Fixing More Than Doors

Chapter 1: A Helping Hand

Anđela juggled the chaos of her life with a fierce grace, but lately, the weight of it all was wearing her down. Her husband Frane was a ghost in their home, buried under work and excuses, leaving her to wrangle their two kids, a toddler who never stopped moving and a baby who never stopped crying. The kitchen floorboard squeaked like a banshee, the bathroom door stuck halfway, and Frane’s promises to fix them were as empty as their late-night conversations. She was a woman on edge, craving attention, craving something.

It was a sweltering afternoon when the universe decided to throw her a bone—or rather, a man. Struggling with groceries in one arm, her baby in the other, and her toddler trailing behind like a tiny, sticky shadow, Anđela fumbled with the keys at her front door. The inevitable happened: the grocery bag slipped, oranges rolling everywhere like they had a personal vendetta. She cursed under her breath, but before she could even bend down, a deep voice cut through the chaos.

'Need a hand, or are you just testing gravity?' Robert, the neighbor she’d only ever nodded to in passing, stood there with a crooked grin, already scooping up her rogue fruit. His broad shoulders and easy confidence made her pause, a flicker of heat stirring in her chest.

'I’m testing patience, actually,' she shot back, adjusting the baby on her hip. 'But thanks. You’re a lifesaver.'

'No problem. I’ve got a knack for picking up messes.' His eyes lingered on hers a beat too long, and she felt a jolt—something dangerous, something alive.

'Stay for a sec?' she asked, her voice casual but her pulse anything but. 'I just need to hit the bathroom.'

He nodded, stepping inside with the groceries as she disappeared. Robert set the bags on the counter, and the cabinet hinge let out a godawful squeak. From the bathroom, where the door refused to close properly, Anđela’s voice carried a sharp edge of humor. 'Hey, handyman, think you can fix a door as well as you rescue oranges?'

He chuckled, leaning against the counter, his voice low and teasing. 'I can fix anything, darling. Just say the word.'

She stepped out, wiping her hands on her jeans, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. 'Alright, hotshot. Tomorrow, nine sharp. I’ve got a door and a floorboard that need your magic touch.'

'Deal,' he said, his gaze dipping to her lips before snapping back up. 'I’ll be here.'

The next morning, with Frane at work and the kids dropped at her mother’s, Anđela felt a reckless energy buzzing under her skin. It was hot, the kind of sticky heat that made clothes feel like a burden. She slipped into a tight green dress, the fabric hugging her curves, the neckline plunging just enough to make a statement. She wasn’t playing innocent today—she was playing to win.

Robert knocked right on time, and when she opened the door, his eyes widened, taking her in like she was a damn masterpiece. 'Morning,' he said, his voice rougher than yesterday. 'You look... ready for a heatwave.'

'Oh, I’m burning up already,' she replied, her tone dripping with suggestion as she stepped aside to let him in. 'Let’s see if you can cool things down.'

They chatted as he worked on the bathroom door, tools clinking, his muscles flexing under his shirt with every move. Anđela perched on the couch, legs crossed, watching him with an intensity that wasn’t just about home repairs. They talked motherhood, the grind of it all, but her words were laced with a sharp wit that kept him on his toes.

'You’ve got a way with a hammer,' she said, tilting her head. 'Bet you’re good with your hands in other ways too.'

He glanced over, a smirk playing on his lips as he tightened a screw. 'You testing me again, Anđela? ‘Cause I don’t back down from a challenge.'

She laughed, low and throaty, shifting so the dress rode up her thigh just a fraction. 'My back’s been tight as hell lately. Since you’re already fixing things, think you can handle that too?'

Robert set the hammer down, wiping his hands on his jeans as he straightened up, his eyes darkening with intent. 'I can handle anything you throw at me. Turn around, let’s see how tight we’re talking.'

She stood, her movements deliberate, turning to face the couch as she leaned forward slightly, her ass curving under the thin fabric of her dress. He stepped closer, the heat of him pressing against her back as his hands hovered just above her skin. 'Tell me where it hurts,' he murmured, his breath hot on her neck.

'Everywhere,' she whispered, her voice a challenge, daring him to cross the line. His fingers brushed her shoulders, firm and deliberate, and she felt the first spark of something explosive building between them, ready to ignite.