LITMIR.BIZ

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give up the ghost and gurgle instead of producing water—and toilets would flush with breathtaking regularity rather than just 50 percent of the time. None of that was presently happening in the master bath adjacent to her bedroom, and she knew she needed help—desperately. It was either that or start sleeping downstairs near the other bathroom, something she had begun to seriously consider.

      Her mother, for once, hadn’t somehow turned her current dilemma into yet another excuse to go on and on about how this just showed why Tiffany needed a husband in her life. A husband who would take care of all these annoying nuisances whenever they cropped up.

      Instead of bending her ear, her mother, bless her, had not only volunteered to find someone to put an end to her master bathroom woes, she had even said she would pay for it.

      The only catch was that the contractor had to come do the work on the weekend because he had a day job the rest of the week.

      She hadn’t realized when she’d agreed to her mother’s generous offer that “weekend” meant the very start of the weekend—and that it apparently started before daylight made its appearance.

      So okay, Tiffany thought, dragging her hand through her hair—as if that motion would somehow cause adrenaline to go shooting through the rest of her very sleepy body—technically “weekend” meant any time after midnight, Friday, but she’d figured she would have some leeway.

      Obviously not, she thought with a deep sigh.

      The ringing sounded even more shrill as she got closer. It felt as if it was jarring everything within her that was jarrable.

      “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she cried irritably, raising her voice so it could be heard through the door. “Hold your horses. The bathroom’s not going anywhere.”

      Glancing through the peephole, she made out what looked to be some sort of a truck parked at her curb. There was someone in dark blue coveralls standing on her front step.

      The contractor her mother sent—she hoped.

      The plot thickens, Tiffany whimsically thought. feeling slightly giddy.

      “Good to know,” Eddie said the moment she unlocked the door and pulled it partially open.

      Her brain still foggy, Tiffany blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

      He grinned at her. She caught herself thinking that it was way too early for a smile that cheerful. Was there something wrong with the man her mother had sent?

      There was something oddly familiar about that smile—but the thought was gone before she could catch it and she was way too tired to make the effort to try to place it.

      “You said that the bathroom wasn’t going anywhere and I responded, ‘Good to know,’ since I’m going to be working on remodeling it,” Eddie told her, patiently explaining his comment. Teaching younger students had taught him to have infinite patience.

      “Oh.” She supposed that made sense.

      Functioning on a five-second delay, Tiffany opened the door wider, allowing the good-looking contractor to come inside. The rather large toolbox in his hand convinced her that he was on the level. Who carried around something that big at this hour of the morning if they didn’t have to?

      “Sorry,” she apologized. “My brain doesn’t usually kick in this early in the morning.”

      “Early?” he echoed in amusement. “You think this is early?”

      “I don’t think,” she said, followed by a yawn she couldn’t stifle. “I know.” She started for the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the man with the toolbox wasn’t following her. “The bathroom’s upstairs.” She pointed for emphasis.

      “Wait,” he called out, bringing her to a halt. The woman was either way too trusting or simply naive—and he had to admit that she didn’t look to be either. Especially if she turned out to be who he thought she was. “Don’t you want to see my credentials?”

      Tiffany yawned again, not at his question, but because her body desperately yearned to go back to bed and she couldn’t.

      “You’re driving what looks like a service truck, you’ve got on coveralls and you’re carrying around the biggest toolbox I’ve ever seen. Those are credentials enough for me.”

      Besides, she added mentally, knowing my mother, you probably already got the third degree before she hired you.

      “What about my estimate?” he asked. They hadn’t talked about what he was going to charge her for the work. He didn’t plan to overcharge her, but she didn’t know that. “I haven’t given you one because I need to see the bathroom first.”

      Tiffany waved away his words. “I don’t need to hear it,” she told him as she began to walk up the stairs. “My mother insisted on paying for this remodel, and after arguing with that woman about everything else under the sun ever since I could talk, I thought that this one time I’d just give in and say yes.

      “Your bill,” she told him as he followed behind her, “will go to her, and trust me, if you try to fleece her, you will live to regret it—immensely. My mother’s a little woman, but she’s definitely a force to be reckoned with. None of my brothers-in-law will go up against her. They’ve learned that if they want to keep living, they need to stay on her good side,” she concluded as they reached the bathroom he was going to be remodeling.

      The door was standing open and she gestured toward the interior. “Here it is,” she said needlessly. “Knock yourself out.”

      And with that, she turned on her bare heel and walked away.

      This had to be the most unorthodox job he’d ever been called to. “Wait, don’t you want to tell me what you want?” Eddie asked, calling after her retreating back.

      Tiffany only half turned in his direction. She wanted nothing more than to get dressed and then collapse on the bed in the guest room for a few hours. She assumed that the man her mother had sent didn’t need any supervision. He appeared competent enough.

      “I want a bathroom,” she told him. “One where everything works, 24/7. And it would be nice if everything matched.”

      “Well, of course it’s going to work,” he told her. That’s why he was here, and he wasn’t about to do a shoddy job. But her answer didn’t begin to address his question. “What about the style? And the color?” he pressed.

      There was something familiar about his voice, but like his smile, she couldn’t place it and she wasn’t up to thinking right now. Her brain was foggy. Maybe it was just her imagination.

      “Style and color would be good,” she replied, nodding as she began to walk away again.

      Eddie took a breath. He realized that the woman with the gorgeous legs and the football jersey wasn’t being flippant. She apparently still wasn’t fully awake.

      She shouldn’t have answered the door half-asleep. He couldn’t help thinking that she really was in need of a keeper.

      Eddie tilted his head a little, trying to get a better look at her face. Her shiny, long, blue-black hair kept falling into it. His curiosity was becoming more aroused, but he really didn’t need to have it satisfied in order to do a good job.

      It would just be nice to know what his client actually looked like.

      And then she turned slightly in his direction and it hit him like a ton of bricks. It was her, the Tiffany he knew in college. The Tiffany who was so different from the little girl whose sweater he’d buttoned all those years ago.

      He wanted to tell her, then thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time. He’d tell her after the job was done.

      Pushing back that thought, he tried to pin her down again—at least a little bit. “What do you like? Modern? Antique? Classic?”

      The words he tossed her way seemed to circle

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