He looked over at her with a wicked grin that seemed to curve only one half of his mouth (oh heavens) and put his hand in hers. “Name’s Jericho, but you can call me J if you like. And I just so happen to be a handyman and plumber.”
She found herself warming to that smile. He was pretty, with gorgeous eyes and a killer smile. Why did he ruin his appearance with tattoos and that awful hairdo? “It’s nice to meet you. Let me show you my eaves.”
“Please do. I love a nice set of eaves.” He gave her hand a squeeze before pulling his away.
Emily couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Why does that sound so incredibly dirty?”
He mock clutched his chest and feigned putting a hand to his forehead. “Heavens to Betsy. Whatever do you mean?”
She just rolled her eyes, amused. She liked this man’s sense of humor. “I showed you my eaves. Now show me what you can do with them.”
“I love a challenge,” he said with a wag of his dark brows. “Let me take a look and I’ll write up an estimate for you.”
Jericho kept her laughing with his silly quips while he inspected the work and pried up one of the old boards, examining the rot. When he was finished assessing, he headed back to his motorcycle and returned with a clipboard and pen, and wrote out an estimate for the work.
It was cheaper than she’d expected. “Are you trying to give me a discount?”
“Because you’re cute and single? No ma’am. Though you are both.” He gave her another wicked grin. “I’m just happy for the work, and I figure if you’re a satisfied customer, I can get more work and hopefully some word of mouth.”
His comment about her being cute and single left her a little flustered. It wasn’t something she got called often. Because she owned the Peppermint House, she seemed to fall into that ‘matron’ or ‘mom’ category despite not being a mom. And she rarely ever got hit on, especially not by guys in mohawks. She didn’t know what to think of that. So she steered things toward a safe topic: lunch. “If you can do all this work for that price, I’ll even make you lunch.”
“Now you’re talking,” he said. “Got a ladder?”
They were both quiet as she led him to the back shed where she kept her tools. He plucked the ladder from the wall with effortless grace and carried it back to the porch, where her rotten eave was. Emily watched, trailing behind him awkwardly. Should she leave him to his work? Or talk to him some more? What was the polite thing to do?
In the end, he solved the problem for her. As Jericho climbed the ladder, he called down, “So what’s on the menu?”
“For lunch? I was thinking homemade chicken and dumplings?”
“Never had it,” he admitted. “Any good?”
“You’ve never had chicken and dumplings?” She stepped to the side as he pried one of the old boards off and a shower of sawdust rained down.
“I have not. Unless you can microwave it, I probably haven’t tried it. My family wasn’t much in the way of cooking, unless it was meth.”
She blinked.
He looked down at her and grinned. “That was a joke, by the way.”
Emily laughed nervously. “Very funny.”
“Yeah, it never ceases to get a reaction,” he said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, whatever you cook is great. Not a lot of fast food around here so I mostly do a peanut-butter jelly thing.” He patted the side of his jacket.
“That sounds awful.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Feeds me. Can’t complain.”
If there was one thing Emily was proud of, it was her skill in the kitchen. And for some reason, she wanted to impress this man. If she didn’t cook up a good batch of chicken and dumplings, he’d be turned off of the dish for the rest of his life. And wouldn’t that be a shame?
“Well, I’m going to let you start on this,” she said, waving a hand. “And I’ll work on lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he ripped one of the boards down with his bare hands.
Mercy. That was…impressive.
“Another bowl?” Emily asked, unable to keep the pleasure out of her voice.
“Please,” Jericho said, and held his now-empty fourth bowl of soup out to her. “That’s some incredible shit.”
She laughed and ladled another spoonful into his bowl. “I’m glad you like it.”
He pointed his spoon at his bowl. “So is this you that’s amazing or is this chicken and dumplings?”
“A little bit from column A and a little bit from column B?” She refreshed his iced tea. “I’m sorry it’s not something nice and cool to eat. I know you must be working up a sweat outside.”
“You kidding me? This is amazing.”
She couldn’t help but preen a little under his compliments. “I had some leftover chicken and dough so I thought I’d make some. It’s one of my favorite things to eat.”
Jericho spooned another heaping mouthful between his lips and gave her a thumbs up. She laughed and began to wipe down her counters, thinking about what to bake next. Baking always eased her mind, and she’d promised the police department of Bluebonnet fresh muffins for a month for checking her house out at two in the morning last weekend.
They’d found nothing, surprise surprise. She was starting to think her ghosts were just messing with her. She got out her muffin tins and began to pull ingredients out on the counter.
Jericho waved his spoon at her. “So what’s with all the Martha Stewart stuff? You one of those anti-feminists?”
Emily made a face at him. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t enjoy baking without being an anti-feminist? Assumptions much?”
“Kinda like when people assume others are criminals just because they drive a Harley.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Touché.”
But he only winked at her. “I’m teasing you. We started off on the wrong foot but we’re cool now.”
With a small smile, Emily shook her head and pulled a carton of fresh blueberries out of her fridge. “I like to bake. It soothes me. Some people knit, some people scrapbook, I bake for everyone in town. And today, I owe the police department muffins.”
“Why’s that? You got a sweetheart there?”
“For a handyman, you sure do ask a lot of questions about if I’m dating or not,” she said lightly, her heart thrumming a bit.