Mr. Fix-It
“—from Practically Perfect by Khela Halliday “I need a date.” Khela smashed home the bone-white receiver of her classic rotary phone. Pacing a tight circle in her bright white kitchen, she chewed her right thumbnail. “I need a date and the pickin’ is slim, especially this close to the convention.”
One of Daphne’s suggestions bounced around in Khela’s head like a hyperactive child.
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask him,” she reasoned aloud. “He’s definitely got the right look.” And by “right,” Khe...la meant hot. “Super” was as much a description as it was a job title when it came to her friendly neighborhood handyman. He was tall, solid and sculpted without being bulky with muscle. His hair, the color of sun-burnished wheat, always looked rakishly perfect, and every time his mischievous, brandy eyes danced her way, her leg bones turned to jelly. He was well-spoken, his pronounced Southern accent setting his speech apart from every other man she knew in Boston.MoreLess
One of Daphne’s suggestions bounced around in Khela’s head like a hyperactive child.
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask him,” she reasoned aloud. “He’s definitely got the right look.” And by “right,” Khe...la meant hot. “Super” was as much a description as it was a job title when it came to her friendly neighborhood handyman. He was tall, solid and sculpted without being bulky with muscle. His hair, the color of sun-burnished wheat, always looked rakishly perfect, and every time his mischievous, brandy eyes danced her way, her leg bones turned to jelly. He was well-spoken, his pronounced Southern accent setting his speech apart from every other man she knew in Boston.MoreLess
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