Sten saluted her with the pliers and then used them to reconnect the chain. “There you go.” He worked the handle. The flapper lifted and the water flowed away, then was quickly replaced by more. They waited in silence until the water shut off. “It’s working fine now.” He dropped the pliers back into the toolbox and bent to latch it shut. Grabbing the handle, he straightened.
“How about a beer?” she asked, the words rushing to get out, her tone suddenly forceful.
He faced her. She gazed up at him, dimples nowhere in sight, looking defiant and determined now. Adorably so. He sucked in one more breath of her enticing scent and opened his mouth to say that he really had to go. What came out was, “A beer would be great.”
* * *
In the kitchen, which looked out over the deck and the ocean beyond, she put the sunglasses down on the end of the counter, gestured for him to sit and then bounded to the fridge to pull out a couple of Breakside IPAs. The woman knew her beer—or at least somebody who worked for her did. She had chilled beer mugs, too.
“Help yourself.” She set the full beer bottles and the frosty mugs on the table. “And I have nachos!” She looked so pleased with herself, like Coco with her kiddie oven that she baked imaginary cupcakes in and then made everyone sit at her kid-size table and pretend to eat them off miniature pink plastic plates. “What’s so funny?” Madison was still standing by his chair, watching him.
“You’re just so enthusiastic, that’s all. It’s cute.”
She frowned, a line drawing down between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Thank you. I think. So...nachos?”
“I love nachos.”
“Well, all right then.”
She bustled around, heating the chips, adding stuff to the cheese sauce, popping it in the microwave. There were jalapeños and olives and onions and black beans that she sprinkled on after she’d poured on the sauce.
“Ta-da!” She set the platter on the table and gave them each a small plate.
“It looks great.” And it did.
“Enjoy.” She sat down in the chair across from him and held up her beer mug. He tapped it with his and they drank. “So, tell me,” she said, tipping her head to the side, her hair falling like a wheat-colored waterfall along one shoulder. “Your name. Sten. Is that a nickname?”
“Nope. It’s Swedish. Means stone.”
“Ah.” She seemed to ponder that. God, she was gorgeous. And sweet. And not innocent, exactly, but...open. She seemed fascinated by the most ordinary things. “I like it,” she said. “Because you’re not.”
He waited for her to explain what she meant by that. When she didn’t, he prompted her. “Not what?”
“Stone-like. Tell me more. What youdo, what you love?”
He couldn’t figure her out. The magic of her. And that made him edgy. “Is it part of being an actress, to be so interested in every little thing?”
Those full lips thinned. “Everything I do is not about acting.”
“Onlymostthings?” It came out kind of snarky and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
Apparently, she did, too. She aimed a full-out scowl at him. “Don’t make me get pissed at you. Maybe I just like you. Maybe I’minterestedin you. Did you ever think of that?”
He wanted to laugh, of all things. Instead he teased in a flat tone, “Fine. You can like me.”
She stared at him, her shining eyes narrowed. “I take it back about the stone thing. Now you’re definitely coming off as stone-like. Stop it. Chill. Talk about you. About your family. About the things you build down there in your workshop.”
He’d spotted her up there on the side deck more than once, wearing a big, floppy hat, using his own binoculars to spy on him. And he’d kind of liked it, her watching him. It had felt like a harmless, never-to-be-acted-on flirtation, somehow—until the other day, when he met her face-to-face and found her way too damn fascinating for his peace of mind.
“Sten,” she tried again. “What do you make in your workshop?”
“Cabinets. Molding. Things you put in houses you flip.”
“You flip houses?” She crunched another nacho. “Tell me about that.”
“You’re just going to make me ramble on about myself, aren’t you?”
Her smile was slow and full of sweet devilment. “Oh, yes, I am. You should tell me your life story. Just go ahead and get it over with.”
