16. A One-Man Wet T-Shirt Contest

Chapter 16

A One-Man Wet T-Shirt Contest

"What's he wearing?" Estelle hissed on the phone.

"The usual. A sleeveless T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. Leather gloves." Joy stood on tiptoe and watched Charlie through the kitchen window. The late Friday afternoon sun bathed the backyard in heat as he directed a delivery truck where to deposit bundles of boards. A fine sheen coated the muscles of his arms, reflecting the sunlight and giving him a bronzed glow. The effect reminded her of the cover model's slicked-down torso. She knew because she'd checked that cover several times a day to make sure the image in her head was accurate. Right now the book was safely tucked beneath her bed.

"Sunglasses? Ball cap?" Estelle demanded.

"Sunglasses. No ball cap today." Just all sun-kissed strands of gold.

"Is he sweaty?"

"Not at the moment," Joy lied.

The kitchen was partially destroyed, and she could see into the shop through the open framing. Somehow, the chaos didn't upset her. High-speed internet had been installed, she had running water, coffee, and lights when they weren't working on the electrical, and a steady supply of pastries and hamburgers. The past week had brought deeper and longer nights of sleep than she'd enjoyed in years … which was beyond bizarre. How the ghosts of her past weren't haunting her nights was a riddle wrapped inside a puzzle. Maybe they were being exorcised as the store's inner walls were torn down.

"Send me a picture!"

"I don't think so." Joy had sent one picture—one—of an overheated Charlie in the sun, hose above his head, pouring water over his hair, plastering his T-shirt to his chiseled torso as he tried to cool off on an eighty-degree day. Estelle had gone bananas and babbled about a wet T-shirt contest. Now Joy felt a strange surge of possessiveness, and any pictures she took of her partner were going to remain in her phone, for her eyes only. Of course, the only reason she was taking them in the first place was to record the progress of Crystal Harmony Haven's transformation—which didn't explain why her album was full of pictures of her hunky contractor and not his helper or the ripped-up walls.

"Your big date's tomorrow," Estelle squealed.

"It's not a date. We're just going to a music thing together. He's only using me as cover so he doesn't get mauled by one of his groupies."

"If it smells like a date and quacks like a date, then it's a date. What are you wearing?"

A sigh escaped Joy's chest. "I don't know. I haven't had a chance to get to Montrose, and none of my other clothes are fitting for some reason."

"Are they shrinking, or are you growing?"

"Of course I'm not growing! It's this miner town's water making them shrink." Joy paused to pop the button on her too-tight capris, dismissing the little detail that even her dry clean-only clothes—which hadn't been cleaned since her arrival in Fall River—were too snug for comfort. "There's a consignment store in town that I might be forced to visit out of desperation."

"Oh my God! Joy Holiday at a secondhand clothing store? I'm calling the press!"

"Shut up, Estelle." She spotted Charlie's helper, Felix, trundle toward his car and Charlie heading for her back door. Cully hadn't been around, and that was all right by Joy. Something about the guy put her on edge. She much preferred the affable Felix, though she often couldn't understand the man. Sometimes Charlie stepped in to interpret. No lie, it was kinda hot hearing Spanish roll off his tongue.

"I have to go, Estelle. Call you later."

"Have fun tomorrow," Estelle sang. "I want a full report. With pictures!"

"Well, you're not getting any," Joy harrumphed right before she hung up. Tucking her phone into her pocket, she headed for the back door to save Charlie the trouble of knocking. She plastered on a smile and swung the door wide.

Charlie's brows were furrowed above his sunglasses, but he immediately shoved them up on his head and brightened with a smile of his own. "Ready for a progress report?"

How was the man always so damn cheerful?

She waved him in. "Table or couch?" Hardly any furniture remained. For that matter, hardly anything remained. With a little help from her new friends, Joy had managed to clear out half of the store's contents and her mother's belongings, minus ten or so boxes of stuff she didn't know what to do with. They were stacked in Helene's old bedroom, safely out of the construction zone.

"Table's fine."

"Water? Coke? Beer? Wine?"

He pointed toward her makeshift bar—the living room fireplace mantel Charlie planned to refurbish. "I'll take a shot of whiskey and a beer." Fall River had not one, but two liquor stores, with surprisingly top-notch selections, from which Joy had already built a tiny liquor bar.

Joy arched an eyebrow. "Bad day?" She grabbed a Fall River souvenir shot glass she'd bought from the general store.

Charlie slid his glasses onto the table and plopped onto a creaky chair. "No, it's Friday. Time to celebrate the end of a long week. And I have news about tomorrow."

"Ah." She splashed a measure into the glass, handed it to him, and snatched a beer from the fridge. It was Friday, wasn't it? The weekends had never mattered before because Joy usually worked through them, but she felt the rhythm of the week in this town, and it put her in a celebratory mood. She'd been here a whole week and hadn't gone off the deep end yet.

She poured herself a glass of chardonnay and joined Charlie at the table. "So what's this about tomorrow? "

He sat back and scratched the back of his head. "The event at the Silver Lode was postponed."

Oh. She hid her unexpected disappointment. "How come?"

"Seems they had a little plumbing problem pop up. They rescheduled for the following weekend." He gave her a regretful smile. "I'm sorry."

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about Becky showing up."

"There is that, but it also means I can't take you."

"You wanted to take me?"

He tossed back half his whiskey. "Why would I have asked you if I didn't want to take you?"

Because Neve put you on the spot. "Well, if you still want to, I'll be around."

His eyes widened. "You're staying through another week? I didn't know. When did you decide this?"

Just now. "A day or two ago." She shrugged, hoping it would mask how her lie had driven her pulse into a higher gear.

A lazy grin spread over his face. "Yeah, I still want to. Let's do it."

Positively giddy, she calmly raised her glass in a toast. "To the Doro music festival— two Saturdays from now."

He matched her toast with his beer. Soon he was bringing her up to date on the next phase of the electrical and plumbing upgrades.

Of course she had to challenge him. "Isn't there a cheaper way to do this?"

Pleats formed between his dark brows. "You want to cut corners on electrical and watch this place burn down? Or on plumbing and—"

She held up her hand. "Okay, okay. You don't need to get on your soapbox."

He smirked. "Apparently, I do."

"Look, I get it. You don't like me, and I don't like you, but between us, we have—"

"Who says I don't like you? And why don't you like me?"

He liked her? Why this revelation buoyed her spirits, she wasn't sure, except maybe she was getting her Estelle on and lusting after the hot guy. No, no, no! Business first. And it would never work. Could never work. Not in a million years.

When she didn't answer his question, he continued. "You might be without services for a day here and there next week. Depending on when you're going back to Chicago, we can time it so it happens after you leave. "

Joy chewed on a broken nail—her second one. "I don't know when that's going to be, but you can work around me in the meantime, or I'll work around you. I can always work from Mountain Coffee or the Miners Tavern. I haven't tried the Brothel yet."

"You don't want to work at the Brothel."

"Hmm, probably not. Never know who might walk through the door. Besides, it's illegal," she quipped. Oh, she was turning into a regular jokester.

"I was talking about their internet," he deadpanned. "It sucks."

"A guy like you spending time at the Brothel? I'm surprised you find that necessary." She pressed her lips together, ready to break out into a smile, but instead of his easy chuckle, he sported a puzzled look. "It's a joke. Brothel? Get it?"

"Is this a new thing? You cracking jokes? And possibly paying me an ass-backward compliment?"

"Yeah, so get on board already."

A grunt and a sardonic half-smile were his only comebacks. Joy Holiday strikes out at humor—again. She returned to chewing the nail while she lasered all her focus on what he was there to tell her.

They spent the next hour going over the plans for next week, and she tried her damnedest not to spar with him over every detail. Not always because she disagreed but because he had a stubborn streak too, and it drove her to butt heads with him. He rammed right back, and he rammed hard.

Maybe spending a whole evening with him in Doro wasn't such a great idea after all. What the hell would they talk about during the drive there? The drive back? She couldn't make him laugh, which should have been as easy as watching him work. They'd probably talk about the project—the only thing they had in common—which meant they'd spend the entire time squabbling. At least she no longer had to skulk to the consignment store. Surely she could get to Montrose beforehand.

When they were done, he stood and carried his shot glass to the dishpan where she collected dishes to be washed in the bathroom sink later.

"Got big plans for tonight?" she probed.

"A few. Nothing big, though."

As she waited for him to elaborate, she found herself hoping his plans didn't involve Germaine, Lauren, or any other members of his fan club .

Instead of filling her in, though, he turned the question on her. "How about you? What's Joy Holiday's idea of fun on a Friday night?"

She barked a laugh. "I'm not sure I know. I guess I'll go to Miners and eat a burger while I observe the wildlife."

He leaned a forearm against an outer wall, casual as you please. "Is that what you write in your notebook? Wildlife observations?" His eyes sparked with trouble, and her stomach flipped over.

"Something like that."

"Huh. Maybe you'll let me read your notes sometime. They sound … stimulating." Now a corner of his mouth curled wickedly.

Damn it! Did he see what I wrote that night? Or is he just toying with me? "I assure you, they're incredibly boring." She faked a yawn. "Ho-hum."

"I doubt anything about you is ho-hum." He let himself out.

She watched his butt move in his jeans as he ambled toward his truck—outfitted with four new tires—and her insides danced a jig. She was in high school again, praying the captain of the football team would show up at the formal and ask her to take a spin with him on the dance floor.

Ha! That hadn't happened then, nor was anything remotely like that going to happen tonight. But it didn't stop her from donning her prettiest panties and dabbing on a little extra perfume.