Page 9 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Molly

I’m still riding the high of ruining Robin’s day when I hear her yelling again, somehow even louder than the buzzing of the jigsaw.

I take my finger off the trigger and turn to find Robin hopelessly tangled in plastic drop cloths by the back door.

Just as she manages to escape one, the other pulls off the wall and the loose tape sticks to the plastic on Robin’s back, making it even harder to escape.

Could I help her? Yes. Will I instead enjoy watching her struggle? Obviously.

I’m barely holding back a laugh by the time she rips her way out, cursing, her face bright red. “Is all this really necessary when you’re working on the other side of the goddamn room?”

I shrug. “If you want drywall dust and moldy insulation all over your cooking utensils, be my guest.”

Robin takes a step forward, and static makes a plastic sheet cling to her leg.

She tries to kick it away, but it only further attaches to her jeans.

I watch wordlessly, trying not to notice the inches of skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants, as she grabs the sheet and throws it with all her might.

It floats for a moment before landing only a couple inches from her feet.

“Did you need something?” I ask with calculated nonchalance.

Robin points at the hole in the wall. “Where’s the leak?”

It takes great effort not to roll my eyes. “Where do you think? It’s where I cut the hole.”

Robin comes closer, her whole body tensed as she stares into the void. “So why is it dry?” she says. “You said there was enough water damage for you to spot it, but I don’t see any moisture.”

“Because I already turned off the water and removed the damaged drywall,” I say as if explaining it to a third grader.

Robin turns to the row of cabinets I removed earlier, now organized on the floor against the opposite wall, and says, “You said the water was soaking into the cabinets.” She leans over to examine them, running a finger down a white-painted board. “But they’re bone-dry.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to see the damage when you didn’t even notice half the lightbulbs were burned out in here,” I say primly.

“Once I replaced them, the leak was obvious. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.

And you shouldn’t be in here when I cut the pipe unless you’ve got safety goggles and work gloves. ”

“You don’t even do plumbing,” Robin says in a gotcha tone. “We always had to hire professionals for that.”

I descend the stepladder, put down the jigsaw, and pull off my eye protection.

“I didn’t realize you kept track of the new skills I’ve learned in the seven years since you left me, ” I say, my iciness melting into a steamy rage.

“Is it so hard to believe that after renovating this place nearly single-handedly, teaching myself to patch drywall and refinish floors and shingle roofs and weld and whittle wood trim and repair antique decorative windows, I was capable of learning to fix a leaky pipe?”

“I didn’t say you were incapable, ” Robin says, looking a little frightened but also unwilling to back down. “It just feels convenient that right now, when I need the kitchen for my work, there’s suddenly some giant invisible leak that takes the whole room out of action.”

I stare at Robin with such intensity that I wonder if I’ve manifested the power to shoot lasers from my eyes. “You’re accusing me of lying? You think I tore open this wall for fun ?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, no.”

Furious, I turn my back on Robin and stomp right up to the hole, then turn around and gesture for her to follow.

She does, although she maintains enough distance to make it harder for me to strangle her.

I splay a hand across the drywall to the left of the opening.

Robin stares at me like I’ve lost my marbles.

“Put your hand on the goddamn wall, Rob,” I say, the once familiar nickname surprising me as it leaves my mouth.

Robin visibly stiffens. It started as a term of endearment, but became something I called her only in moments of irritation by the end.

Robin concedes, placing her palm against the wall several feet away from me.

“Not there.” When I grab her hand to pull it closer, it’s like the whole world flips upside down for a second before righting itself again, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

It’s our first skin-to-skin contact in years, and it feels like my body has been spun through one of those starship rides at the state fair. Does she feel the same?

I pull back as if I’ve been stung. Robin leaves her hand where I moved it, just to the side of the jagged square. I clear my throat. “Waterlogged drywall feels cooler to the touch. See how it’s cooler closer to the pipe there?”

Robin slides her hand back and forth along the flat surface, looking uncertain. “Maybe?” she says.

I sigh and unclip a flashlight from my belt.

“See how it’s dark and discolored? There’s clearly some water absorbed into these wooden support beams,” I explain.

“It’s lucky I caught it when I did. I can run a dehumidifier in here, dry it out while I patch the pipe, and we won’t have to replace any of the structure.

This could have been a five-figure repair cost if the pipe had fully blown. ”

Something in Robin’s posture seems to shift, shrinking by inches. “Fine. Do what you need to do,” she concedes.

“That’s all? No apology for calling me a liar?”

Her eyes flit up to mine for a moment before falling back to the floor. “I’m sorry I questioned your expertise,” she murmurs.

I know my smile is smug, but I can’t stop it from unfurling across my face. “Now, if it’s all right with you, I’m going to try to get this kitchen back in working order ASAP.”

As soon as she’s out of the room, I release a huge sigh of relief.

A burst pipe is never a good thing. A completely fine pipe that I can pretend is burst? That’s a different story. Sometimes you have to be the leaky pipe you wish to see in the world. Besides, Robin’s right. I have no idea how to fix plumbing.

I do, however, know how to act like I know what I’m talking about when it comes to home repair.

I also know how to draw out a DIY project until Robin’s sick to death of the inconvenience.

When I told her I’d have the kitchen back in order ASAP, I meant “as slowly as possible.” Only one of us can live at the Hummingbird this summer, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make sure it’s me.