Fixer Upper by Beth C. Greenberg

Author:Beth C. Greenberg [Beth C. Greenberg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Isotopia Publishing
Published: 2022-05-18T00:00:00+00:00

thirteen

Thea

“I can’t believe this is my sixth week here, and you have yet to repeat a pastry. You could open up your own bakery, you know that?”

If Henry only knew the hours Thea had spent poring through cookbooks and baking websites to keep it fresh for him. It was all worth it to watch the way Henry’s eyes rolled back in his head with pure pleasure, the way his mouth could somehow form a smile at the same time he was chewing and moaning and licking the glaze off his lips.

Shoot, where were we . . . opening a bakery!

“Sure, but then who would teach Huck Finn to young minds?”

“Eh. Anyone can teach”—Henry eyed her steadily as he brought the pastry to his lips—“but only a select few can make the perfect cinnamon roll.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind if I need a career change.”

Chuckling, Henry extended his long legs under her kitchen table. For a moment, Thea imagined an unhurried weekend morning at Henry’s. A leisurely cup of coffee at his kitchen table. Shirtless Henry. Shoulders. Arms. Chest. Lord help me.

Alas, not even Thea’s wildest fantasies were powerful enough to picture herself in that scene. Surely, the man had a stable of hot, age-appropriate lovers at his disposal. A young woman came into view, slightly mussed but otherwise flawless, sitting across from Henry, wearing one of his white T-shirts, basking in his adoring gaze.

And damn, if those same eyes weren’t seeing directly inside Thea’s brain again. She drew her mug to her mouth a little too abruptly. He tipped his head, the beginnings of a grin on his lips. Maybe the man was a sadist after all.

A shiver crawled up Thea’s neck and sent tingles across her scalp. Her mug quivered in her hands.

Henry’s smile widened.

“What?” Thea asked.

His smile undimmed, Henry threw the question right back at her. “What?”

Either he truly was that cold fish Beatrice had warned her about, or he was some kind of evil genius who knew exactly how to push Thea’s buttons. Either way, she was falling apart.

“Should we . . .?” Thea nodded toward his ever-present papers: invoices, receipts, schedules.

“Oh.” Surprise flickered on Henry’s features, but he snapped right into business mode, clapped the crumbs off his hands, and slipped into the chair beside Thea. “We’re officially in the home stretch now. I expect to have the dining room ceiling finished by tomorrow, two days to lay the flooring, and that leaves Friday for the punch list. Everything should be wrapped up by the end of the week.”

“One more week?” Wow. Where had the time gone? Soon, Henry would be on to his next job, charming the next customer with his easy smile, turning the next housewife’s head with his flirting and teasing and compliments.

“Yes, the drywall compound needs to set overnight and—”

She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “No, I . . . didn’t mean it that way.”

Henry blinked at her as if trying to understand a foreign language. She

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