Ryan's Renovation. Marin Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ traced a scratch in the Formica table with the tip of her pink nail. “How did things go with Mr. Kline’s house?”

      What would a ten-minute tête-à-tête hurt when he’d never see her again? “We cleared everything out except for the bathroom toilets, sinks and the tub.”

      “Eryk doubles as a plumber. He’ll have everything disconnected and ready to rip out in no time. His rates are reasonable, especially for friends.”

      After eight hours on the job, she assumed Ryan and the other men were friends?

      “Next week you’ll be working with Antonio and Joe on the lot-cleanup program.”

      Silence stretched between them. God, he was rusty at mundane dialogue. Her gaze skirted his face, then she stared him in the eye. “You don’t like it here, do you?”

      Ms. Chatterbox could read minds. He wasn’t certain how to respond—not that words mattered. She offered no chance to defend himself.

      “Have I insulted you?” Her chin lifted. Sparks spit from her eyes, heightening the blue color. A rosy tinge seeped across her cheekbones, making her nose more pronounced. Her expressive face captivated him.

      Ryan’s ex-wife had taken great pains to control her emotions—until she’d visited him in the hospital after 9/11. For the first time her carefully schooled features gave way to disgust. Revulsion. Pity. Perfect Sandra had discovered she had an imperfect husband.

      “Are you angry at one of the guys?”

      “No.” Leon and Eryk were decent men and once they’d figured out Ryan wasn’t verbose, they’d left him alone.

      “Then you’re always this social and outgoing?” The corner of her mouth twitched.

      Anastazia Nowakowski was a piece of work. “More or less.” He fought an answering smile.

      “You won’t object if I work on your demeanor while you’re employed at Parnell Brothers?”

      The last thing he needed was to be this woman’s pet project. Cause. Or charity case. His decision to quit hadn’t been made lightly. He understood he’d lose his inheritance and that his grandfather wouldn’t approve, especially after his brothers had stuck out their life lessons. But right now he’d rather face an irate old man than the big-as-saucers blue eyes across the table.

      Her earnest expression pulled at him. When was the last time a woman had gazed at him the way Anna Nowakowski watched him now—as if he held her happiness in the palm of his hand. Would it hurt to hang around the job awhile longer?

      “Don’t worry, I’ll play nice.” Her lips spread into a wide grin. “You’ll be best buddies with your coworkers in no time.”

      Don’t get your hopes up, Ms. Sunshine.

      Anna was an intelligent girl. From what he’d witnessed, she practically ran the business. After a few failed attempts to lure him into the fold, she’d give up and leave him be. “Do you ever stop smiling?” he groused.

      The sound of her lilting laughter soothed his apprehension.

      “Better keep on your toes, Ryan Jones. If I have my way, you’ll be the one smiling all the time.”

      Chapter Three

      “TGIF!” Eryk hollered over his shoulder.

      Following at a distance, Ryan noted that Leon waited in the driver’s seat of the dump truck. Why the hurry to return to the station for lunch?

      Ryan hopped into the truck, his lower-back muscles protesting—one too many swings with a sledgehammer. He’d reconciled himself to remaining in a state of perpetual exhaustion for the duration of the week. Add in the mental and emotional stress of Ms. Happy Chatty’s isn’t-the-world-a-beautiful-place smile, and then expending precious energy avoiding her nonstop attempts to drag him into discussions with the men, was it any wonder he teetered on the verge of collapse?

      “What do you guess she made for the potluck?” Eryk grabbed the dashboard when Leon veered right out of the south Queens neighborhood of Lindenwood.

      Potluck. Ryan shuddered. Anna had informed him several times about the once-a-month potluck. When he’d discovered the teddy-bear-shaped sticky note on his locker reminding him to bring cookies, he’d suffered a full-blown panic attack. Feeling like the potluck grinch, he’d brought a sack lunch and intended to eat outside on the stoop alone—the same as every other day this week.

      Until Eryk had knocked on the Porta Potti yesterday while Ryan had been inside, Ryan hadn’t considered how much he appreciated working in his office isolated from his employees. Over the past six years his direct contact with people had decreased, until weeks passed before he spoke face-to-face with another human.

      “Maybe Anna brought Blair’s famous spicy sausage-stuffed mushrooms,” Leon said, answering Eryk’s earlier question. A minute later, Leon steered the truck into the station garage and cut the engine.

      Ryan didn’t care who Blair was. They piled out of the truck, and the scent of garlic bread overpowered the usual smell of diesel fuel and engine grease. He followed the others to the break room, his stomach rumbling at the mouthwatering aroma.

      “’Bout time you fellas showed up.” Patrick scooped spoonfuls of Italian casserole onto a plastic plate. Antonio, Joe and the company boss, Bobby, stuffed their faces at the table covered with an American-flag cloth.

      “Everything looks real nice, Anna,” Eryk complimented her, then moved to the sink to wash up.

      Nice? The Fourth of July had exploded in the room. Coordinated red-white-and-blue plates and utensils rested on the counter. Two pitchers of lemonade with real lemon slices floating on the top occupied the middle of the table. Anna had tied red-and-blue balloons to the chairs and stuck American-flag toothpicks in the brownies stacked on a plate. The one thing missing—real fireworks.

      “I wanted to use the leftover party supplies from our Fourth of July picnic.” Anna glanced at Ryan, but he ducked his head, grabbed his lunch from the fridge and slipped through the door that led to the lockers, where Leon was changing into a clean T-shirt. When he noticed Ryan’s sack lunch, he frowned.

      “Don’t have much of an appetite,” Ryan mumbled, attempting to escape.

      Leon blocked his path. “You just unfriendly or has one of us offended?”

      Well, hell. He should have assumed sneaking off wouldn’t be easy. “I’m not feeling well and I was searching for peace and quiet.” The fib wasn’t far from the truth. People made his stomach queasy.

      “Anna’s got over-the-counter medicine—”

      “No, thanks.”

      The skin on the top of Leon’s bald head wrinkled.

      Before the other man had the chance to argue further, Ryan hustled out of the locker room, cut through the garage and managed to scamper up the steps to the office door without being stopped. Appetite gone, he tossed the lunch bag aside, collapsed on the cold concrete stoop, rested his arms on his knees and buried his head in his hands.

      When СКАЧАТЬ