“No, please, if you could just —!”

For the fourth time this morning, I’ve been hung up on. This officially exhausts my list of every plumber in Tanner Springs I could find online. Every one I’ve called says they’re booked up and unavailable as soon as I give them Gram’s name.

Gram gave me the task of finding a handyman to fix a leak under the kitchen sink that Lourdes found yesterday. Thankfully, it’s not exactly an emergency, but the bucket that’s sitting under the pipe needs to be emptied every few hours, and it seems to be getting worse. Frowning in frustration, I go back online and try to find listings of any other people in town to call, but no luck.

I sit at Gram’s kitchen table, unsure what to do next. I can’t really go upstairs and tell her I’m striking out at finding someone. She’ll just tell me to keep trying and send me back down here. And poor Lourdes can’t really use the sink until it gets fixed.

Finally, in desperation, I go into the sitting room, find the YouTube app on my phone and start searching for “how to fix a leaky pipe.” I spend about fifteen minutes looking through videos, and wondering if there’s any way I can manage to do this myself without causing a real emergency. I finally find one that seems to give good step by step instructions, and watch it all the way through. I take note of the tools I’ll need, pushing down the little voice in my head that keeps piping up and saying, Are you crazy? This is going to turn into a scenario you’ll look back on and ask yourself what you were thinking.

No, I tell her. I can do this.

Well, at least I can try.

I go back into the kitchen, take a bunch of pictures of the pipes, and head off to the hardware store, muttering a pep talk to myself the whole way in the car.

When I walk into Sunderland’s Hardware, there are already four or five customers being assisted by the people working there. It looks like there won’t be anyone available to help me for a few minutes. Uncertainly, I peer up at the signs at the ends of the aisles, and walk back through the store until I find the one labeled “Plumbing Supplies.”

I’m concentrating so hard that I don’t even see the mountain of flesh until I quite literally run smack into it.

“Oooff,” I grunt as my face smashes into a broad, muscular chest.

“Steady,” a deep voice says, two large, strong hands grabbing me by the arms. Beside us, something falls to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” I gasp. I stagger a little and finally regain my balance. The hands are still holding me by the upper arms. My face flushes hot with embarrassment, and I raise my eyes to look at the man, who must think I’m a complete idiot.

My brain registers a black leather vest. Patches decorate the chest on both sides.

A square, strong jaw with the hint of a beard. Skin tanned a golden brown.

Sensual lips curved into an amused smirk.

Oh, shit.

“Huh,” Hawk rumbles, a mocking laugh in his voice. “Of all the places to run into the wedding photographer.” He takes his hands off my arms and crosses them in front of his chest.

Humiliation instantly starts to transform into indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask hotly.

He shrugs. “Nothing. You just don’t seem like the kind of girl who hangs out at hardware stores.”

“What, just because I’m a woman means I don’t know anything about hardware stuff?” I demand. Then I remember that I don’t actually have any idea what I’m doing.

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckles softly. “I know plenty of women who know how to use a wrench.”

I’m only slightly mollified. “Well, okay, then,” I huff.

“So, what’s the project?”

“What?” My face starts to flush.

“What’s the project you’re getting supplies for?” His tone is indulgent, and it infuriates me. Somehow, I just know he can tell I don’t know what I’m doing. It makes me want to smack that smug smile off his face.

Hating that I’ve let myself be backed into a corner, I consider lying to him. Then I realize I don’t even know enough about repairing things to concoct a convincing lie. I toss my head defiantly. “I’m fixing a leaky pipe under my gram’s kitchen sink,” I say, trying to sound like this is something I do all the time.

Hawk lets out a low whistle. “I’m impressed. You actually know how to do that?”

Ugh. Can this conversation just be over now? “Not exactly,” I admit, a challenge in my voice. “But I found some videos online about how to do it.”

“I see. Videos.” He nods seriously. “Very instructive.”

I know he’s teasing me. I shouldn’t let him get to me. But since I’m already worried that maybe I can’t do this, the fact that he doesn’t seem to think I can either makes my brain start telling me that this is all a fool’s errand, and that I should just give up now.

A wave of uncertainty rises up inside me as I glance around the store. All the employees are still talking to other customers. I look back up at Hawk, who’s still standing there with his arms crossed and that damn cocky smirk on his face.

Hawk’s probably the kind of guy who knows how to fix things. I bet he knows all about how to fix a leaky kitchen sink.

Am I really going to screw this up? Is it really stupid that I’m even trying?

“It can’t be that hard… can it?” I ask him in a small voice.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I don’t know why I just gave him an opening to keep making fun of me.

But instead of doing that, he surprises me by taking my question seriously.

“No. It’s not that hard,” he concedes, nodding slightly. “Unless something goes wrong, that is.” Hawk cocks his head at me and frowns. “Why don’t you just call in a plumber?”

“I tried,” I admit. Frustration creeps into my voice, and in spite of myself, I feel my guard slipping a little. “But everyone I’ve called says they’re booked up.” I sigh. “Handymen hate my grandmother. I literally think they’ve all banded together and taken a vow not to do jobs for her anymore.”

Hawk smirks. “Oh, come on. How bad could she be?”

I eye him. “You don’t know my grandmother, do you? Phyllis Jennings?”

He splutters, laughing. “Oh, Jesus. Phyllis Jennings is your grandmother?”

“Yeah,” I nod wryly. “So you see what I mean.”

“I do.” He continues to snicker for a moment, and then something in his face changes.

Hawk bends down then, and pick a small, flat square up off the floor. It’s a packet of sandpaper. He must have dropped it when I ran into him, I realize, remembering that something fell.

“Well, then,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height. “Tell you what. Let’s grab what we need, and I’ll come over and take a look at it for you.”

In the “I’m a strong woman who doesn’t need help from any man” version of this story, I tell Hawk to go to hell. Then I go back to Gram’s and fix the leak myself.

This isn’t that version of the story.

I take a deep breath and let it out. “You really don’t need to do that,” I say, shaking my head.

“I know that,” he rumbles, giving me a cocky smirk that makes my heart speed up just a little. “I don’t do shit I don’t want to do.” He turns down the plumbing aisle. “Come on,” he says, not looking back. “Tell me what’s going on with the leak so I know what we’re looking at.”

As we stand in the aisle, Hawk asks me what exactly the problem is, how bad the leak is, and where it seems to be coming from. I show him some of the pictures I took and point to where I think the water’s coming from.

“Good idea to take photos,” he tells me approvingly. “That was smart.” I try to ignore the flush of pride I feel at his words. So at least I’m not a complete idiot, anyway.

“Okay,” he says when I’m done explaining. “It sounds like maybe it’s a leak at the valve stem. The gaskets and O rings might need to be repacked and replaced.” Hawk finds some small packets and pulls them off the display, then wanders further down to the end of the aisle and picks up a small plastic jar. “Sealant,” he tells me. “Just in case.”

I follow Hawk to the checkout counter. Somehow, his bearing has changed, and the cocky bastard I met at Jenna and Cas’s wedding has disappeared. I get out some money to pay for the supplies, but he stops me. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells me. “I’ll get it for now. I’ll swing back by here afterwards and return whatever we don’t use. You can pay me later for what we end up needing.”

We go out the back door toward the parking lot. Hawk’s motorcycle is parked a few spaces away from my car. I start to tell him my address, but he stops me with a grin. “I know where Phyllis Jennings lives,” he says. “Across the street from Abe Abbott’s old house, right?”

I nod. “That’s right.”

“Anyway, I’ll follow you.” I get into my car and pull out onto the street. Hawk pulls out behind me. I drive back to Gram’s, casting occasional glances in the rear view mirror. Hawk’s dark blond hair shifts in the wind, his mirrored sunglasses obscuring his piercing eyes. I remember with a shiver what it felt like to be in his strong, muscled arms.

In my chest, my heart pounds just a little harder.