Page 9 of Finding Romance (Romances in the Building #2)

CHAPTER NINE

Kasen

I pound my fist on my desk. Damn, this hacker is good. I’ve been trying to plug holes in the firewall for this company for hours and somehow the hacker we hired to break through my firewall keeps finding a weakness in my code. The question is: Where’s my mistake?

I push back from the desk and decide I need a break. I walk into my living room and stop in my tracks.

Water. Shit, there’s water everywhere.

Oh no, I rush over to my fish tank. I see dripping from the corner.

How in the hell did it spring a leak? The water level is lower, but the leak is slow.

It must have been going on for a while. I knew I should have upgraded tanks when I got home.

Two years ago this leaked and I managed to patch it with Troy’s help. Looks like he’s about to assist again.

I pull out my phone and text him.

Me: So, I may have sprung another leak.

Troy: Damn, same place?

I look over at the tank to confirm.

Me: I think so.

Troy: Be right down.

Hanging up, I go to the door and unlock. I open it, waiting for Troy. The door across the hall flies open and Piper steps out and then screeches.

“Oh my God! You scared the crap out of me,” she says, clutching her chest.

“Sorry, waiting on Troy to fix my tank,” I explain as I motion into the living room. I really ought to mop up that water.

“Your fish tank?” she asks as she sticks her head into my apartment and then looks up at me. “Do you have towels? You should mop up that water before it ruins your floor.”

“I was just thinking that,” I state. “Do you mind waiting here for Troy? He’s coming down to help me fix it.”

“Sure,” she says as she leans on the door, holding it open. I rush back inside and grab a handful of towels from my linen closet. I place them on the floor, sopping up the water.

“Where’s the leak?” Troy’s voice booms from the hallway as he walks inside and kneels to examine where I’m pointing.

“Same as last time, maybe a little higher?” I say as I too kneel down and take a look.

“Looks like it. Maybe we weakened the joint when we put that epoxy in there. Let’s do the whole joint this time,” he suggests.

I nod and we get to work.

“Can I help with anything?” Piper asks from the door.

I wave her over. “You can. Mind grabbing more towels?”

She nods and heads in the direction where I’m pointing. I look at my sea creature. “Hang in there, guys. We’re going to get this all fixed up for you,” I assure them.

Troy groans. “Kid, you need to find a woman or a pet you can actually hold. Might I recommend the woman option?”

I glare at him and then realize Piper is standing next to me holding out the towels.

“Thank you,” I say and place them on the ground. It takes Troy and me a few minutes to concoct a plan and then another few minutes for him to get the materials, which we fortunately had from the last time.

Piper insists on staying and assisting. Like the stereotype of a child helping their father with a plumbing issue by handing them tools, Piper quietly sits by and hands us materials when we ask for them. She doesn’t say much, just watches.

It takes the better part of an hour, but eventually, we fix the leak after I had to put up a barrier in the tank to keep the water from the corner.

“Try to keep it dry for at least twenty-four hours,” Troy reminds me.

“Yeah. Got it,” I mutter. “Thanks again.”

He claps me on my back, and I fight the feeling that brings to me. I keep those feelings buried so deep that I’d need an excavator to bring them to the surface. But every so often, some emotions start to fester and tunnel up through the thick layers I’ve created.

“See ya, Piper,” Troy says with a tip of his baseball cap.

“Bye, Troy,” she says, offering him a little wave. We’re left standing there and staring at my fish and sea anemones.

“So…sea anemones, huh?” she states as she stares at them.

“Yep.” She looks at me and then back at them.

I point to each one. “That’s Napoleon. He’s a beadlet anemone. He’s feisty. And that’s Winston, he lives inside,” I say as I point to the little clownfish. “And that is Ulysses. He’s a snakelocks anemone, and Churchill lives inside him,” I add.

“Wow…interesting choice of names,” she says. “And how is an anemone feisty?”

I laugh. “They just are. It’s the species.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs. “Well, they’re pretty.”

“Of course they are. My children are gorgeous,” I say in mock horror.

Piper starts giggling and then full-on snorts while laughing. “I’m sorry,” she manages after a minute. “I just…you are too much. Who knew you were capable of such affection with sea creatures?”

I shrug.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just…I guess I never thought of fish and such having feelings or being gorgeous.” She pauses and leans in to look more closely at my pets. “I mean, I guess they are. Have you seen any in the wild?”

I nod. “That’s where my fascination started.”

“Did you dive a lot growing up?” she asks.

“I learned as a kid, but then I was in the Navy and, well, I spent a lot of time in the water,” I explain.

“You must be a really good swimmer. I suck at it. But I do like to snorkel as long as I can stand up. I’ve gone a few times when I’ve been on vacations,” she says and something about that makes me sad for her.

“You never learned to swim?” I ask.

Shaking her head, she turns back to me. “No. My mom made me take some lessons, but I was little and afraid. I can doggie paddle a bit but I only go in water where I can reach the bottom.”

“I think we should fix that. I can give you a lesson at the gym. I mean, the pool isn’t great, but it’d work,” I offer.

She purses her lips and cocks her head to the side. “Maybe.”

“What? Don’t trust me?” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know you that well.”

And with that simple sentence, I feel closer to her than I have to anyone in a long time. Her past has taught her not to trust, just like mine.

“Were you going somewhere…I mean, before you helped me here?”

“Just to get some coffee. I should probably get back and check on my aunt,” she says.

“You want to eat with me? I’m ordering some delivery. I don’t want to leave the tank until I know the patch is holding,” I explain.

She’s silent for a long beat and I begin to wonder if she doesn’t want to hang out with me, but then she speaks. “Sure. I just need to get Aunt Cornelia settled. Give me thirty minutes.”

“OK,” I reply as I walk her to the door. “I’ll leave it unlocked. Come back over when you’re ready.”

With a slight nod, she leaves and I go about drying the floor a little more and placing my now-drenched towels in the washer. By the time I finish, she’s back.

“Italian or Italian?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s a tough choice. Uh, I’m going to have to go with…Italian,” she replies with a grin.

I pat the stool next to mine at my kitchen counter and she sits. We scroll through a few menus and find one she likes, and I order us food.

“Drink?” I ask.

“Sure.” She watches me as I walk around my counter and show her what I have. “I have whiskey, gin, beer, water, and…orange juice,” I rattle off as I close my refrigerator door.

“Water is fine,” she says. I pour myself a whiskey because, after that tank catastrophe, I need it.

“Is that Scottish whiskey?” she asks.

I push the glass toward her. “It is. I got some when I was helping my grandmother out,” I explain. She studies it for a beat and then takes a small sip.

I watch her roll the liquid around her mouth and something about that simple action makes my pulse pick up a beat. How can tasting whiskey be sexy?

“It’s actually not bad,” she admits with a shrug.

“Not bad? That is a ninety-pound bottle of whiskey. It’s the best,” I chastise.

“Fine. It’s great. I’ll have a glass,” she says dryly.

“Are you fucking with me? Or do you actually want some?”

She laughs. “I do want some.”

“Now we’re talking,” I say as I grab a glass and pour her a finger of whiskey. We clink glasses.

“To sea anemones,” she says with a wink.

“To neighborly visitors,” I reply. Only watching her drink makes me want to do more than neighborly things to her.