Free Mister Fixit (Love in New York #3) by Elle Casey Page A

him forgiveness from me, then he’s sorely mistaken. You don’t take a child from a woman and then come fix a front door lock and make everything okay. That’s not how the world works, and it’s definitely not how I work.
    I pick up my phone and read the email from the plumber again. He seemed really nice. Considerate. He smiled a lot too. Maybe that means he has a great sense of humor, someone I could hang out with and forget my miserable life for a few hours.
    I email him back, taking him up on the offer of a dinner to discuss the estimate. What the heck; even if he turns out to be a complete dode, at least I’ll learn a lot about plumbing so it won’t be a complete loss.
    When his positive response and the name of the restaurant come back, I smile to myself. He’s got class, too. He shows up to give estimates on time, he offers to explain said estimate to me over dinner, and he suggests a restaurant I only go to for special occasions? Color me impressed. Gee, maybe he’s the total package. Maybe he’s not the kind of person who would sell a girl out for an hourly rate of five hundred bucks an hour, unlike some people around here.
    I keep myself busy taking off cabinet doors in the kitchen that I plan to refinish as Robinson works at the front door. The cold air he’s letting in makes the place twice as freezing as it already was, so I put my jacket on. My fingers are frozen by the time he’s done and back in the kitchen.
    “You should get a space heater,” he says, tipping the pizza box lid up.
    I climb down from my stepladder and shut the box on his hand.
    He looks up with a half-smile. “What? I can’t have pizza after laboring for a half hour over your lock?”
    When he says it, I realize how petty I’m being, so I let my hand fall away. “Better have done a good job.”
    He puts half a slice of pizza into his mouth and talks with his mouth full. “Check it out.” He uses his food to point toward the door.
    I walk away with my chin up. It better be perfect or I’m going to insist he take it all apart. I’m actually looking forward to it. Maybe if I humiliate him, he’ll finally get the hint and stop coming around.
    Unfortunately, the lock has been installed perfectly. It moves like it’s been greased with butter, and the new handle appears to be exactly level. Even after watching three how-to videos on my phone and reading the ridiculously complicated instructions, I was still very much in the dark about how to install it, but he just walked in and did it without a single request for help. I wanted him to be Mister Screwup so I could kick him out of here for good, but it turns out he’s Mister Fixit. Dammit . Why do all of my hopes fall to shit where he’s concerned?
    “What’s next?” he asks from behind me.
    I sigh and my shoulders sag as my chin rests on my chest. I feel totally and utterly defeated. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is working out in my favor. It seems stupid that I wished for this lock installation to fall flat when it’s my own home he’s helping repair, but I can’t change how I feel. It’s like the entire universe hates me. When I want something to go well, it goes bad. When I want something to go bad, it goes well. Every day is opposite day.
    “Nothing,” I finally answer. “There’s nothing next.” Tears make my eyes sting.
    Robinson steps closer. “Don’t say that. You have a list a mile long in there. Let me help lighten your load. I can build things, fix things…”
    I can’t look at him, so I stare at the floor, my back to him and all his good intentions. “Rob… I just can’t. You can’t fix things. I can’t do this.” I’ve heard of heart-ache before, but never realized it’s such a literal thing. My chest is actually throbbing with pain. Every beat is like a knife stabbing me in between my ribs.
    His hand on my shoulder pulls me around and then his finger on my chin lifts my eyes to his.
    “You have to let me back in, Jana.”
    I shake my