Page 4 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Lumberjack
"I know."
Of course he does. Small town. Everyone knows everything.
"Thanks for the help in there," I say, nodding toward the hardware store. "Frank was about to sell me the wrong thing."
"Frank means well."
"I'm sure he does. But you saved me from a very embarrassing phone call when my kitchen flooded."
The corner of his mouth twitches. It's not a smile, not even close, but it's something.
"You know how to replace an O-ring?" he asks.
"Nope," I tell him. "But I'm going to YouTube the hell out of it and hope for the best."
He stares at me for a long second. Then he reaches into the bed of his truck, pulls out a small toolbox, and sets it on the tailgate.
"You'll need a basin wrench," he says, opening the box and pulling out something that looks vaguely medieval. "And pliers. The O-ring sits here—" He holds up his hand, miming the shape. "You'll see it once you take the faucet apart. Just don't overtighten when you put it back, or you'll crack the seal."
I blink. "Are you actually helping me right now?"
His jaw tightens, like he's surprised at himself. "You'll flood the place otherwise."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"Wasn't a vote," he says. "Just a fact."
Ridge bumps against my leg again, and I reach down to give him another scratch. "Your dog likes me."
"Ridge likes everyone."
"Do you?"
"No," he says simply.
I should probably be offended. Or at least deterred. But instead I just grin.
"Fair enough," I say. "I'll try not to take it personally."
He closes the toolbox, slides it back into the truck bed, and opens the driver's side door. Ridge jumps in without being told.
"Good luck with the sink," Eli says.
And then he's gone. Just like in the hardware store. Climbs into the truck, starts the engine, and drives off without another word. I stand there in the parking lot, bag of O-rings in hand, watching his taillights disappear down the road.
Frank was right.
Good luck is exactly what I'm going to need.
But here's the thing about me: I've never been particularly good at just letting things go.
Chapter 2 - Eli
I make it about three miles before I realize I'm gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.
Ridge is watching me from the passenger seat with that look he gets, the one that says he knows I'm doing something stupid and he's going to judge me for it later when I'm trying to sleep.
"Don't start," I mutter.
