Renee said, rising from the recliner. “That copier hates me.” She followed Penelope to the other side of the lounge.
“Having a little trouble?” Penelope asked. The man on the other end of a losing battle with the copy machine looked up from where he was crouched over the open paper drawer.
He was built like a linebacker, solid without an ounce of flab, as far as Renee could tell. She’d already observed the fabulous image from behind, and had to admit the front view was just as breathtaking. His eyes were the color ofwarm maple syrup, and even though it was set in a frown, his mouth was strong, with full, supple lips.
“Whatever happened to a simple start button?” he asked, eyeing the copier as if he were ready to tackle it.
Penelope waved him off. “That went out in the early nineties. Now you need a Ph.D. in computer technology in order to make a copy. Let me see what you have here,” she said, shooing him away from the machine. “So, any luck finding another contractor?”
It took Renee a second to realize Penelope was talking to her. “No, I think Aunt Lorna is afraid to trust anyone just yet.”
“Any word from the police about locating the other guy?” Penelope asked.
“There have been so many counts of fake contractors robbing people blind, the police department said it would take years before they could get through the backlog.” A quick shot of anger speared through Renee’s gut at just the thought of the crooked contractor who had made off with most of her aunt’s life savings.
“That sucks, Renee. Here’s the problem. The paper jammed.” Penelope gently pulled a small stack of copy paper that had lodged in the automatic feeder.
“Did I break the machine?” the guy asked.
“No, it does this a lot.” Penelope took the sheaf of paper from his hand and placed them in the feeder. “How many copies?”
“Eighteen.”
Penelope punched the number into the computer screen and started the machine to rolling. “You should probably use the one down there.” She pointed to the last copier tucked into the corner. “It’s an older model, so it’s a bit slower, but it’s easier to use. It actually has a start button.” She smiled.
“So.” Renee took a sip of her coffee. “Are you a new teacher?” she asked. He was studying the copies as they shot out of the machine.
“No, just volunteering,” he answered.
He had a really nice voice. Deep, but with a softness that was unexpected given his outward appearance. Not that there was anything wrong with how he looked on the outside. The way his shoulders and chest filled out his gray polo shirt would be considered a work of art in some sectors of the world. But there was a hint of roughness around his nicely defined edges that told Renee he was more a T-shirt and jeans man than a Brooks Brothers suit wearer.
“My daughter is in Mrs. Overland’s first grade class. I’m helping out while I recuperate.” He gestured to his shoulder, where a square gauze bandage peeked from under the collar of his shirt.
“Good for you,” Penelope commented, handing him his copies. “We don’t get nearly as many parents to volunteer as we’d like, and you’re definitely the first father I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been here.”
He shrugged, the motion causing the shirt to pull slightly across his chest. The outline of the pectoral muscles that appeared caused Renee’s eyes to automatically widen.
“I heard you mention a problem with a contractor,” he said.
Renee snapped to attention. Had she been staring at him?
“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. She noticed the grin on Penelope’s face. Oh Lord, she
had
been staring. “Uh, yes,” Renee said again. “We’ve been having contractor issues. The one my aunt hired sort of skipped town without completing the job.”
“You’ve got to be careful who you hire,” the guy said. “For every legitimate contractor, there are ten shady ones out there ripping people
“Having a little trouble?” Penelope asked. The man on the other end of a losing battle with the copy machine looked up from where he was crouched over the open paper drawer.
He was built like a linebacker, solid without an ounce of flab, as far as Renee could tell. She’d already observed the fabulous image from behind, and had to admit the front view was just as breathtaking. His eyes were the color ofwarm maple syrup, and even though it was set in a frown, his mouth was strong, with full, supple lips.
“Whatever happened to a simple start button?” he asked, eyeing the copier as if he were ready to tackle it.
Penelope waved him off. “That went out in the early nineties. Now you need a Ph.D. in computer technology in order to make a copy. Let me see what you have here,” she said, shooing him away from the machine. “So, any luck finding another contractor?”
It took Renee a second to realize Penelope was talking to her. “No, I think Aunt Lorna is afraid to trust anyone just yet.”
“Any word from the police about locating the other guy?” Penelope asked.
“There have been so many counts of fake contractors robbing people blind, the police department said it would take years before they could get through the backlog.” A quick shot of anger speared through Renee’s gut at just the thought of the crooked contractor who had made off with most of her aunt’s life savings.
“That sucks, Renee. Here’s the problem. The paper jammed.” Penelope gently pulled a small stack of copy paper that had lodged in the automatic feeder.
“Did I break the machine?” the guy asked.
“No, it does this a lot.” Penelope took the sheaf of paper from his hand and placed them in the feeder. “How many copies?”
“Eighteen.”
Penelope punched the number into the computer screen and started the machine to rolling. “You should probably use the one down there.” She pointed to the last copier tucked into the corner. “It’s an older model, so it’s a bit slower, but it’s easier to use. It actually has a start button.” She smiled.
“So.” Renee took a sip of her coffee. “Are you a new teacher?” she asked. He was studying the copies as they shot out of the machine.
“No, just volunteering,” he answered.
He had a really nice voice. Deep, but with a softness that was unexpected given his outward appearance. Not that there was anything wrong with how he looked on the outside. The way his shoulders and chest filled out his gray polo shirt would be considered a work of art in some sectors of the world. But there was a hint of roughness around his nicely defined edges that told Renee he was more a T-shirt and jeans man than a Brooks Brothers suit wearer.
“My daughter is in Mrs. Overland’s first grade class. I’m helping out while I recuperate.” He gestured to his shoulder, where a square gauze bandage peeked from under the collar of his shirt.
“Good for you,” Penelope commented, handing him his copies. “We don’t get nearly as many parents to volunteer as we’d like, and you’re definitely the first father I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been here.”
He shrugged, the motion causing the shirt to pull slightly across his chest. The outline of the pectoral muscles that appeared caused Renee’s eyes to automatically widen.
“I heard you mention a problem with a contractor,” he said.
Renee snapped to attention. Had she been staring at him?
“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. She noticed the grin on Penelope’s face. Oh Lord, she
had
been staring. “Uh, yes,” Renee said again. “We’ve been having contractor issues. The one my aunt hired sort of skipped town without completing the job.”
“You’ve got to be careful who you hire,” the guy said. “For every legitimate contractor, there are ten shady ones out there ripping people
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