Rina rushed to the ladies’ room and stopped in the doorway.
The Destroyer of Pies was crouched over the gray metal toolbox on the floor with a hammer in his hand.
Panic leaped inside of her. “Don’t!”
He looked at her and his brows drew together with a puzzled look. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t break my sink.”
“It’s already broken. My plan is to fix it.” He set the hammer aside on the floor next to his phone, took a metal wrench from the box and stood.
His beige Timberlands had damp spots on them. Wet spots also dotted the slightly faded jeans hugging his thighs and hips and his shirt stretching over his wide chest. The front of his hair was also damp and waves ran through it as if he’d recently raked it back from his face. He lifted the wrench and his bicep bulged. He held it like he knew what he was doing but looks could be deceiving.
Rina walked farther in. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“He reached out his hand, and she slid her palm into his. The heat of his skin flowed into her like a current connecting them, holding her in place.
“I’m Rina.” She took her hand from his but the warmth remained. “I appreciate you jumping in to help, Scott, but these sinks are—”
“Vintage. The real deal, not replicas.” As he glanced around the ladies’ room, an expression of appreciation came over his face. “Let me guess. The sinks inspired the design scheme.”
Antique-style mirrors with decorative oval gold frames hung above the two white pedestal sinks that sat against pale lavender walls. Faux green plants in white pots were on corner shelves, and framed watercolor pictures of flowers hung on the back wall. Instead of metal-encased toilet cubicles, three floor-length dark-wood stalls provided style and privacy. The men’s room also followed the same theme but had black-and-white color decor and touches that gave it a more masculine feel.
“You’re two for two.” The similarity to what he’d said to her that afternoon drove her gaze to his. She hadn’t meant to almost duplicate his words.
Sincerity deepened the color of his hazel-green eyes. “About this afternoon before lunch. I feel really bad about what happened. I’m sorry. I noticed you limping to the parking lot. Are you okay?”
Seven years ago, she’d survived one tragic accident, three surgeries and months of working her way mentally and physically back to “health. The discomfort she dealt with now was nothing compared to what she’d gone through back then. But there was no need to open the door to that conversation. “I’m fine. And I accept your apology.”
“Good.” He pointed the wrench at the sink. “If you have spare parts for the faucet, I can fix this.”
Just because he could recognize a real vintage sink from a replica didn’t mean he had the skills to repair one. “I appreciate the offer, but I should probably find someone with experience.”
“Experience.” He chuckled. “Does shadowing my father at his plumbing company growing up plus working for him on kitchen, bath and pool design projects count?”
“Here’s the problem.” Scott picked up the silver cross-shaped cold water knob that was lying in the sink. He flipped it over to the back side.
She leaned in and the invisible pull activated again drawing her into the pleasing woodsy scent with notes of tangerine, ginger and cardamom wafting from him. He smelled just as tempting as one of her desserts.
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