Next Door Daddy
You are not a plumber, Pollyanna McDonald reminded herself as she eyed the thin trail of water trickling from beneath the bolt…or was it called a socket?
A lug nut?
Whatever—she might not be able to put a finger on the name of the doohickey, thing, but her washing machine was connected to it and she didn't have to know its name in order to fix it.
Surely she could take care of that little, tiny water leak. They did it on HGTV all the time. Piece of cake. Women of all ages, shapes, sizes and ethnicities fixed any manner of things on those shows all the time and so could she.
Lifting her chin, she hiked the tool belt into a more comfortable position on her hips and hoped for confidence. The assortment of sparkling tools tinkled like wind chimes in the pockets, drawing her to study them. What in the world did one do with this many wrenches? They all looked the same.
Obviously Marc had found uses for all of them; they'd come from his toolbox, after all. She reached for one. You are not a plumber—
"Yet," she said out loud, firmly silencing the negative voice in her head. She'd been pushing herself for two years to do and be more than she'd ever thoug ... read full excerpt from: Next Door Daddy ebook
