Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Her eyes light up. “You will? Are you sure?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Liam laughs and holds up his hands. “Better him than me. I am not handy.”
I puff up my chest. “Fortunately, I am.”
She tells her dad she has a better solution, and he seems to agree to it. I relax for the rest of the conversation dissecting the pass rush, because I have something Liam doesn’t have.
The chance to help Jillian where she needs it most right now.
I pat the top of the desk then knock it with a fist. “Sturdy as a three-hundred-fifty-pound lineman,” I say to Aaron Moore. “Wait—this desk is way sturdier.”
Jillian’s tall, gray-haired father smiles from behind his horn-rimmed glasses as he surveys the newly assembled oak desk in his office. “My, that’s some fine work. And to think Jillian said you were just a pretty face.”
“Dad!”
I peer over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of red splashed across her cheeks, as she lounges in a leather chair in the corner of his office. But there’s no denial from either one of them, and I won’t deny, either, that I’m digging the fact that she told her dad she thinks I’m handsome.
Her dad winks at her then turns to me. “Thanks for doing this. Think it’s cool for me to tell all the guys at the wine bar tonight that the all-pro receiver put together my desk?”
I smile as I set the screwdrivers in the tool set. “I’d expect nothing less. But only if you mention my pretty face.”
“Jillian? You don’t mind if I mention to the other fellas that you think Jones Beckett is pretty?”
Her jaw drops. “Dad! Are you trying to hit a new record for embarrassing me? You do know I work with Jones? As in professionally?”
Aaron drops his voice to a stage whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell all the other widowers that she said you were a cutie-pie.”
With a shit-eating grin, I nod. “Deal.”
He extends a hand. “But seriously, I can’t thank you enough for helping. Ever since my Vivian passed away, I’ve had to tackle all this fixing stuff on my own, and I’m terrible at it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your wife was the handy one, sir?”
He nods proudly, gesturing to their home. “She was. She kicked my butt around the house. Knew how to fix a furnace, rewire a dryer, hang a door.”
“Damn,” I say with an appreciative whistle as I snap the tool set shut. “That’s impressive.”
“You’re telling me.” He points to his daughter. “She taught this little lady how to fix a broken sink and how to install a new electrical outlet.”
“You don’t say? Jillian, you’ve been holding out on me. I had no idea you were so handy. And you didn’t even offer to help me with the new desk.” I pout.
She tips her chin at her dad as his golden retriever mix slumbers at her feet. “He refuses to accept my help.”
Her dad jumps in. “She’s my daughter. I can’t let her do that stuff for me,” he says then winks. “Plus, I mostly wanted bragging rights with the guys when she said you’d do it.”
Jillian points to me. “Besides, you seemed all too happy to fix the desk, which gave me time to answer this pile of emails from reporters wanting to know about you and Paleo Pet, so there.” She takes a beat. “And I made some trades on my fantasy baseball team that’ll put even more distance between my Fire-Breathing Dragons and everyone else.”
I shoot her a smile, laughing at the name of her fantasy team, as I inch the desk a little closer to the wall. “I was happy to do it.” I swipe one hand against the other. “There you go. Jones Beckett, Furniture Assembly Specialist, at your service.”
“You’re a good man. How can I thank you?” her dad asks.
I rub a hand along the back of my neck and peer into the hall. The walls are lined with photographs, classic school shots of Jillian from over the years. “I’d really love it if you could show me some pictures of Jillian. Including, but not limited to, shots where she has braces, missing teeth, and terrible haircuts, since then I’ll forever have something to hold over her.”
Her brown eyes widen. “Jones. You’re a troublemaker!”
Her father nods enthusiastically, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ll show you the whole lot, but bear in mind even with missing front teeth and a haircut she gave herself when she got bubblegum stuck in her bangs, she was still the loveliest kid ever. A ray of sunshine, too. We always used to say we were so damn lucky because we were matched with the happiest kid ever. She smiled all the time. Still does.”
As if on cue, she demonstrates, and it looks all-natural. It’s the genuine kind that comes from deep within as she listens to her father tell stories.