only imagining that the kindness in his voice is personal, she told herself as she slogged after him. Waves washed against the tile protection along the walls and threatened to start wetting the wallboard at any time.
Evan had gone back to his seat, right? As she scurried down the hall she caught a glimpse of the nearly empty dining room. Evan wasn’t in it.
Men. This was why she didn’t have one. You couldn’t trust them to do what you said—you couldn’t trust them at all, not as far as you could throw them. She grabbed her coat from the kitchen closet and the flashlight from the top shelf.
The chill in the wind cut through her, tearing at the edges of her coat, and she zipped it up tightly as she ran. The light from the windows gave just enough light to thin the shadows as she tripped along the icy flagstone path around the far edge of the building.
The trap door was flung wide open and the scant light down below gave her no hint of what was happening. Had Evan already found the valve and turned it off?
He peered up at her from the shadows below. Dust streaked the top of his head. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tools on you, would you?”
Those dimples had dug into his cheeks again and caught her off guard.
“I—” Her brain shut down. Tools. He was talking about tools. “You don’t need one for the shut-off. Just let me—”
“I found the valve, but it’s stuck open.”
“It’s stuck? No, it can’t be. The handle has to be jiggled just right. It’s temperamental.” She barreled down the wooden steps, swiping cobwebs out of her hair. “Let me try it.”
“Do you have a toolbox upstairs?”
“There’s a kit in the kitchen closet by the door but—” She stumbled along the uneven ground and went down on her knees by the valve. He was already gone. It didn’t matter. She wrapped both hands around the small metal handle and pulled. Nothing.
She strained harder. Nothing.
Okay, what she needed was a little more muscle. She braced her feet, used her weight as leverage and heaved with all her strength. The pipe groaned. The valve screeched a millimeter and then stuck as if it had been cemented into place.
No, this can’t be happening. She took a step back and her heel splashed in something wet. Water. It was coming through the floorboards at the end near the bathrooms. What was it doing upstairs?
Before panic could set in, Evan was back, thundering down the steps and into the narrow space, stooping as he went, the toolbox clinking with his movements. He dropped the box at her feet and snapped it open. Her hand shot out for the wrench but he’d already stolen it.
“Hey, this is my job,” she decided loudly.
He didn’t seem to care, as he was already shouldering next to her and fitting the wrench into place. “It’s just rusted some. Let’s hope this doesn’t break the pipe.”
“And if it does?”
“There’s always the shut-off at the meter in the street, but let’s—” he paused as he put some muscle into his effort “—hope that it doesn’t—come—to that.”
Metal screeched in protest.
“Is it working?”
“Not yet. Could you aim the flashlight right here? It’d help if I could see what I’m doing.”
“Sure.” She moved close to point the beam at the stubborn valve in the narrow corner. “I keep imagining that I’m going to need an ark to rescue the last of the customers I left in the dining room.”
He gave the wrench a little more muscle and the screech of old copper pipes told him he was making some difference. “If it comes to that, I’ll engineer you one.”
“Then I’ll be even more in your debt.” The gentle curve of her mouth eased into a ghost of a smile as she leaned closer to give the flashlight she held a better angle.
She smelled of cinnamon and roses. Cinnamon from the kitchen, he guessed. And roses from her lotion. The subtle aroma made him take notice. His chest throbbed. Heartburn, he thought, dismissing it as he felt the valve give a tiny bit. At his age, chest pain wasn’t a good sign. Being forty-two was a thrill a minute.
He was no longer young, but he wasn’t anywhere close to being old. Just in between. Which is pretty much where he’d been all his life anyway. Wasn’t that what Liz had always mourned? He wasn’t a stand-out kind of guy. Just average. Average looking, average earning…just average everything.
And that hadn’t bothered him much over the years until this moment.
The wrench froze in place, and as he moved into a better position, he bonked the top of his head hard on a thick wooden beam. Stars lit the dimness before his eyes a split second before pain reverberated through his skull.
Great going, Thornton.
“Are you all right?” Genuine emotion softened her lean face, and in the spare glow of the flashlight’s dim bulb, he saw concern fill her eyes.
“I’m fine. I’ve got a hard head.”
He couldn’t help noticing how lovely she was. Her heart-shaped face was classically cut with a delicate chin, a straight nose and wide, startlingly blue eyes. Dark feathery bangs spilled over her forehead, making him want to smooth those silky wisps away from her eyes. A band tightened around his chest like a vise.
That’s it, I’m cutting down on French fries.
He gave the wrench a little more torque, gritted his teeth and pushed for all he was worth. The stubborn wrench didn’t move a millimeter and then slowly, with a high-pitched squeal, it began to give. The pipes groaned. Evan groaned. His arms burned as he clenched his jaw and gave it everything he had.
The valve closed.
“Oh, Evan! You did it! Oh, I never could have done that by myself. You are incredible! Thank you so much!”
“It was nothing.” He removed the wrench and realized he was shivering.
“Nothing? You’ve only earned my eternal gratitude. It’s freezing down here. Come on up and we’ll get you something hot to drink.” She grabbed the wrench from him, and her warm, satin fingers brushed his.
Suddenly he totally forgot about being half frozen. He noticed the faint blanket of freckles across her nose. Her skin was flawless, her cheekbones high and chiseled, her mouth full and her chin delicate.
The vise around his chest clamped so tight he felt close to suffocating. He shouldn’t be noticing how beautiful Paige McKaslin was, because in the end it didn’t matter. He’d sworn off women, and that especially included noticing the beautiful ones.
He cleared his throat. “No, I’m fine. And as for your eternal gratitude, why don’t we call it even? You’ve served me plenty of good meals over the years.”
“Yes, and you’ve paid for them.”
“But
