed the paper wasn’t a marine biologist. But she loved the whimsy of the busty mermaid with her long, flowing hair and rounded hips ending in a green tail that looked a lot like a slinky gown. She rode sidesaddle on her willing aquatic ride. “She’s one sexy mermaid.”

“You see? This was meant to be. You’re a woman of the sea and this wallpaper is a sign that this is supposed to be your house.”

She looked at him. “You really believe that?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Too bad we can’t save more of it.”

“She looks like you, too,” he said, glancing at the buxom mermaid and back at Cassie. There was a warm, teasing light in his eyes that was hard to resist.

“You think I’d look good in scales?”

“I think you’d look good in anything.” There was no denying, the man had some serious charm going on. Also, this space was small and he was so hot and it had been so long and... The moment lingered, his gaze on hers, a ripple of energy between them not unlike the ripple of the water’s surface when a fin has fluttered by.

Oh, this was such a bad idea, she thought as her heart began to pound and he moved infinitesimally closer.

The shrill ringing of the phone brought her back to reality faster than a plunge into cold water. She backed away fast. “I should get that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture she’d had since grade school.

His eyes tilted at the corners in wry amusement, maybe some disappointment. “You should.” Then he turned back to his task of removing whimsical ’50s mermaids from her walls and she ran to answer her landline.

“Hey, Dylan?” she yelled to him from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“The floor tile’s in. I’m going to pick it up.”

“Okay. Need a hand?”

Well, she did and she didn’t. She figured the guys at the warehouse could schlep the tiles into her car and Dylan could help her unload them when she got back. Which gave her an hour or so out on the road on her own to talk some sense into herself.

Besides, there was something so unsexy about a tile warehouse, maybe it would be the decorating equivalent of the cold shower she really needed right now.

“No. That’s okay. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

There was a tiny pause. “No. I’m good.” She heard him bang into something and swear, then he yelled, “Oh, no, wait. Can you get me some three-quarter-inch finishing nails?”

“Three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“Yeah. And then I’m good.”

No, you’re not. You’re bad. Badbadbadbadbad!

While she was heading to the warehouse, her cell phone rang. She answered on her Bluetooth. “Hello?”

“Hey, Cassie. It’s Serena. What are you up to?”

“Going to pick up floor tiles, you?”

“Escaping to the gym. Adam decided he needed to install some sort of flashing over the window. A great deal of noise was involved.”

“Yeah, Dylan’s pulling my bathroom apart. Noise, dust—” Sexual temptation of the hottest kind.

“Don’t you miss those Saturdays when you could go for brunch and maybe do a little shopping? Get your nails done?”

“Not only can I barely remember those days, I can’t even afford them anymore. Everybody said a house was a good investment, but all I ever do is dump more money into it.”

“I know. When I signed up for a Lowe’s credit card I knew my days at the spa were over.”

Since Serena was a very successful corporate coach with a bestselling leadership book, Cassie doubted this was completely true, but she appreciated the sympathy anyway.

“Did you find your chandelier yet?”

“Haven’t even looked.”

“I was in this little hole-in-the-wall antique and secondhand store and I found one that, to me, looks perfect. It’s not too far past the tile warehouse. I’ll grab a quick workout while you pick up your tiles and meet you there if you like.”

“Oh,” Cassie squealed. “Chandeliers are so much more interesting than three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“That is so true.” Serena gave her the directions and they agreed to meet at the store in an hour.

When she’d finished getting the tiles loaded into her car, she had time to get the finishing nails. Boring.

The paint store was beside the hardware place, so she pulled out her credit card one more time. The back of her car was fairly loaded by the time she’d finished, but she definitely had a chandelier-size space left.

Definitely.

And she knew Serena had excellent taste, so her hopes were high.

They faltered a little when Cassie found her way to Murphy’s Antiques and Secondhand Finds. The store was in a plaza with a secondhand sports-equipment outlet and some kind of automotive place.

Nevertheless, she pushed her way into the store. A bell rang, and when she took a step inside she knew Serena hadn’t steered her wrong. This was a store to browse in. Junk and treasure were jumbled together—old toys, clothing and books, Depression glass to Irish crystal to sterling silver and old tobacco tins. The lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. An enormous brass wagon wheel with black lamps would have looked at home in the Munsters’ house, and there were stained-glass lamps and a bright orange midcentury modern globe and—oh, that had to be it. A small chandelier, delicate and twinkly when the door opened and the breeze shivered through the crystals.

“What do you think?” Serena asked, coming up behind her.

Cassie turned to her and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“I knew it.”

“But it’s on hold.” She pointed at the big tag hanging from the fixture.

“I had them put it on hold. For you.”

“Ha. Fantastic.”

“How can I help you ladies?” a balding man with a large stomach hanging over his belt asked them.

“We’ll take this chandelier,” Serena said.

“Wait. How much is it?”

Serena put a hand on her arm. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I was going to buy it, but then I thought how awful if you hated it. There is nothing worse than being stuck with a gift you don’t like. So I dragged you out of your way to approve of my taste before I made a fool of myself.”

“As if you could.”

Cassie hugged her friend quickly, knowing that Serena was as pleased to be giving her the chandelier as she was to receive it.

“I’m going to start painting the bedroom as soon as I get home,” she said. “I’ll make Dylan stop work on the bathroom and help me. I can’t wait to get that room in shape. It’s going to be so beautiful.”

“The whole house is going to be beautiful. You wait.”

While the store owner boxed the light up for them, they browsed, picking through old farm tools and vinyl records, a tray of pocket watches and boxes of linens. “My grandmother always used to smell like Joy,” she said, picking up an old bottle of the French perfume. The bottle was empty, but there was an echo of scent that reminded her of her mother’s mom, a wonderful woman who played piano and baked the best pies.

“My grandmother smelled like this,” Serena said, picking up an old can with “Player’s Tobacco” written on it.

They had such different backgrounds it was amazing they’d become friends. Serena rarely talked about her past, but through passing comments like this one, Cassie knew it had been rough. Serena had dragged herself up from the gutter to become one of the most successful women in Cassie’s circle, while Cassie had two parents who loved her, were still married and still called each other sweetheart. How did she get so lucky?

Of course, Serena was getting married to one of the best men on the planet, while Cassie had celebrated her thirtieth birthday still single. Her present to herself had been a three-bedroom house she’d have trouble filling.

Unless she took in a lot more stray cats.

5

THEY CARRIED THE chandelier out to the car, fitting it nicely in the space Cassie had set aside. Then Serena said, “Max is flying in to play hockey with the boys on Monday night. He’s bringing Claire with him.”

“Oh, the famous Claire.”

“Yes. The bush pilot. I thought maybe we three women should go out and have a drink while the men play hockey.”

“You don’t think Claire will want to watch Max on the ice?”

“Please. She lives in Alaska. I’m sure she’s dying to get away from snow and ice.”

“Be great to meet her.” Cassie had found Max’s combination of brains, wealth and Latin charm to be slightly intimidating. She couldn’t imagine him with a bush pilot.

“I only met her once, but I think you’ll like her.” Serena chuckled softly. “She’s quite a character.”

“I could definitely use a night out.”

“Excellent. We’re on, then.”

“What if Claire says no?”

“Then we kidnap her.”

“No wonder you’re a business leader. You always have such sound plans.”

Serena pulled out her phone and punched in something. Probably she was already updating her calendar for Monday. Or texting Claire.

“Well, I’d better get back and start on the bedroom. Drop by sometime and check out the progress.”

“Love to. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I have something else for you.” And Serena ran to her car, her long legs looking good in tight jeans. Cassie reminded herself that she really needed to fit in more time at the gym.

Serena returned a minute later with a mischievous look on her face and a brown paper bag holding an object about the shape and size of a—Oh, my gosh, she didn’t. Yes, she did—calendar.

The firefighters’ charity calendar. Hunter’s finest firefighters, buff and ready to rock your world one month at a time.

She laughed as she opened it slowly, beginning with Mr. January, who was a fine-looking African-American guy with the most amazing pecs she’d ever seen and—

“Oh, don’t even think about poring over every month,” Serena said. “Flip to June.”

Cassie didn’t need to be told a second time; her fingers itched to fly past the first five months of the year. Flip, flip, and there he was.

Dylan.

Dylan, shirtless, his firefighting pants slung low on his hips, posing with an ax over his shoulders and a look in his eyes that made her feel as though she were in danger of being scorched. Oh, my. Those eyes, those abs, the shoulders.

“I see he has a tattoo,” she said finally, feeling a little weak. It was a linked-chain-type thing in dark ink that circled his right bicep. She wondered what it would feel like to put her hand around that tattoo. How far around his muscular arm would her hand even reach? Her palm grew warm thinking about wrapping around that hot skin.

“Let’s just say that in my apartment? It’s always June.”

They snorted with laughter. “Does Adam know?”

“He says when we get married, I have to leave the calendar behind.” She glanced at Cassie over the glossy photograph of a grinning Dylan. “He says, ‘It’s Dylan or me. Make your choice.’”

The color photograph flashed in the sunshine, making Dylan gleam like a bronzed god. “That’s got to be a tough choice.”

“I tell you, Adam’s a great-looking guy. Don’t get me wrong. And I will love him to the end of time.” She leaned closer. “But a girl can still look.”

“Uh-huh.” And Cassie wondered how long she could keep looking and remembering to breathe at the same time.

Serena’s phone signaled an incoming text. She glanced at it. Frowned. “Speak of the devil.”

“Dylan texted you?”

“No. Adam.” She put the phone away with a crease between her brows.

Cassie wanted to ask if everything was okay, but before she could say a word, Serena was backing away and waving. “Let me know how it looks when it’s up. The chandelier, I mean.” And then she was gone.

As she drove home Cassie had to face that her outing, while successful on many fronts, hadn’t exactly been the mental cold shower she’d hoped.

Thanks to Mr. June, she felt hotter than when she’d left.

When she pulled into her driveway beside the dusty truck, she immediately grabbed the calendar and stuffed it back in the brown paper bag. She hid it in the chandelier box so her handyman hottie wouldn’t see her toting pictures of his hot, half-naked self. Then, leaving the back of her car open, she walked into the house.

“Hi, Dylan, I’m back.”

“Okay, I’ll come help unload.”

“Thanks.”

He walked out of the bathroom in one of his threadbare old T-shirts and plaster-dusted jeans. The T-shirt wasn’t even tight, but as he moved she felt as if she was seeing him, gorgeous and shirtless once more. Now she knew he had a tat on his upper right bicep, she felt a strange urge to see it in the flesh.

“You okay with that box?” He paused in front of her and she realized she was standing there like a fool. Staring at him.

“Yes. I was only thinking you probably need some water since you’ve been working in all that dust.”

“I was wearing a mask. But yeah, I’ll get some. Good idea.”

He glanced at the box in her arms. “I’m guessing that’s not floor tiles.”

She shook her head. “It’s a chandelier. For the bedroom. Serena bought it for me as a housewarming gift.”

“Awesome. That will look great upstairs.” Then he narrowed his gaze. “And why do I have a feeling that my housewarming gift will involve putting it up for you?”

She chuckled. “Because you are so very smart and intuitive.”

He shook his head at her as he walked by and she turned to watch his all-too-amazing back view as he disappeared through the door.

She took the box upstairs, and then pulled out the bag containing the calendar. She felt so foolish having the firefighter calendar at all, and now it was in her bedroom. There wasn’t anywhere to hide it. Everything was still in boxes except her chest of drawers. She opened her T-shirt drawer and shoved the calendar in there. Then ran back downstairs.

He was bringing in tile boxes three in a stack, which caused his arm muscles to delineate so she had to drag her gaze away.

She managed two boxes in a stack, but she wasn’t striding along as if they were a couple of feathers.

She followed his lead, stacking the boxes in the front hall beside the stairs. There was the kitchen tile, tile for both bathrooms, wall tile, shower tile, tile for the shower floors. She’d had no idea there was so much involved in remodeling a small house. She didn’t have the kitchen backsplash yet because she wanted to get her counters first. But she had some ideas, and new magazines seemed to get published every week with new layouts and even newer products.

It was getting so bad that she was beginning to dream of tile and appliances. And maybe a certain guy who was good with an ax.

* * *

“OKAY, HERE’S THE DEAL,” Dylan said, standing with his hands on his hips and looking around Cassie’s bedroom with a practiced eye. “If you want the chandelier put up, then I’m going to paint that ceiling first. And if we’re painting the ceiling, we might as well get the walls done at the same time.”

She looked early-summer ripe in snug denim cutoffs and a sleeveless blue shirt, her curly hair dancing when she nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I’ll tackle the ceiling while you do the walls.”

She nodded but didn’t look exceptionally confident. She’d finished scraping the walls and he could see the places where she’d filled holes. Her pretty hazel eyes seemed as big as the kitten’s when she gazed at him. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that he hadn’t noticed before.

He might as well know the worst. “What’s the last thing you painted?”

“I helped my dad paint my bedroom when I was—” She stopped to think. “Twelve? Thirteen?”

He wondered if he’d gone too long without a woman from the strong way he reacted when she gave him that look. The half-humorous one, as though she were laughing at herself and inviting him to share in her amusement. He had no idea why he found that so sexy, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “So you’re an experienced bedroom painter, then.”

“I might need a refresher course in the finer details.”

At least she was keen to get involved, which he liked to see. “Okay, put on some clothes you don’t mind getting paint all over and we’ll have a lesson in painting 101.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

He cranked open the stepladder he’d brought upstairs with him. She was hovering in front of her dresser. He prepared to climb the ladder. “Aren’t you changing into your grubbies?”

“Uh, I was waiting for you to leave the room.”

She hadn’t seemed that shy. He felt as though he’d blundered into one of those female areas that always confused him. “Can’t you change in the bathroom?”

“I—um, my—” She glanced at the dresser, looking embarrassed, then back to him. “Could you give me five minutes?”

And suddenly he got it. She probably kept her sex toys in her dresser along with her clothes. Didn’t want him getting an eyeful. He hopped off the ladder, trying really hard not to imagine what kind of toys were in that secret drawer. And trying even harder not to picture the two of them playing with them on that big comfy bed underneath the chandelier he was about to install.

6

HE RAN DOWN the stairs and grabbed some paint cloths and plastic sheeting, a roll of painter’s tape and rollers, brushes and both the ceiling paint and the wall color. He took the time to give both cans of paint a good stir. When he’d allowed ten minutes to pass, he gathered the painting supplies into a box and pounded back up the stairs, giving her plenty of warning that he was on his way.

Still, he knocked before he walked into Cassie’s bedroom. She was fully dressed in jeans that weren’t even close to grubby and a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising fish food. She was already unscrewing the old beige plastic switch plate covers from the walls. Excellent. She didn’t turn around when he came in, just kept working.

He climbed back up his ladder and tackled taking down the cheap old fixture that had probably been hanging up here for the entire life of the house. Who looked at something that ugly every night for fifty years? Right before they went to sleep?

Which sent his mind skidding back to those images again. The atmosphere in the room was different. Charged. Heating up. He suspected it was him thinking about what secrets were hidden in her sex-toy drawer. He told himself to stop. He was working for her, not sleeping with her. But like the proverbial elephant, the more he tried to stop wondering what was in her secret stash, the more his imagination conjured up every toy he’d ever seen, heard of or dreamed up.

He took down the light fixture—dead flies, old cobwebs and all—and carried it downstairs in a large box to add to his growing trash pile.

Back in the bedroom, he found Cassie was unscrewing the last of the outlet covers. A neat pile of them sat in a corner, all the screws gathered together. He liked the orderly way she worked.

“Okay,” he said, “when you’re done with those, we’ll cover everything up and then I’ll paint the ceiling while you...?”

Together, they pulled her bed away from the wall. He didn’t have to tell her how to lift, he noted. She bent from the knees and lifted like a pro. They moved her dresser away from the wall and not for one second did he allow himself to think about what was inside that dresser. Nope. There definitely wasn’t a pink vibrator in there. Stop it. No fur-lined handcuffs. He wasn’t even thinking about the possibility. No blindfolds or massage oils. He was relieved when they finally had the room cleared of boxes and the bit of remaining furniture away from the walls. He left Cassie draping plastic over her bed while he prepped the ceiling for painting.

Since he was painting the ceiling the same white as before, he contented himself with giving it a good rub with a dry cloth, removing old cobwebs and any loose dirt or dust that might adhere to the wet paint. He moved the ladder around, doing a quadrant at a time.

He got Cassie washing the walls down so the paint job would look professional. He could hear the soft splash when she dipped her sponge into the water and the swishing sound as she washed the walls.

He worked fast, wanting to get to the painting. Not that he loved painting ceilings—it always gave him a crick in his neck—but he held on to the image of the completed room and that helped him get through the tedious parts.

She hadn’t put on music and he didn’t want to impose his choices on her, so they worked in silence. He said, “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m sick at how dirty this water is.”

“This whole room’s going to be clean and fresh by the time you go to bed tonight.”

“Good.”

“You might want to sleep in the other bedroom tonight, though. It will smell like paint in here.” What was the matter with him? Could he mention her and beds in the same sentence a few more times?

“Good idea,” she said. “I’ll get the guest room made up.”

“I saw a bunch of diving stuff in your garage. You’re a diver?”

“I am. I’ve been diving since I was a kid. I grew up in Southern California, so the water was a lot warmer. I spent every second I could in the water. Surfing, diving, swimming. Still do.” He heard the slosh as she dunked her sponge and squeezed it out. “Though up here I’m in a wet suit most of the year. How about you? Do you dive?”

“I’ve tried it. But I’m more of an aboveground kind of guy. I play hockey, basketball, stuff like that.”

He imagined living in eternal sunshine. “Do you miss it? California?”

He heard the sponge stop moving, as though she were contemplating the question. “I do sometimes. I miss the weather and my family. I moved up here for the job, but once I got used to all the rain, I really came to appreciate the green. The forests and mountains. I still go back a few times a year, but this is home for me now. Especially now that I’ve bought a house.”