Page 23 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t a nothing look.”

“I was wondering how one man managed to distribute his clothes across my entire bedroom in a single night.”

“Skill.” He pulls on his jeans without underwear, and my eyes follow the movement despite my best intentions. “Excited current in motion.”

“Clearly.”

I wrap the sheet around myself and follow him to the kitchen. He tries to tell me he does not need coffee. I ignore him because no one should operate a vehicle at this hour without it. While the pot brews, Marc retrieves his work boots from beside the door and checks his phone. He suddenly looks serious.

“Problem?” I ask.

“The delivery was moved up. Nolan says the conductors will be at his shop by noon.”

Relief comes quickly, followed by the next practical concern. “Can he begin without you?”

“He can pull the old wire and stage the new run. I’ll be here as soon as my crew shuts down.” Marc sets the phone on the counter and comes toward me. “If everything tests clean tonight, you’re still on schedule for the inspection tomorrow.”

“If everything tests clean.”

“It will or it won’t. Worrying for the next twelve hours won’t change the reading.”

“Do you offer that philosophy to all your clients?”

“Only the ones standing in their kitchens wearing a sheet.”

He stops in front of me and opens the sheet enough to put both hands on my bare waist. I should object. Instead, I slide my arms around his neck and let him kiss me until the coffee maker releases an impatient hiss behind us.

“Go to work,” I whisper.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Marc kisses me once more, slower this time. “I’ll be back by four.”

The words feel like a promise, although they are only a statement about his schedule. I watch him cross the narrow lawn to Cabin Seven, then stand at the window until the light inside his bathroom comes on.

He is next door. He is coming back tonight. For now, I let that be enough.

The sensible part of me points out that Marc reserved the cabin for six weeks. Six weeks is long enough to become accustomed to a man crossing the lawn in the morning and not nearly long enough to build a life around him. I should be chastising myself for becoming involved with someone whose departure date was part of his reservation before we ever met.

I do not regret last night. Even knowing how temporary this may be, I would make the same choice again. That might be the least sensible part of all.

By seven, I have changed the sheets, washed bedding, answered six emails, and confirmed that the reunion organizer still plans to arrive Friday afternoon. Her name is Suzanne Fletcher, and she has spent months coordinating several relatives who disagree about everything except wanting to be together at the lake.

I do not tell her about the electrical repair. The cabins are safe while disconnected, and there is no reason to hand her my anxiety before I know whether it belongs to her. I do promise to call by eight tomorrow morning if anything changes.

At nine, Nolan arrives to inspect the marked trench and verify that the overnight cover held. At ten, I drive into town for groceries, cleaning supplies, and enough paper towels to satisfy four generations of Fletchers. I stop at Millie’s Café last because I have not eaten, and the smell of bacon reminds me that coffee is not technically breakfast.

Before I leave, I ask Nolan what the repair will cost now that Marc has contributed so much of the labor. He names an amount lower than I feared but high enough to cover his time, permit responsibility, and materials.

“Marc is saving you labor hours,” he says. “He is not turning this into free work. I will send the final invoice after the inspection.”

“Good,” I tell him. “Because I intend to pay it.”

Millie takes one look at me when I slide onto a stool and smiles in a way that makes me regret coming inside.