Kayla
After my moment with Taylor and subsequent run-in with Dom, I finally got dressed. Those two men, despite their shared profession, were as different as two men could be: Taylor—charming and easygoing and oh so sexy he made my teeth hurt; Dominic—bristly and bitter and oh so sexy he made my heart pound. Yes, even after his snarky comment to me, I still found him attractive, a fact I was trying not to think about.
I pulled on jeans and a simple tee, then applied a bare amount of make-up—powder, a swipe of mascara, and lip gloss—before combing the tangles out of my long, wet hair. Just the basics. I would not primp for the handymen in my home no matter how hot they were. I’d made enough of a fool of myself already. They probably had women clients falling over them all the time.
I’d come here to start my life over and to take advantage of an opportunity Tabitha had given me to find my passion, not to flirt with handsome guys who’d end up hurting me in the end.
Granted, they might hurt me in the end anyway, financially speaking, but that wasn’t the same thing. I wanted to know how much they’d quote me for a full renovation. Probably over a hundred K, which meant there’d be no way for me to fix up the place. If that was the case, I needed to start making other plans, like selling and moving to the Bay Area, not continue fantasizing about the men in my house.
I stared in the mirror for a moment more, studying my features. The hazel eyes I’d inherited from my mother looked tired this morning, but my skin glowed, even though yes, my face appeared a little rounder than a year before, as Grant had so graciously pointed out.
In retrospect, gaining those ten pounds had been totally worth it. I’d been able to try delicious foods at restaurants around the city at the company’s expense, and I’d been able to create amazing dishes and desserts by following reader recipes. Best of all, those pounds had helped me get rid of Grant.
Yeah, Grant’s betrayal still hurt, probably my pride more than anything else, but good riddance to anyone who couldn’t love me for who I was.
Thinking about food gave me an idea. Before trying to figure out the rest of my life, I needed to de-stress. My favorite way to do that was to bake.
I headed downstairs to the kitchen to see what I could make with what I’d bought and what was left in Tabitha’s kitchen. The guys were nowhere to be found, but they hadn’t said goodbye and their truck with their gorgeous faces on it still sat in my driveway. After hearing a few banging noises outside, I realized they were evaluating the exterior of the house. While Taylor and Dom continued their work, I’d play around in the kitchen and bake up something yummy, the way Taylor had suggested on the phone.
Hmm, let’s see, what to make? It was summer, and here I was in a quaint little town, so what better dessert to whip up than a light and airy angel food cake with a lemon drizzle? Was Tabitha’s old angel food cake pan still in the cupboard? Yep! Next I opened the fridge and pulled out the dozen eggs I’d bought yesterday, then rummaged around in Tabitha’s pantry, searching for cake flour, cream of tartar, and superfine sugar. Check, check, check.
I zested the lemons I’d bought yesterday and prepared the meringue, humming as I worked. Immediately, all my tension and stress melted away. After carefully sifting and then folding the flour into the meringue, a quarter-cup at a time, I placed the whole thing in the oven. Hopping up onto the counter with a notepad and pencil, I started creating that To-Do list I’d promised myself I would write.
Twenty minutes later I sat staring blankly at my meager list when Taylor strode into the kitchen. He paused and sniffed the air. “I came in to tell you we’d be about a half hour longer, but good god, what’s that delicious smell?”
“Lemon angel food cake.”
“Damn, girl. Hope I get to sample that.” Big, gorgeous smile.
How I’d love to sample him, I thought. But no! No, Kayla. You are not here to put the Fix-It Guys in your mouth—that is why you are making yourself a consolation prize of lemon cake.
“What if I was making it for someone else?” I asked playfully, glad he wasn’t bringing up my little sparring session with Dom earlier or how I’d retreated so abruptly to my room.
“I’d be a horse’s ass and beg you to make one for me. You want a good quote on the repairs, don’t you?” He quickly added, “Kidding, of course,” and gave me a wink.
I rolled my eyes so he wouldn’t think I found him charming.
Which I did. Find him charming, that is. Excessively so.
Taylor didn’t wait for a reply, but instead headed back outside.
I called out after him, “Cake should be done in a half hour.”
“I’ll be outside, drooling,” he hollered back.
Just like me, only for an entirely different reason.
A while later, I pulled the cake out of the oven and set it upside down on a cooling rack, still in its baking pan the way they do in that adorable British baking show. As it cooled, I made the lemon glaze to go on top. I wished I had my pretty cake stand to put it on, but my stuff was still in boxes on a moving van, which would hopefully arrive soon. I set it on one of Tabitha’s cheerful Fiestaware dinner plates instead and drizzled the glaze over the top.
“Wow, that sure looks good, doesn’t it, Dom? Smells delicious, too.”
I whirled around to find Taylor leaning against the door jamb, with Dom right behind him, arms folded over his chest. And I was positive by the way Taylor was looking at me that he wasn’t referring to the cake. He was talking about me, as if my simple jeans and tee were the equivalent of a GNO dress.
His gaze made me shiver.
Dominic replied with, “Yes. Very good.” The man still had his arms crossed tightly and a scowl on his face, but he did seem to be sniffing the air. I swear, one bite of this cake would take the pissy attitude right out of that man.
“Would you two like a slice?”
“Thought you said it wasn’t for us,” Taylor said, grinning.
“I was kidding. Actually, it’s for me, because I like baking. Helps me relax. But you’re reaping the benefits since you’re here.” I cut two slices and passed them over on small mismatched plates I’d found in Tabitha’s cupboards, then handed the men paper napkins.
Now came the best part, seeing Taylor and Dom’s reactions. Both closed their eyes. Both groaned as the cake hit their tongues. Both opened their eyes. Each of their gazes, Taylor’s blue and Dom’s brown, burned into me, as though they wanted to toss the rest of their dessert aside—as if!—and eat me up.
Taylor’s smile broadened. “Holy…this is the most delicious cake I’ve ever had, Kayla.”
“Thanks.” I looked at Dom and gave him a pert smile. “How about you? Still hate me?”
He swallowed his bite, looking uncomfortable. “Why would I hate you? And this is delicious.” He took another bite and his eyes slid shut again, a groan coming from somewhere deep in his chest. I had instant fantasies of that mouth of his traversing the length of my body, but I remembered my promise to stay focused and not let these guys fill my head too much. I had plans. No-men-allowed plans.
But I also had hot builders salivating in front of me. For my cake, but still…
“Listen,” Dominic said after swallowing his second mouthful, “I’m sorry about my earlier behavior. I don’t hate you. It's that I have…stuff I’m going through. It’s not you, it’s me.”
We stared at each other a moment, then all three of us burst out laughing.
“‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ Really?” Taylor snorted.
“Watch it,” Dominic warned, an edge to his tone but a softness, too. Another chuckle escaped his lips, brushing over me as if it were silk on my skin.
Taylor was gorgeous when he laughed, but Dom… Maybe because he’d done nothing but glower at me since he’d been here, or maybe because I understood his pain, but seeing him laugh made me want to pump my fist in the air and run a victory lap.
“Angel food cake for the win,” I said, cutting a small slice for myself.
For a second, I imagined Grant giving me his warning look, like I probably shouldn’t eat it, because you know—weight gain. But that wasn’t why I’d moved to Fosterman. I’d moved here to start anew, find peace again, find myself—and all this beating myself up simply wouldn’t do.
I ate the slice of cake, judgment from my ex be damned, as the men finished scarfing down their slices.
When they asked if it was okay that they have another, I felt oddly happy. Tabitha was right—the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. For some men, at least.
I licked the last sticky drop of icing off my finger before saying, “Thanks for fixing the sink and doing the evaluation. Should I write you a check now?” In New York, a serviceman would’ve definitely insisted on full payment before leaving.
Taylor took Dominic’s plate and napkin. He threw the paper products in the trash bin and placed the plates in the sink. “I forgot to price the cost of the faucet before coming out here, so I’ll email you a bill for the sink repair tonight.” He gave me a cocky grin. “Besides, I know where you live.”
I was about to say, “Feel free to come whenever you like,” but some blessed, lifesaving rational part of my brain saved me from letting that slip from my lips. “Fair enough,” I said instead, managing to blush only slightly.
“Great cake,” Dom said to me, then to Taylor, “I’ll meet you in the truck.” He turned on his heel and left.
I stared after him, wanting to follow, annoyed that he hadn’t said thank you or a proper goodbye, but also sensing that his abruptness was a cover for something. He’d been hot and cold, smiling at me one minute and fleeing the next.
“Hey.” Taylor’s soft tone caught my attention. “Thank you, from both of us, for the treat.”
We stared at each other. There was no mistaking the attraction, and damn, did he smell good standing there. Like sandalwood or cedarwood or one of those delicious-smelling woods, as though being outside had activated his natural body scent.
“You’re welcome.”
“So, can you fill this top part out and sign right here? This means you acknowledge that we did the service and all that jazz.” He handed me his clipboard, where I jotted down my full name, cell number, and e-mail address.
When Taylor took it back, he added, “Again, it was great meeting you, Kayla. I see why Tabitha always raved about her niece in New York City.” He tucked the clipboard under his arm. “I’ll get you the estimate on the cost for a full renovation tonight when I email you the bill for the faucet. Whatever you decide, whether it’s to sell the house or not, I hope we’ll see you again. If you decide to hire us to do the renovations, no doubt about it—you can trust us to do right by you.”
It was hard not to gulp at his words, so I just held my breath as he walked through the house toward the front door. I was sure he could do right by me. So sure of it, I couldn’t get the thought out of my brain. That was the whole problem.
Later that night I crawled into bed, listening to the now-familiar chirp of crickets and symphony of frogs, and reveling in a sense of ease and happiness as the cool air drifted through the open window along with the night sounds. Fosterman and the surrounding countryside was beautiful, serene, and being in Tabitha’s house once again had me aware of how much life could offer, and how willing I was to grab ahold of life instead of hide behind expectations. Yeah, sure, I needed to make plans to sell the house in case what I expected turned out to be true—I couldn't afford to fix it up and live here myself—but for now, at least, I was just happy to be here.
As I was about to drift off into sleep, I heard the ping of my phone.
Groggily, I checked the Caller ID, and felt flutters in my belly when the ID showed the text coming from the Fix-It Guys. It was probably from Taylor, but it could be from Dom, too, and I found myself equally excited by either possibility.
Then I saw the text was from Taylor, with an estimate for renovating the house that made my eyes bug out.
I read on, his text being rather lengthy. He specifically made notes about what he’d prioritize and the stages the construction would go through. He emphasized that not everything had to be done at once.
Sadly, even if I only looked at the first four items on his list, I still didn’t have the money to cover it and I couldn’t imagine finding a job anytime soon that would make a major difference. Besides paying for repairs to the house, I’d have to pay property taxes, eat, get a cheap car, and keep using my moderately-priced face cream that I splurged on but couldn’t live without. The writing was on the wall—I couldn’t afford to fix up the place, but someone else could.
I stared at my phone, wondering why Taylor had texted rather than e-mailed me the bid. He’d probably wanted me to see the bid right away, instead of having the quote languish away in my in-box. I worried my lip, knowing when I turned down hiring them, it meant I wouldn’t see Taylor or Dom ever again. My time in Fosterman was limited—a few weeks, tops, I figured, if the house sold as quickly as Taylor had indicated it might.
Finally, I replied.
Hey, Taylor. Thank you for your time in coming out and preparing the bid. Now comes the hard part…I really wish my finances would allow me to fix up the place. I’m gonna have to sell, and sell it as-is. Your bid is great information to have for when I talk to that real estate agent you recommended, though, so thanks for that. I wish things could be different.
It dawned on me that Taylor hadn’t told me how much I owed him for the kitchen sink. About to add another line, I stopped when his reply came through.
Listen, I totally understand. It’s a big undertaking, and learning you’d inherited a run-down house couldn’t have been easy on you.
No, it wasn’t, I replied, wallowing in my self-pity. It hadn’t been easy at all.
At least Dom and I got to meet the great-niece of the Great Tabitha. He added a smiley face on the end of that text.
Well, yes, it was definitely nice meeting the two of you. Glad I could give you cake, too, I typed.
That cake!!!! SOOO GOOOOD. I licked my fingers the rest of the day.
Heat rushed to my core. God, Taylor couldn’t stop being sexy if he tried. If this was how he reacted to having a slice of cake, how would he react in bed when things got even sweeter?
So glad you liked it, I typed. My ex never ate any of the goodies I was always whipping up. Nice to feed men willing to eat. I wanted so bad to add “I’ll whip up something new if you ever want to come by.” But God no, I couldn’t.
Well, your ex-boyfriend was an idiot. Good riddance, he wrote, adding another smiley face.
I stared at the screen, a deep sadness overcoming me. Somehow, I felt sadder at the prospect of never seeing Taylor or Dom again than I’d felt breaking up with Grant. How was that possible? I needed to nip this in the bud now. Thank him and move on.
Hey, you okay?
Yeah, just thinking how you and my ex are so different, lol.
Screw that guy if he couldn’t appreciate what he had. Me? I’d be eating your stuff all the time. More smiley faces.
I bit my lip and smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. He would eat my stuff all the time? Holy cow, the man was laying it on thick, and I didn’t exactly mind. It was nice to get this kind of attention again.
That’s an…interesting thought, I replied, hoping that wasn’t too flirty. Yeah, right. He was flirting and I was flirting right back. What was I doing? Not five seconds earlier I’d been convincing myself to back away, and here I was spurring the man on to talk about eating my pussy.
Before I saw bubbles to indicate he was typing again, I added, Too bad we can’t do business. Will you tell Dom that it was nice meeting him? Oh, and I still need to know what I owe you for the sink.
Moments passed before the typing bubbles popped up, then his text appeared.
Totally understand. Kayla, you’re an awesome woman and I’m glad I met you. So is Dom. Can we take you out to dinner before you leave town?
My breath caught and I wanted more than anything to respond, Yes, yes, yes!
I wanted to see Taylor again, and Dom, too. And it thrilled me that Taylor made the invitation even knowing that I wouldn’t be giving the Fix-It Guys any more work.
But then my excitement abruptly waned. What would be the point in going to dinner with them? It would just be prolonging my misery, wouldn’t it? Taunting me with what I couldn’t have?
Get the pain over with now, Kayla. Rip off the band-aid.
It actually hurt me when I typed my reply. Thank you, but I can’t.
It hurt even more when Taylor wrote back. Okay, you take care, Kayla. It was a pleasure meeting you. Goodnight.
Goodnight, I wrote hastily, pressing Send before I could second-guess myself. Then, with the phone still in my hand, I hesitated. Was I crazy to turn down another chance to see them? I thought about how Taylor had looked at me earlier today. The way he and Dom had looked at me, actually.
Taylor with his sweet, charming smile, and Dom with his brooding, dark eyes that seemed to see and understand everything about me with one single glance. Taylor with his laugh that sounded delicious, the way fresh baked chocolate chip cookies taste, and Dom, all mysterious and hurt and as dangerous as a wild animal.
Sweet and sour. Hot and cold. Naughty and nice. They wanted me, I know they—
No. No. Do not go there.
It doesn’t matter if they want you. It doesn’t matter how they make you feel. You’re selling Tabitha’s home and leaving town. That is that.
I tossed my phone on the covers and flopped back down on my pillow. It was only then I realized Taylor hadn’t told me what I owed him for the sink.
Which meant I’d have to contact him again tomorrow.
And resist temptation once again.
Why, why, why did life have to be so unfair sometimes?