Chapter 4: The Handyman’s Hunger
955 Words
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The sound was torture.
I was halfway under the kitchen sink, my back aching against the cold linoleum. My hair was a bird's nest of copper curls and black grease. The Miller cottage wasn't just old; it was hostile. It felt like the house knew I was an outsider and was trying to drown me out, one drip at a time.
"Leo," I grunted, wrestling with a rusted nut. "If you eat that wrench, we are going to have a very expensive doctor’s visit."
Leo was currently parked in his high chair, looking like the tiny King of Chaos. He was wearing a duck-egg blue onesie with a whisk on it—a gift from Sarah. He banged a plastic spoon against his tray, staring at me with big, curious blue eyes.
"Ma! Ba!" he chirped.
I crawled out from under the sink, wiping sweat (and probably grease) off my forehead. "I know, buddy. Ma’s working on it. Give me five minutes before the kitchen turns into a swimming pool."
I sat on the floor, leaning against the cabinet to feed him a spoonful of mashed sweet potatoes. It was the only moment of peace I’d had all day.
Then, the light in the kitchen vanished.
A shadow eclipsed the window. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, pressurized, like the cabin of a plane dropping too fast.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The knock vibrated through the floorboards.
I stood up, smoothing my oil-stained overalls. I opened the door, and the air left my lungs.
Caleb Thorne.
He looked like he had been carved out of the mountain itself. No tactical vest today. Just a charcoal-grey henley that stretched dangerously thin across his chest. His arms were crossed, and his eyes—darker than a moonless night—were fixed on me.
"Maya said you had a leak," he said. His voice was a low gravel that seemed to hum in the air.
I blinked. "Maya sent you? I thought you were the landlord, not the plumber."
"I look after this town," he said simply. He stepped over the threshold without asking.
Suddenly, my kitchen felt like a dollhouse. He was too big for this room. He looked around, his nostrils flaring slightly.
She is so small, Caleb thought, his wolf pacing in his mind. How does she carry the weight of this cub alone? Where is the male who should be fixing this? If I find him, I’ll break his hands for leaving her in a house that weeps.
Caleb’s gaze landed on Leo.
The baby stopped chewing. He didn't cry. Instead, he stared at the massive stranger with zero fear.
"The pipe," Caleb rasped, tearing his eyes away from the baby. He knelt by the sink. The movement was fluid, like a big cat crouching to pounce.
"I really don't need—" I started.
"Sit down, Elena," he commanded. It wasn't a request. It was the voice of a man used to being obeyed.
I bristled, but I sat. I watched him work. His hands were massive, scarred, and rough. Yet, he handled the delicate copper pipes with a precision that was almost hypnotic.
"You're very quiet," I said, trying to break the tension. "Maya called you 'Alpha' at the market. Is that a nickname? Or is this some kind of intense hiking club?"
Caleb paused. He didn't look back. "It’s a title of responsibility."
He stood up. "Fixed."
He turned around, and suddenly, the narrow kitchen was a problem. To get to the door, he had to pass right by me.
He stopped, towering over my chair. He looked down at me, his gaze dropping to the grease smudge on my forehead. Before I could move, his hand came up.
His thumb was warm, rough with callouses. He brushed it against my temple, wiping away the dirt.
The touch was electric. A jolt of heat raced down my spine. My breath hitched.
Her skin is like silk, Caleb’s internal voice roared. I want to pull her against me. I want to scent-mark her until she smells like pine and rain instead of grease.
"You had a smudge," he whispered. His voice was rough, intimate.
"Thanks," I breathed. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.
"Ma! Ba!"
The spell broke. Leo was leaning out of his high chair, reaching a chubby hand toward Caleb. He grabbed the fabric of Caleb’s shirt.
Caleb looked down. His expression softened into something so tender it made my chest ache. He reached out a single finger.
Leo gripped it with his entire hand. Squeezed.
Caleb’s eyes widened. "He’s strong."
Too strong for a human infant, his wolf whispered. But Caleb ignored it.
"He's a Vance," I said softly. "He’s a survivor."
Caleb looked at me. He wanted to ask about the father. He wanted to know why I was alone. But he pulled his finger away from Leo’s grip.
"If anything else breaks... don't try to fix it yourself," he said, his voice tight. "Call the diner. They’ll find me."
He turned and vanished out the door before I could even say thank you.
I sat there for a long time, the spoon still in my hand, the ghost of his touch still burning on my forehead.
"Well, Leo," I whispered to the baby, whose eyes were still fixed on the door. "I think the landlord just marked his territory."
- Writer
