The first time Kat went to second base turned out to be the same day she made it to home plate and conceived Mia. Her life was forever changed in that moment. Twisted clothing, inexperienced hands, and awkward kisses all added up to her one and only sexual experience.
Anxious insecurities and nervous fumbling dulled most of the pleasure, at least from what she could recall. It had been exciting, but the repercussions were permanent. She wouldn’t change a thing, but she would also never be that reckless again. Mia kept her busy enough that Kat didn’t notice the absence of a social life.
Unlocking the front door, Mia bolted inside. Standing in the doorway, sorting through the mail, Kat took one last look back at the house on the corner.
A black man paced on the front lawn, speaking on a cell phone. His boots and jeans were coated in dust. He was probably a laborer doing some interior modifications for the new owners. As he turned, Kat chastised herself for being a nosey body and quickly entered the cottage.
Tyson slid his phone into his pocket and stared up at the mammoth colonial that would now consume all of his free time. Signing on to such a huge undertaking wasn’t the sanest decision of his life. The blueprints would be ready for pick up in the morning and he could only hope he correctly forecasted the budget. With old homes one never knew what kind of nightmares lay beneath. And wasn’t that the perfect analogy for his life?
Despite his fit physique, his joints ached from too much manual labor as tension throbbed in his lower back. At thirty-six he felt more like a hundred, and never did he imagine he’d be starting over again this late in life. Age was intimidating, that ever ticking clock, always moving, loudly chiming at each benchmark to announce another year gone by. It was daunting to suddenly grasp he was middle-aged and somehow facing a new beginning.
Since he was a boy he dreamed of building things. He’d always loved to design structures. Deciding what he wanted to do with his life was simple. Financing his dreams had been the opposite.
The start of his career had been a blur. He worked. He learned. He hustled and he saved. Then one day he bought his first truck and started contracting out his own jobs.
He’d spent so many years focused on making his way in the world, rarely thinking of anything else, he’d somehow misplaced over a decade of time. It wasn’t until his sister passed away that he realized all of his friends had invested in other avenues like love and family.
Ty’s family was his crew. His baby was his company. His parents were taken care of and his other sister, Gloria, had her own family to take up her time. Forty was just around the corner and he was facing it alone.
In the quiet that came after his baby sister passed away, he’d realized he rarely laughed anymore. In the hours after work he barely spoke unless Gloria or his mother called. While everyone else clocked out and returned home, he simply passed the hours separating him from the next shift—alone. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d gotten laid.
It was never his intension to let life pass him by. He wanted to come home to children shouting and chasing each other through the house, a wife that greeted him with a smile and a kiss at the door. Ty wasn’t sure where he would find those things, but he figured finding a house big enough to create such a home was a good place to start.
Exhaling, he ran his hand over his head. For nearly twenty years he’d worked his ass off to get to this moment. He should be celebrating, but for some reason he couldn’t shake the sense of emptiness, emptiness he’d hoped the house would relieve. It seemed even significant days passed with ordinary calmness when there was no one there to share in his happiness.
Sophia would have liked the house. His younger sister always found beauty in discarded things. She was notorious for bringing home ugly old strays when she was a kid. And as an adult she frequently dragged him to flea markets where she’d sort through other people’s unwanted crap, turning items this way and that, finding some speck of value and beauty beneath the tarnish and dust.
This house had beauty beneath the dust, which was why he chose it after making a promise to Sophia just before she passed—a promise he wasn’t so sure he could keep.
His brain raced with a million and one items he needed to add to his checklist. Upper New Castle was a quiet, small town set far enough away from all the noise of the city, yet near enough to have all the conveniences of suburban living. The lawns were manicured and the drives were filled with family sized vehicles. Tricycles littered the patios and flowerbeds edged the walks.
The stillness of the place brought him a level of peacefulness he wasn’t accustomed to. He’d always been a solitary guy, goal oriented and determined, never needing much fuss or frills. That was the shit other people paid him to do for them, but when it came to himself, he was pretty ordinary.
Ty liked to work, liked the sense of pride that came with each completed job and satisfied client. He didn’t need much to keep him happy. Food in his belly, beer in the fridge, and sports on the TV, was all it really took to satisfy him. A bit of female attention didn’t hurt now and then either. Treating himself to something as monumental as a house, didn’t quite sit right. He’d likely bitten off more than he could chew and it was going to take a while to digest.
Never being one to entertain long commitments, he’d learned to appreciate swift, gratifying encounters in all areas of life, be it flipping a house in a matter of weeks or finding a female for a few nights. He’d surrounded himself with women who were interested in pleasure with no strings for so long, he wasn’t sure where to find the sort that wanted strings. But if he wanted a family to someday fill this house and make it a home, his days of bachelorhood needed to end.
New Castle would definitely be a switch from the bustling city streets he had grown up on. There were no neon signs, sirens, or subwoofers rattling the windows. Rather, the gentle hum of insects and the soft blue glow from televisions dappled the backdrop of his new neighborhood, as folks settled in to watch the evening news.
When a man in a pair of short-shorts jogged by pushing a toddler in a stroller he had a moment of Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. Obscure pride mixed with trepidation at the thought of actually living in such a neighborhood. There weren’t a whole lot of people that looked like him in these parts. He was grateful for the opportunity, but also self-conscious, knowing he stuck out like a lone black-eyed pea in a bed of white rice. But he refused to let the unfamiliarity discomfort him.
These people seemed family oriented, their lives functioning on a whole different set of values. He was a long way away from strollers though.
Exhaustion seeped in and he wished he had a couch to rest on before he got back to the never ending demolition inside. With a fortifying breath, he reached into the cab of his work truck and grabbed a six-pack. The sheetrock wasn’t going to remove itself and he had a home to build.
Chapter Two
Distracted by what was taking place on her street, Kat stubbed her toe on an uneven lip of pavement. Holy hell and hotness, Batman! A man parade was happening at the old colonial on the corner.
The property was a hive of activity and looked completely different than it had one week ago. Construction workers freckled the home like ants on a dropped popsicle. Kat wasn’t typically the drooling type, but she suddenly had the urge to check if her tongue was still in her mouth.
The front siding had been removed and a young, burly, blond man was installing blue and silver insulation. He wore reflective sunglasses and his hair was long, bluntly cut to the collar of his shirt. Her eyes focused on the damp ends of his hair, darkened with perspiration, finding it oddly intriguing.
Loose fitting carpenter jeans and work boots covered a good deal of tanned flesh. Muscled arms bunched as he dragged the back of his hand over his brow, wiping away beads of sweat. She especially enjoyed the way his muscles tugged the cotton of his shirt as he worked the insulation into place.
Her gaze briefly passed over an older, heavy-set man with a plumber’s crack. There w
as too much goodness on display elsewhere to focus on him.
Her gaze traveled past the dormer window to the steep peak of the roof. The black man she had seen a few days before was tearing shingles off the roof. Her throat went dry as he stood and oh my, once the shirt came off, he revealed a perfectly sculpted chest.
His skin was the color of powdered cocoa, smooth like a creamy latte, so different from her lily-white complexion. A yellow bandana covered his head, tied at the back of his skull. The worn fabric was damp at the edges, turning the material dark. Her hand crept to the back of her neck as she tried to imagine what such glistening heat felt like, smelled like.
Her heart raced and she frowned. She didn’t usually react this way to men, but her senses were overwhelmed at the magnitude of male bodies on display.
Shaking away her thoughts, she shifted Mia’s bag in her arm and guided her daughter around a pile of debris littering the curb. A sense of being rushed filled her belly as her flustered mind focused on reaching home, but her gaze kept pulling back to the man on the roof.
Snug jeans, fit at the waist, hugged his ass. Curious flutters filled her chest when his toned arms, corded with muscle, swung another shingle to the ground. His abdomen was tight and rigid as an old fashioned washboard, with too many dips and hard angles to count. There wasn’t a flaw on him. People shouldn’t look that good, at least not in real life.
As her gaze moved over his worn leather tool belt, slung loosely at his hips, she cursed herself for looking and allowing her hormones to run amuck. She should look away, but he had sexy indents where his waist cut in at his hips.
Breathless, she licked her dry lips. Her eyes zoomed in on the slight bulge forming shadows at the fly of his jeans. Phew, maybe I needed a date more than I realize.
“What are they doing, Momma?” Her daughter’s voice was like a bucket of ice water, squelching all her dirty thoughts and bringing her back to reality.
Kat cleared her throat. “They’re fixing the house up for when our new neighbors come to live here.”
“Maybe they’ll build a doghouse. I think my new friends have a dog.”
“Maybe,” she said, distracted as the sexy black man tossed a stack of old shingles into a debris pile by a dumpster.
A radio played Motown over the scraping and hammering. He disappeared over the other side of the peaked roof and she sighed. Skin hot under her clothing, she had the urge to fan herself. She didn’t usually get like this around people. She didn’t usually get like this ever.
Her heartbeat punched through random parts of her body as her blood seemed to thicken. She was very aware of her limbs and the weight of her clothing under the warm sun.
“Are they going to paint the house, Momma?”
“Probably,” Kat absentmindedly answered, waiting for the shirtless man to reappear. When he didn’t return a slight wave of disappointment washed over her.
“I think they’re going to paint it pink,” Mia declared.
Kat loved the way her daughter’s three-year-old mind didn’t wonder about the unknown, but instead, made absolute predictions about what would happen. She could imagine what Mia was envisioning—a bright, frosty, pink house that resembled a whimsical cake more than a home. She wished her imagination were that fanciful.
“Hi.”
Kat turned and sucked in her breath too fast. She choked as she realized the deep voice belonged to the muscular, shirtless man from the roof. Covering her mouth, she gasped and coughed, offering a futile wave as her mortification grew.
Her fingers fluttering much like the way her daughter waved as her eyes burned and watered. When his dark eyes creased with concern she wanted to crawl in the dumpster to and die. She sucked in a deep breath and forced her lungs to breathe normally.
“Hi,” Mia said. “Are you fixing up the house for my friend?”
Kat blotted her eyes and cleared her throat.
The man smiled, his straight, pearl white teeth radiant against his perfect complexion. Full lips pulled into a breathtaking grin as a dimple formed in his left dark cheek.
His eyes were brown—almost black—fringed with long, thick lashes. They were the eyes of a pirate, keen and seductive as if brushed in soot and those sharp, observant eyes didn’t seem to miss a thing. Kat fidgeted under the weight of his gaze, knowing he was probably noticing all her imperfect parts.
She cleared her throat again, drawing his wandering gaze back to her face. “Hello.”
He offered a quick nod, looked down at Mia, and replied, “I’m fixing up the house for the man who bought it, but I’m afraid he doesn’t have any children.”
“Oh.” Mia pouted. “Does he have a dog?”
The man dropped to his haunches, so he was at Mia’s eye level. “Well, he doesn’t have a dog yet, but he may get one once he moves in. Do you like dogs?”
“Yes, but Momma said we can’t have one cause it’s Dr. Stevens’ house and Mrs. Bradshaw’s ‘lergic.”
She should probably readdress the talking to strangers topic. Mia, no matter how much she reminded her to be cautious, would tell anyone anything. Kat could only be grateful Mia didn’t know their bank account pin or social security numbers.
The man grinned up at her and back at Mia. “Well, if you could have a dog, what type of dog would you want?”
Mia took the question very seriously. Head tilted and lips twisted, her small finger thoughtfully tapped her chin. To a three-year-old, decisions like what breed of dog the neighbors should own was as paramount as nuclear warfare to adults. There was much to consider.
“He should be smaller than me and have to have floppy ears and a long tail. He’d have to like to run, ‘cause running’s fun. And he has to know not to poo in the house.”
The man laughed, gravelly and deep. It seemed to touch places inside of Kat that were normally dormant and unaffected. She looked away, afraid her reaction might somehow be noticeable.
“Well, those sound like good specifications.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Tyson Adams.”
“Kat D’Angelo,” she responded, shaking his hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, but warm and twice the size of hers. “This is my daughter, Mia.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mia,” he said looking back down at her daughter, before returning his gaze to her. “You guys live on this street?”
“Yes, that’s our cottage.” Mia said before Kat could stop her.
That’s all she needed, some strange construction worker—twice her size and ripped with muscles—knowing her address and that they lived alone.
Tyson glanced at the cottage then back to Kat. “Pretty.”
He was complimenting their home, but his gaze lingered on her face, the unwanted scrutiny making it difficult not to fidget. She shuffled her feet and glanced away. “Well it’s home. We like it. It has all the amenities we need. Electric, running water, an alarm system.”
What the hell was wrong with her? An alarm system? Good God! For once in her life, she’d like to be able to meet someone and not start babbling like the village idiot.
Tyson laughed under his breath as if sensing her embarrassment at her awkward social skills. He squatted back down to Mia and said, “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mia. I’ll see what I can do about that dog.”
Mia smiled, completely charmed. “You should probably build them a doghouse. Dogs like people houses, but they also like to have their own house too.”
“Duly noted,” he said and stood again.
“Kat, it was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you too.”
She took Mia’s hand, completely focused on making her escape.
“I’ll see you around,” he said as they turned.
“Okay. Come on, Mia, we have stuff to do.”
As Mia ran to the front door Kat looked back over her shoulder. Tyson still stood at the curb, his gaze connecting with hers and sending a shiver down her spine. She quickly pulled out her keys and rushed i
nside where she bolted the door.
That afternoon when she got home from work, Kat parked her car in their driveway and walked toward Mrs. Bradshaw’s to pick up Mia. The corner house was, again, a beehive of activity. The radio played over the sound of a nail gun attaching shingles to the roof and the hum of an air compressor. Some kind of machine made a racket in the backyard.
Her eyes immediately searched for Tyson. The burly blond was there, but he didn’t seem as interesting as he had the day before. The irrational longing to see Tyson again was an aggravated inconvenience as it altered her typically content state of mind.
The door—now off the hinges—leaned against a tree in the front yard and wore a fresh coat of glossy, black paint. Blue insulation covered the rest of the exterior. The older man was working on the shutters on the front lawn, still indecently exposed.
Regret swamped her when she saw no sign of Tyson. But more than regret, was the deep disappointment in her foolish desire. How pathetic that her mood shifted in the presence of a stranger?
After she picked up Mia and wished Mrs. Bradshaw a happy weekend, they started back toward the cottage. As they rounded the corner, she heard Mia’s intake of breath.
“Hi, Tyson!” Mia yelled.
Tyson unfolded his posture from over a long table made of plywood and two sawhorses as he turned and beamed at Mia. Wedging a pencil into his yellow bandana, above his ear, and started toward them.
“Hi, Mia. Kat. How are you today?”
“Good. It’s Friday!” Mia happily informed him.
“Is it?” Tyson replied, again dropping down to Mia’s eye level. “And what’s so special about Friday, may I ask?”
“It’s pizza night and Momma doesn’t have work tomorrow!”
“Oh, well, that would make it special.”