Chapter six
Gabe Thatcher
The Bench Social Media Group
Riley Novak: Saw Roe Monroe and Gabe Thatcher sitting side by side at Jamie’s game last night. Again. No buffer seat.
Patti Jensen: And Roe leaned in to say something. Thatcher laughed. I saw it. With my own eyes.
Marge Calloway: We have seen Thatcher laugh before, right?
I adjust the level and sink the last screw into the new handrail at the edge of the church steps. This job isn’t big—maybe an hour’s worth of work if I don’t get interrupted—but Miss Eleanor had tripped there last week, and word had gotten around like it always did, since the fall was enough to send her to the hospital.
I still won’t be late to get Jamie even if I stop and fix it.
“You fixin’ things for free again?” came a voice from the sidewalk. Marge Calloway of course, leading a line of ladies from some church function. “You know you’re wreckin’ the going rate for every handyman in town.”
I don’t look up from the drill. “They can fight me.”
Marge chuckles along with her group.
She wanders off, hopping into her SUV, satisfied to know who was doing the fix although she would likely have guessed it was me, and I lean back, looking at the solid lines of the railing.
Then a voice behind me almost has me dropping the drill. “You always this noble, or does Fox River Falls only have so many causes?”
I stand and turn toward the voice—and there’s Monroe, leaning against the fence with that damn crooked smile. No jersey, no Iceguard gear. Just jeans and a hoodie like he has nowhere better to be.
I feel my jaw tighten before I can help it. “You followin’ me?”
“Nope. Just walking by. Saw a guy saving the world one stair at a time and got curious.”
“You got a lot of free time.”
Monroe shrugs. “Guess so.” He nods to the railing. “Looks like you do too.”
I huff. “Miss Eleanor fell due to this.”
“Yeah.” He scratches his dark stubble. “Strange thing is that although I have no idea who that is, I did also happen to hear that news. This town is a trip.”
I laugh out loud at his dry humor, and our eyes catch. It reminds me a bit of the other night at Volpe. I look away.
“Want to hold this piece for me?” I ask, not looking his way. “Since you have the time.”
“Alright.”
There’s something in his voice I don’t want to name. Admiration, maybe. Interest. Something under the teasing.
“Miss Eleanor owns the nursery right out of town. They sell plants to locals and commercial landscapers. A hell of a business she built herself.” I find myself telling him, although I doubt he cares.
“Sounds like a hell of a lady.”
I try for a smile. “She does like hockey, so definitely questionable taste, but . . .” I trail off with a shrug. No use trying to end a sentence that has no good end in sight.
Monroe comes closer and does as I ask, handing me a few tools and holding things even, allowing me to reinforce my work better than I could do alone. I can’t stop myself from glancing at Roe’s mouth when he smiles again, quick and sharp like a spark catching on dry wood.
And damn if I don’t feel that smile somewhere low in my spine. Shit. Attraction to Roe Monroe will lead to nothing but complications. And I don’t do complicated.
I pick up the drill and start packing up, looking anywhere except Roe’s teasing smirk. He moves back to the sidewalk now that the job is done. “You got something you need fixed?”
