Fixing Ashley Read Online Free Page B

and take a deep breath, realizing I’ve let my brain-to-mouth filter get the best of me. Rubbing my palm behind my neck nervously, I continue, “Look, I don’t smoke inside the house. Hell, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’m trying to quit.”
    She rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue, clearly annoyed. “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road so I can leave you to do your job.” For some reason, hearing her all breathy, annoyed, and visibly flustered leaves me in a state of arousal I wasn’t sure could even happen this early on a Monday morning.
    “Fuck,” I mutter lowly, running a hand over my face as I enter the kitchen. Ashley is bent over the kitchen sink, looking outside the window with her ass up in the air and her body stretched out over the counter. Her height isn’t working to her advantage here, but it’s giving me some great images to use later.
    When she hears me, she quickly stands and walks around the kitchen, clearly in awe of what she sees. “This is...beautiful.”
    “You have no idea,” I reply quietly, thankful she doesn’t know I’m not exactly talking about the kitchen.
    I watch and follow behind her as she makes her way into the main floor bathroom where we’ve put together the cabinets, and all that’s needed is for the plumber to go underneath and hook it all up.
                  “This is exactly as it should have been, Devon.” Her voice is soft and shaky, on the brink of tears.
    I watch her frown as she looks into the living room, on the far wall where we haven’t quite finished assembling the shelving and trim that goes on either side of the fireplace.
    “We’re finishing that today,” I admit, and she simply nods in response.
    We’ve gotten a lot done in a week, but there is plenty left to do. Painting and final trim work is probably the most time-consuming, and those are the things I’m doing by myself. I refuse to trust anyone with those little touches. As good as Brad is with a chisel, I don’t trust him with a paintbrush to save his own life.
    “Well, you’re clearly on schedule, Devon.” She looks around the entrance, and up at the light fixture that’s not quite centered over the door. “Do you think...?” She points to it and scrunches up her nose.
    I smirk, my eyes meeting hers. “And the one in the dining room?”
    “Oh, my God,” she exclaims, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I tried to tell them over and over, but they wouldn’t listen. Ugh, I swear—” She shakes her head, her eyes looking back up at the ceiling. “Yes, please, fix the one in the dining room, as well.” She smiles sadly. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Good job, Devon.” She moves toward the door, then turns, adding, “Thank you.”
    I watch as she walks out the door, and for some reason, hearing her tell me I’ve done a good job makes my heart beat a little faster.
    Groaning, I rotate my shoulder, closing my eyes as the burn ebbs and settles. I then pick up my tool belt in hopes I can fix some more of the little dents and imperfections in this big, beautiful house.
    . . .
     
    The next day, Ashley comes to the house just as I’m finishing up fixing the porch light in the back. I’m about to call it a day as she wordlessly leans over the balcony and looks out into the lake.
    “Nice view,” I remark, as I’m getting down from the stepladder, trying not to look at her legs. The last thing I need is another injury. My shoulder is only now starting to feel better.
    She scoffs, but doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are trained as far away on the water and her mind seems to be. I wish I knew what was going on in there.
    Shrugging, I pick up my tools and make my way inside the house, through the kitchen door. I go to the living room and pick up a few things I’d left hanging around on my workbench, when I was putting in the doorknobs to the bathroom and bedroom doors earlier.
    Once I’ve got all that settled, I go back outside to get the ladder, and put