They walked out to the parking lot, the morning sun bright in his eyes and warm on his shoulders. Once inside the car, he found it easier to talk.
“I do appreciate you helping me. You’re right. I don’t know how to fix the lock. So I’m grateful for your help.”
A real smile, maybe the first one he’d seen from the handsome detective, creased his face, softening the hard lines. “It’s no big deal. I was always the fixer around the house.” Then the smile faded, and he bowed his head for a moment before starting the Jeep up. “We’d better be getting back. I’m sure you have things to do, and so do I.”
Nothing I wouldn’t put off to spend more time with you, Elliot wanted to say. Even though he had pressing deadlines, Elliot would ditch it all for Winston Rogers. The prospect of being alone every day left him unmotivated and at a loss. He did like to plan, and everything he’d wanted to do had been thought of with Brian in mind.
“Eh, not really,” he found himself saying, “but I’m sure you must.”
Winston shot him a quick glance and made a right turn out of the parking lot. “Why do you say that?”
They were under the Gowanus Expressway, and the rumble of traffic meant he had to raise his voice somewhat. “Because you’re a policeman. You’re always doing something dangerous.”
“First off, I’m a detective, not a policeman. And yeah, my work can be dangerous, but that’s why I try and enjoy my time off.” He stopped at a red light. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a freelance lifestyle reporter. I go around the city and then write about new trends I see, interesting things you might not know about New York City or people who’ve made a difference in their community.”
“And you can make a living at that?”
Okay, that was rude, but he was used to that question. “Yeah. I’ve had articles inNew York Magazine,Travel, theTimes.” He ticked off a few, getting hot. “They pay me well. Plus, I have a standing weekly article inNew York Magazineon what to look for in the city. Like I said—the up-and-coming.” Remembering his article for next week was due tomorrow, Elliot slumped in the seat. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Winston turned onto their block.
“I just realized I need a topic for my next article.” Elliot chewed his lip. “I’m gonna have to find something relatable to write about.”
They’d reached his house, and Winston pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. “Well, maybe you can write about the necessity of keeping your house safe.” That gorgeous smile warmed Winston’s face. “And how if you go to Home Depot early in the morning, it’s not too crowded, especially if you know what you’re looking for.”
Liking this side of his enigmatic neighbor, Elliot bantered back. “Or maybe I can write about the kindness of next-door neighbors. How even in a city as big as this one, people still look out for each other.”
He wasn’t flirting with Winston—Elliot had never been good at picking up signals from other men—but the spark he thought he’d seen shut down.
“Let’s get this thing done.” The door slammed behind Winston, and he took off toward Elliot’s house.
Elliot stomped after him. “You know, I’m not forcing you to help me. You’re the one who offered.”
Brow puckered, Winston leaned against the railing leading up to the front porch. “I never said you did. I’m here, aren’t I?” He turned the lock over in his hand. “Got a knife or something to cut this package open? And I’ll need tools. Do you have any, or should I get mine?”
Damn, the man was frustrating. Elliot must’ve looked like a fool, all riled up while Winston remained cool and collected.
“I…don’t know. I never looked. Maybe in the mudroom.”
“How about we go find out, then?”
Was Winston teasing him? Elliot couldn’t be sure. “I guess. Okay.” He led them through the house, and Winston followed him silently to the rear. The kitchen led to the mudroom, and too late, Elliot recalled Winston in the window, standing across from him in his underwear.
“It’s this way.”
The search for tools proved fruitless. They rummaged through drawers and shelves, but eventually, with a huff of breath to blow the hair off his brow, Elliot crossed his arms, ready to admit defeat.
“I’m sorry. I guess my dad either didn’t have any or took them with him when they moved. I haven’t lived here since college, and I don’t remember him ever fixing anything.”
“So, like father, like son, is what you’re saying?” Winston chuckled. “And it’s no big deal—I’ll get mine.”
“Sure. Thanks. I guess that’s another thing I need to see to. This home ownership wasn’t something I thought about, but I guess that’s life, huh? Not everything goes according to plan. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” This time Elliot wasn’t mistaken. The laughter died in Winston’s eyes, and grim-faced, he strode away, muttering under his breath, “I’ll be right back,” leaving Elliot to wonder what the hell he’d said to annoy this man whose moods were as changeable as the wind.
