The Prince Charming List. Kathryn SpringerЧитать онлайн книгу.
but they weren’t quick enough to suit my stomach—which hadn’t had a deposit since a quick chocolate break mid-afternoon. I tap-danced my way back to the couch to find Snap already waiting there.
No way was I sharing. “I have one word for you. Indigestion. Go eat your kibbles.”
Someone knocked on the door and I figured Dex had decided to come back to confess to whatever handyman crime he’d committed. Or he’d changed his mind and wanted to share my supper. Too late for joint custody, buddy!
“All I know is there better be a faucet…” I have a bad habit of starting to talk to a person before I can actually see their face. Suddenly I was cured. Because the guy leaning casually against the railing wasn’t Dex.
“Heather, right? I’m Jared Ward.”
I’ve never been the kind of person who gets tongue-tied around strangers. Ask my parents, who claim I did my own imitation of stand-up comedy at their dinner parties before I turned three.
Come on, Heather. You could say the words “want cake” when the kids in your weekly playgroup were still blowing spit bubbles. You can do this!
“I thought I’d come by and see the apartment I’m not going to be living in this summer and meet my closest neighbor.” The teasing tone in his voice told me he had a sense of humor. The half step forward was my cue to invite him in.
“We’re neighbors?” A gold star for my advanced communication skills!
“We are now. Marissa is letting me live in the garage behind the studio.” He pointed over his shoulder and I could see his motorcycle parked next to a small concrete building at the end of the alley. He gave me a mischievous wink. “It ain’t much, but it’s home.”
“I just got off work. Things are kind of crazy at the moment.” Snap was probably finishing off my fried rice. And I still didn’t know why Dex had looked like he’d been in a dunk tank.
Jared didn’t take my not-ready-for-visitors hint. Instead, he ran a quick, appraising scan that started at my face and ended at my toes. I felt the heat from the blush that traveled along right behind it.
“You wear it well. Crazy, I mean. Not many people can pull it off.”
He had no idea. It was all in the accessories. And of course having unlimited minutes with God. I was just about to give in to a moment of weakness (that may or may not have had something to do with his eyes—which were as blue as the ocean on a travel brochure) and invite him in, when he gave me an easy smile.
“You don’t mind if I stop over when things aren’t so crazy, do you?”
“No.” That came out pathetically quick. He probably had girls fainting in a line behind him. Personality had always meant more to me than looks, but Jared Ward seemed to have been blessed with both. What was a girl to do?
“So, any idea when that will be?”
In about five minutes. As soon as I see what Dex did to the bathroom…but I couldn’t say that without sounding like one of those desperate-for-a-Friday-date girls. And today was Thursday.
“The craziness tends to last a while.” I was being truthful, not coy, and I couldn’t resist the urge to test his confidence a little. “Like last night, when I was horseback riding with a friend? Some maniac on a motorcycle broke the sound barrier as he drove past us and almost sent the horses into orbit.”
Jared’s eyes widened, making them look even bluer. Not fair. “That was you?”
I wasn’t offended. It had been dark when he’d stopped to ask directions. I tipped the brim of my invisible cowboy hat.
“I’m sorry, I’m a city boy. When I got on that flat stretch of country road I just had to open it up.” Jared tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, the kind deliberately created with worn spots and artistically placed rips. “When I saw the horses running, I thought it was on purpose. You looked like you had it under control.”
How could I remain upset after that flattering—but totally erroneous—assessment?
“At least you slowed down the second time,” I murmured. Forgiveness was an important part of my faith, after all.
“So, Friday nights aren’t crazy, are they? What do people do around here on the weekends? Count tractors?”
He wasn’t going to give up, which left me feeling flattered and flustered. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been here very long, either,” I admitted.
“Really? Let’s figure it out together. What time do you get off work tomorrow night?”
“Five.”
“Great.” He bounded down the stairs and didn’t stop until he reached his home-away-from-home at the end of the alley. I didn’t realize I was still staring until he turned and waved at me. The wave I returned was limp with embarrassment and as soon as he disappeared, I lunged back into the apartment.
I was right. The take-out carton was lying on its side under the coffee table and Snap was cheerfully cleaning the last of the fried rice out from between her toes.
I fortified myself with a Tootsie Roll from Bernice’s cache in the canister marked Tea, pretended I was a FEMA worker and bravely entered the bathroom. With my eyes closed. I turned toward the spot where my bathtub had been that morning. When I opened them, there was a faucet.
“Snap, I have a faucet. A real, live, normal-looking faucet!”
And a date for Friday night, an irritating little voice reminded me.
It’s not a date. It’s two people who are new in town getting together to see the sites. All two or three of them.
I decided to celebrate—the faucet, of course—with a long soak in the bathtub.
When my phone rang a little after ten, I hoped it was Bree. She’d warned me she’d be putting in long hours helping her dad with the farm and there’d be times she wouldn’t be able to talk to me until after dark. Which was fine with me because I did some of my best talking late at night.
“Does it work?”
“Dex?”
Silence. I took that as a yes. His question had been so uncertain I wondered what exactly had taken place while I was gone during the day.
“Yes, it works.”
“I was late for another job.”
“There aren’t that many places to work around here,” I said, daring to tease him. “Did Sally give you a job as a waitress?”
“No.”
Obviously teasing Dex was like playing tennis when no one was on the other side of the net. Still, he’d made that “shaken not stirred” comment, so maybe there was a sense of humor buried in there somewhere. If someone had the patience to look for it.
“I’m not coming over tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be back on Monday to start in the kitchen. Did you want me to replace the cupboards or paint them?”
The image of a crowbar and splintered wood sprang into my head. “Paint them. Definitely. And thanks for the Chinese—”
He’d hung up on me again.
“Food.”
In the name of dessert, I grabbed another handful of Tootsie Rolls, tucked my Bible under my arm and curled up in the chair by the window to talk to God.
Psalms was always a good place to hear His voice. Even though David was a guy, he tried to live honestly before God. There were times he praised Him, times he questioned Him and times he asked Him for things. And times he asked God—in no uncertain terms—to squash his enemies. Which, truthfully, made me a little squeamish. But after having met Mrs. Kirkwood, I was a little more understanding. David also asked God to direct his steps, something I was doing on a daily