Oh, right—I was staring. At the guy Idefinitelydisliked.
Clearing my throat, I hopped to my feet and exhaled. “Why were you on the stool, anyway? Couldn’t you get a ladder?” I gathered my hair in one hand to get it off my neck.
Rhett stood and squinted at me. “I didn’t want to leaveyourshop unattended.”
“Well, I can’t say being open does me a lot of good when I have handymen—” I thrashed my arms toward the ceiling— “Falling from the skies. It’s like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
He laughed again, dry this time. “I can assure you, I would have been fine if ahuman battering ramdidn’t walk through the door.”
I could feel my temper flare deep in my chest. “I said I was sorry.”
Rhett opened his mouth, scratched the back of his neck, and seemed to rethink his response. Instead, he crouched to the floor and began gathering his tools back into his bag. I watched with thinly veiled annoyance as he slung the strap over his shoulder and rose to his feet.
We stared at each other. He blinked, the bored expression having returned.
“You’re leaving?” I nearly snapped, motioning spasmodically to the missing section of drywall on the ceiling and adjoining wall. “I don’t know if you know this, but typically somethinggoesthere.”
Rhett began to reply when a loud clang sounded behind him. He paled and his eyes grew large.
A faint drip to our right.
“What’s that—”
I was promptly cut off by a louderclangand a plague-level gush of water bursting from the wall. Fruitlessly shielding my hair, I froze, my instincts about as helpful as a baby deer.
He dropped his tool bag, cursed, and tried to block the spray with his hand. “Do you know how to shut off the water?” Rhett shouted over his shoulder, looking as if he was weathering a hurricane.
“I—” My heart dropped to my stomach. The torrent was pounding into everything—the floral coolers, the already-water-damaged floor, and my poor ferns. Scraping my hair off my face, I continued to sputter even as he moved closer to inspect the pipe. I wanted to cry.
“I can’t do anything with the water on!” Rhett yelled.
“I don’t—” I grimaced. “I don’t know how.”
Without missing a beat, he turned on his heel and pushed a lock of wet hair from his eyes. “Show me where the back is?”
Nodding, I scrambled to the opposite side of the shop and unlocked the alley door. We burst outside. He darted straight for the water meter attached to the wall, his hands deftly shooting to the pipe beside it.
Rhett crouched low, twisting the large valve with both hands until his knuckles went white. The hiss of water inside the wall slowed to a trickle, but his shoulders were still taut beneath the sodden flannel.
“Good news,” he grunted, boots scraping on the pavement as he rose. “I got the main shut off.”
My exhale of relief caught in my throat at his next words.
“Bad news? That pipe’s shot to hell. You’ll be swimming eventually if we don’t patch it now.”
“Swimming? My shop?” I swallowed and frantically glanced back inside.
Rhett shot me a look—partly exasperated, slightly amused—dark hair plastered to his forehead. “Come on.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Fetch me every towel you’ve got and something to catch the water. Bucket, pot, vase, I don’t care.”
I scrambled back inside, nearly slipping on the puddles spreading across the floor. My sneakers squeaked as I dutifully gathered a few empty flower buckets and the biggest pots from my closet. I deposited them at the front and retreated for an armful of towels from the backroom. By the time I returnedagain, Rhett was already on his knees in the corner, having sawed even more plasterboard from the wall.
“Hold this.” He shoved the flashlight at me without looking.
I fumbled, nearly dropping it into the puddle his knees were soaked in. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just…aim,” Rhett mumbled.
Huddling beside him, I tried to ignore the way his shoulder brushed mine every time he leaned forward. I fixed my eyes to the wall, determined not to notice the corded tension of his muscles as he wrestled with the pipe.
