Her choice of words rubbed him wrong, but all he could focus on was the task at hand—to stop the river destroying the floors. Without giving her a chance to answer he raced off as fast as his feet would take him, hoping to outrun the pace of water gushing out.
A minute felt like hours, as he could hear the liquid slushing around. By the time he made it to the exterior valve that controlled the water to the whole house he was winded. Wrapping his hands around the sixty-year-old rusted valve, ittook every ounce of strength to shut off what should have been an easy fix.
Certain that the water was completely off, he wiped his brow and walked out of the garage to find Poppy standing there with her arms crossed and a glare on her face.
“Seriously, with all the things in Stark House, you went for the garage?”
“I shut the water off first. And do you know how much my equipment costs? It’s worth ten times over what’s left in the house. But for the record, I was more concerned about this.” He pulled the kitchen trim from the garage and held it out to her. And for the first time since he’d met her, she was speechless.
“My measuring chart. You fixed it,” she whispered.
He felt his cheeks heat. “I know how important family heirlooms can be.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, running her fingers over the penciled-in numbers.
He couldn’t imagine being attached to a piece of marked wood. But this was clearly precious to her. Which was why he’d stayed up all last night fixing it. “It was nothing.”
“My therapist says that I have control issues.”
“You don’t say?” He set the board against the wall and stepped closer to close the gap between them. “My therapist says I have a habit of listening but not really hearing. So tell me what I missed.”
“We’re co-hosts. A team. I want to be included in decisions. Not left on the sidelines to be saved. I can save myself.”
He had to smile. “So am I hearing you right? You want to be a team player unless you get to play the hero, then you want to do it solo?”
“I guess that is a little confusing,” she admitted with a small quirk of her silky lips. “I just don’t like to have decisions made for me. I prefer to have options laid out and then make the decision together.”
“And if there isn’t time for a board meeting?” He ran a thumb over her lower lip and loved how she shivered.
“Then act on your feet. Just like you did tonight.”
“And you won’t be mad?”
“Oh, I retain the right to get pissy. I hate to be left behind. Had enough of that in my lifetime.” Something he wanted to dig deeper into, but this wasn’t the time. “Eventually I’ll calm down and then apologize. Like right now. You were right and I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“That’s okay. I might have overreacted, too. It wasn’t just your board. Some of those tools can’t be replaced. They were handed down to me by my dad and granddad. My granddad is gone and my father isn’t able to do what he loves anymore.”
Facing her, he took a step closer and slid his palm over her hands, surprised at how perfect they fit. He was more surprised when she flipped her hand over to hold his. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“I didn’t know you came from a line of builders.”
“You never asked.”
“I guess I’m asking now.”
“My granddad was a furniture maker. Heirloom pieces. My dad was a handyman turned builder. And my mom was the finisher.”
“Wow.”
“I used to spend weekends either in the shop or with my mom at tile stores or places with high-end bathroom fixtures.”
He felt his armor of bravado and arrogance slide away and in its place arose a vulnerability he didn’t often allow people to see. He didn’t like to allow people inside. Didn’t like sharing the soft parts of himself because people had used them against him in the past—just look at the sex tape. But with her, in this moment, it felt right.
“Your voice changes when you talk about your family. You sound like a real person.”
It wasn’t talking about his family that changed him. It was talking to her.
