Ryan's Renovation. Marin Thomas
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When her gaze softened with concern, he battled the urge to confide in her—as if a mere stranger could make sense of the feelings at war within him. He’d arrived at the station this morning, ready to do his grandfather’s bidding, prepared to feel uncomfortable working with strangers. But he hadn’t anticipated being blindsided by Anna. By her perpetually happy demeanor. By her compelling face. By her nonstop chatter.
She irritated the hell out of him.
He wasn’t angry with her for awakening his long-dead libido. He was angry because he sensed something about her…something that warned him that if he wasn’t careful she’d worm her way inside him to the place he’d promised he’d never, ever allow another woman access to.
The best way to prevent that from happening was to keep his distance. And Anna was the kind of woman who stepped over boundaries. Knocked down Do Not Enter signposts. And ripped up Keep Out posters. He had no choice but to quit.
“Ryan?”
“Everything’s fine.” Or would be as soon as he got the hell out.
“Oh, good.”
At her relieved smile, his chest expanded with gentle yearning. Anna was full of life, compassion and caring. And he was full of…nothing.
“You’d tell me if a problem surfaced, wouldn’t you?” She fluttered a hand in front of her face. “If I can’t fix it, then Bobby will.” She moved to the counter. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
“Stop.” He cringed at her round-eyed expression. He hadn’t meant to shout the word. “No coffee.” He wanted away from her smile. Away from her kindness. Away from her.
“Hate to waste the last cup.” Against his wishes, she poured the coffee and delivered the mug to the table. “Might as well sit a spell and wait out rush hour before heading home,” she coaxed.
Annoyed with himself for giving in, he joined her and grunted. “Shouldn’t you be heading home to your own family?” Damn. Now she’d assume he was fishing for details about her personal life. He wasn’t. For all he cared, she could be married, single, divorced, a lesbian or all of the above.
“I’m single.”
Was it his imagination, or did her smile tremble with strain? He sipped the too-hot brew to keep from asking why she wasn’t married.
“My roommate is a student at the Culinary Academy of New York and rarely arrives at our apartment before seven each night.”
As if cooking school explained why she’d never married.
Anna 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