It’s perfect.
I wasn’t lying when I told her my dad had me help him on some projects; he did. He believed you could be the man someone marries who can fix stuff, or the man who has to pay someone to fix it for you. I chose to be like him, so I soaked up as much as I could in our years together.
I don’t know if he’d completely approve of my methods here, but well, if you’re watching, Dad, I swear I have the best of intentions. Mostly. Kind of.
I remember my dad giving me lessons about what not to do, so I’m going to use those. Unscrewing the fitting from the pipe, I pull it apart and look for the washer I know is going to be there. Removing it quickly, I realize it has a crack in it, which could actually be part of the issue. Too bad I’m not replacing it.
Tossing the washer to the side, I install the piece Mila grabbed, then crawl out from under the sink. Replacing her faucet only takes about fifteen minutes and I’m set. Turning the water on, I watch to see it slowly push out between the pieces. Perfect, it’s leaking already. Quickly turning it off, I wonder how much time I have before she gets back.
Cleaning up the slight mess I made, I toss the packaging and damaged part into the garbage can. Her entire apartment smells of vanilla, and I know the bakery is right below us, but I’ve discoveredit’s something that’s just her. I already invaded her living room last time, and eyeing the door makes me hope I have enough time to find her bedroom.
Walking back the hall, I keep my ear out for any indication she’s coming up. I know she’s occupied, but Mila also knows it probably won’t take me too long to fix the sink. I open the first door to my right and find that it’s a small linen closet. Towels, blankets and bedding line the shelves in neat stacks. They’re all in neutral colors. Interesting.
Shutting the closet door, I continue down the hallway. Much like Emma’s house, the wall is lined with photos from over the years. Her family on vacation and other important moments throughout her life. When I get to an open door at the end, the soft scent of vanilla hits my senses, and immediately I know I’m in the right spot.
Her bed is pushed against the wall with a light blue comforter draped across it. It’s full size, which isn’t ideal for both of us, but I have a king at my apartment, so we’ll be okay. Running my hand over the fabric, I wish it was something more than plain cotton. Mila deserves to sleep on something silky. I’ll fix that for her. Sitting down on her bed, I take in the rest of the room.
There’s a small dresser across from the bed, along with a TV mounted to the wall above it. Oddly enough, there are no pictures in her room like everywhere else in the apartment. Instead, she has two tall shelves full of books and plants. I can see where she invests her money.
Pushing to my feet, I browse the titles that fill her space. Well, well, well. There’s a mix of everything in here. Mila has books that range from romance to thrillers, and of course, cookbooks as well. The books are pretty, though. A lot of them have sprayed edges and artwork—which I can appreciate. She has them organized and the shelf is free of dust. I doubt she gets to spend much time here. She works so hard. Making note of a few authors and titles, I quickly put her shelf back as I found it.
Her closet is open, and a smirk crosses my face when I see thebasket of laundry on the floor that she was supposedly folding and putting away. Listening for any sign she’s returned, I take the silence as permission to venture further into her space.
There’s an open door that leads to a small connecting bathroom. Her products line a rack hanging from behind the shower head. Picking up one of the bottles, I realize it doesn’t look like any type of store brand I’ve seen, but it smells amazing. Vanilla and brown sugar scents waft through my nostrils, and now I’m dying to know what she tastes like.
If I lick her skin, will she taste like vanilla or brown sugar? It makes my dick hard thinking about it.
Quickly putting her bodywash back, I decide I’ve snooped enough... for now. I’ve got more “Woo-Search” to do for my girl, but I think I have a good start. How else am I supposed to woo my girl if I don’t take the proper steps to learn about her?
Making a mental list of her favorite scents, books, and colors she seems to like, I head back toward the hallway, stopping in my tracks when something red catches my eye. Stepping over to the laundry basket on the floor, I pluck out a piece of red fabric. In my hands are a pair of red lacey underwear. Of course there’s some thongs in the basket, but this is so much better. The red panties in my hands put me in mind of short boxer briefs, with a lace trim around the bottom. I can perfectly picture the way they’d hug and curve around her ass, the globes peeking out beneath the lace.
Deciding I deserve a souvenir, I stuff them into my pocket and head out. I stop to lock the door behind me. Can’t have any creeps getting in.
Walking back intoTwin Roasts, I hear raised voices and head straight to the kitchen. Mara and Mila are standing side by side, looking at a clipboard on one of her prep tables, while some fifty-something-year-old man waits impatiently.
“Sweetheart?” I call out, trying to get her attention.
Three sets of eyes immediately pan toward me. Two sets look confused, while one rolls their eyes.
“Who are you calling ‘Sweetheart’?” Mara arches her brow and sends a scathing look my way. I can tell why Atlas is kind of afraid of her. Mila loves her sister, though, so I have to play nice and not tell her that that look on her face might freeze if she keeps it up.
“Excuse me,” the man cuts in. “If you could hurry up, that’d be nice. I have other places to be.”
“Excuseme,” I interrupt him. Standing a bit straighter, I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down. “You don’t get to take that tone with my girl, or her sister. I suggest you apologize.”
He scoffs. The man actually scoffs. Now I get why Atlas and Seth hate most people.
“I don’t need this.” Turning back toward the girls, he proceeds like I didn’t speak.Rude. “If you don’t want to follow through with the price list, then that’s on you. I can happily take my supplies elsewhere. Good luck finding a better offer.”
“No,” Mila cuts in, pointing to something on a page. “We had a set contract for a year. Our year isn’t up for another two months.” Shaking her head, she adds, “If you do this, you’ll be in breach of contract, Andrew.”
“Are you threatening me?” He takes a step toward them.
“No, but I am.” Stepping between them, I glare at the older man. I don’t care who he is; no one talks to her that way. “If you don’t follow through on your contract, I’m going to rip your arms off, and you won’t be able to worry about deliveries anymore because you’ll be a walking plank board.”
“Kash!” Mila admonishes from behind me.
Mara, on the other hand, snickers. “Plank board.”
