LITMIR.BIZ

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shoulder against it, my fingers fumbling against the frame for a row of locks that didn’t exist. My mother had taught me well.

      There was a few seconds of silence and then another hesitant tap on the door.

      “Who is it?” I winced. What a dumb question. He could make up any name he wanted and, being the new kid on the block, I wouldn’t recognize it.

      Bernice’s door was oak and I could barely make out the muffled mutterings of Strange Guy. I opened it a crack, glad that Dad had insisted I take self-defense classes in high school.

      I have a brown belt, buddy. And, according to the Psalms, a few angels camped around me.

      Strange Guy stood on the top step and, from what I could see of him through the few inches that separated us, he looked pretty harmless. He was tall but more lanky than muscular.

      “Heather, right?”

      “Yes.” I drew the word out, not sure how much info to give him as my brain quickly downloaded the Stranger Danger curriculum I’d learned in second grade.

      “I’m Ian Dexter.” And you must be paranoid.

      I could read it in his eyes. Eyes that were centered behind thick black frames.

      “Didn’t Mr. Scott mention I’d be stopping over?”

      The handyman. Heather thy name is Stupid. Alex had mentioned that he’d hired Pastor Charles’s nephew, who was staying with them for the summer, to do some general fixer-up type of stuff while I was at the salon during the day. I just didn’t think he’d show up at seven in the morning. And I assumed it would be a teenager, not someone close to my age.

      “I guess so. He just forgot to mention you’d be here so early.” Or that you’d be here today.

      “I wanted to talk to you before you left for work,” Ian said, injecting a tiny pause between each word in the same tone a person might use if they were talking someone down from a ledge. “If I know your schedule, I won’t get in your way.”

      Too late!

      I sucked in my bottom lip. “Can you come back in fifteen minutes? I got up late and I’m not exactly…ready for company.”

      He stared at me, puzzled. Right away I knew what box to put Ian Dexter in. I’d seen that expression before. He lived in an alternate universe. The alternate universe where moving to the next level is the reason for existence. The world of video games.

      “I’m not dressed yet.” I’d learned with this type of guy you just have to spell things out. They were really good at defeating fire-breathing monsters but not so skilled at holding up their end of a conversation. Unless I was a two-dimensional fairy princess. Then maybe.

      “Oh. Right.” Ian’s face turned the same shade of scarlet as Bree’s cowboy boots. “I’ll, um, come back then.”

      “Ten minutes.”

      Ian’s unexpected appearance shaved precious minutes off my dressy versus casual quandary. By the time I remembered my bagel, I found it lodged in the bottom of the toaster, resembling a charred hockey puck. No time for breakfast. No time to linger over the contents of my closet now.

      When in doubt, upgrade to suede. In questionable weather, go with leather.

      They weren’t exactly pearls of wisdom for modern man, but they had the potential to solve a possible wardrobe malfunction. I decided on a cute skirt—suede, of course—a shirt with a geometric print I’d bought when I was in Paris and a comfortable pair of shoes because I’d be on my feet all day.

      The butterflies in my stomach, which had settled briefly while I decided what to wear, came to life and began to perform impressive loops and dives. Maybe it was a blessing I hadn’t eaten that bagel.

      Snap wound herself around my feet as I poured myself a glass of juice. “At least one of us has time for breakfast,” I muttered, serving her a dish of fish-shaped kibbles and replenishing her water bowl.

      My Bible was on the counter and, while I rummaged in the drawer for a granola bar, I leaned over to skim the page in a search for spiritual sustenance. As devotional times went, this was pretty sad. Especially when I needed God’s strength more than ever to get me through my first day at the Cut and Curl. For some reason, my Bible was open to Haggai, which consisted of a whopping two chapters, easily overlooked between the two Z’s—Zephaniah and Zechariah.

      In the interest of time, I couldn’t turn to the Psalms, my devotional favorite. Haggai would have to be it. I skimmed through the verses until one jumped out at me.

      Then Haggai, the Lord’s messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people: “I am with you,” declares the Lord.

      I am with you.

      Just the reminder I needed. And humbling. Like going to a potluck dinner empty-handed and leaving with a full tummy. I’d offered God the crumbs of my chaotic morning and He responded with a banquet…

      Ian Dexter was at the door again. I studied him without making it obvious I was studying him. Looks-wise, he fell into the same category as my brown leather purse. Not attractive enough to gush over and show off to your friends but not stash-in-the-closet unattractive, either. His short hair was dark brown; his nose was straight and narrow and clearly not up to the task of supporting those heavy glasses. His eyebrows were full but at least there were two of them. He was wearing a pair of paint-spattered blue jeans straight out of a bin from a discount store and a sweatshirt with a faded, peeling logo that I couldn’t decipher. School of Zelda perhaps?

      “What did Alex hire you to do?” I didn’t want him changing things too much. As far as I was concerned, the apartment was as close to perfect as you could get.

      Instead of answering my question, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. Cheat sheets. Why wasn’t I surprised?

      “Paint bathroom. Replace faucet in tub and sink. Cabinets in kitchen—rip out and replace or paint. Heather’s choice.” I smiled when I read that. “Varnish floor in living room. Pantry needs shelves. Wow, you’re going to be pretty busy, Ian.”

      “Everyone calls me Dex.” He refolded the list carefully and tucked it back into his pocket. “What time are you done with work?”

      “Five o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Seven o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Three o’clock on Saturday. Closed on Sunday.” I recited Bernice’s standard hours. She’d told me I could close at five on Tuesdays and Thursdays, too, but I didn’t want to test anyone’s loyalty. My goal was to gain a few new clients by the time Bernice got back from Europe, not lose any of her regulars.

      “I’ll make sure I’m gone by then,” Dex said. He wouldn’t look at me. Probably because I wasn’t spinning like a tornado or wielding a sword.

      “The cat’s name is Snap.” I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door. “Make sure she doesn’t sneak out on you, okay?”

      “Okay.” I could see him process the information. Cat. Outside. No. The tension that had cinched my stomach into a knot when I’d wondered if Alex’s handyman was going to disrupt my peaceful abode unraveled. Unless he was battling for control of the golden key, Dex would simply do the job he was hired to do. No threat. No drama. On the quiet side but seemed like an okay guy.

      I sent up a quick prayer that the rest of my day would be as easy as handling Ian Dexter.

      Chapter Three

      What about womn? (Text message from Tony

      Gillespie to Ian Dexter)

      Been here 48 hrs. (Dex)

      So? Has 2 b grls there. (Tony)

      Havent seen any. (Dex)

      All work and no play…(Tony)

      Gets me to S America fastr. (Dex)

      I

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