I lean in before I remember it’s the worst thing I could do. That wholedon’t shit where you livejust got way closer to home. Like inside the walls.
Removing my finger, I stand and head for the bag. “You have two choices. I can rekey the lock you have, or I can install new sets.” I pull the new handles and locks that I’d stashed from my trip to the hardware store and turn to face her.
“Whichever you think.”
“Hybrid,” I mutter. “I’ll install the keypad deadbolts new and then rekey everything to match. I’ll need your old keys, then you can pitch them.”
“Do I want to know how you have locksmithing skills in addition to—” She stops dead on her way to the kitchen, turning slowly to face me. “What do you do for a living? I’ve never asked.”
“Cyber security.”
Her face scrunches as she turns back to what appears to be a drop spot on her counter. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“That works because I don’t know a thing about genomic anything when it comes to autoimmune stuff. You can be the expert in the family on that.”
What the fuck is wrong with me?Expert in the family?
Fuck me.
No, don’t. I’m already fucked. And not the good way.
“Okay,” she starts, walking barefoot back toward me. The big toe on her one foot still shows the signs of trauma, but there’s no limp and no sign of pain. “I have this idea. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
I already do, I don’t say it, because I have no idea if she gets my humor.
“We don’t know how long this… arrangement”—she stumbles over the word as she finds my eyes—“will last. And since it’s inherently challenging, I think we should have some ground rules.”
“You already said you’re keeping your name and I said no dating. What else is there?” I open the door, crouching down with the drill and begin working.
She folds to sit cross-legged near the entry wall, not too close, but not nearly far enough when her shorts ride up those creamy thighs.
I return my focus to the door and am annoyed at what I see. The striker plate is loose and held in by screws that would pop out at the first good push. A kick would decimate wood that’s less wood and more so splinters holding hands. Lorien has bad luck if she has any luck.
“Did you just growl? At me? That’s on my list. No growling at me.”
“Your list, huh?”
“Yes.” She cocks her head and lifts her chin. “Growling at me is a no-go.”
“How many of these rules should I expect while you repay the favor of me saving your life?”
“That’s another thing. Stop throwing it in my face that I contracted a company that hires people of poor character. How could I have known that?”
Yelp. Google. Any website that serves the greater Denver area.
“Fair enough, Trix.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” I pull off the striker plate and walk out the door, needing some wood to reinforce the doorjamb. Like any man my age, I have spare wood in my garage for just such a project. I grab a piece, knowing that chances are I’ll need more, but each one will require different measurements. Such is my luck with the girl next door. Everything is just that difficult.
“Walking away from me mid-conversation is on my list,” she adds the moment I’m within earshot.
“That’s three. My first rule is no more than three rules. Aside from what was established over my dinner table.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m using one of my three on that.” Sketching the correct dimensions onto the block, I use my pen knife to verify them. “Now, dear Lorien, I need to cut this block of wood and that requires my saw. Your door frame would fall prey to the huffing and puffing of the big, bad wolf, so I’m walking away, but have ended the conversation to do so.”
