Page 5 of The Handyman

"Forty-three people means forty-three paychecks. Means I can take bigger jobs, more complex projects. Means I don't have to crawl under sinks anymore."

"But you were under my sink today."

"Your dad asked for me specifically. Kinda a favor.”

"Why?"

Because Phil Harrington is about to hand me a contract to build a twelve-unit apartment complex, the biggest job I've ever bid, and when Phil Harrington asks you to fix his daughter's bathroom yourself, you fix his daughter's bathroom yourself. And pronto.

"He's a good client."

She forks the pasta and loses half of it halfway to her mouth, catching it with her other hand. "Wow, real classy, Katy," she says to herself.

My face hurts too bad from trying not to laugh. Jesus, she really is something else.

The kitchen windows show nothing but black glass now, rain starting a persistent rat-a-tat against the panes. Light taps at first, then heavier. Like some sky DJ is riding the rain volume fader up, then down, then down further, then suddenly all the way up. Thunder rolls outside, still distant but getting closer. The rain volume stays up, hitting harder against the glass.

Lightning flashes, bright enough to turn the kitchen whiter for a split second. The lights flicker once.

The rain goes from drumming to hammering in the space of fifteen seconds. Wind hits the side of the house hard enough that the windows rattle in their frames. Another flash of lightning, closer this time, and the lights flicker twice.

We continue eating, but a couple of minutes later, my phone vibrates. Storm warning—severe thunderstorm, roads impassable, conditions not clearing until five AM. I open the weather radar. The entire screen is red, a solid mass covering the county and moving slowly.

"Storm's not clearing until morning. Roads are flooded."

Katy checks her phone. Her jaw tightens, eyebrows pulling together. She puts the phone face-down on the counter and groans. "Flight's canceled."

She stares at the window as rain rattles the pane and water sheets down the glass. Five seconds of quiet—the longest she's been quiet all day.

Then she looks at me, and the corner of her mouth lifts. "I guess you're stuck here with me."

The kitchen light is the only light on in the house, and it's making her hazel eyes go gold. She's looking at me, waiting for me to agree that yes, this is unfortunate since we're both trapped here by circumstances beyond our control.

Joke's on her because I don't want to leave. Haven't wanted to leave since she opened the door. For some weird reason, my mouth opens before I can even consider whether what I'm about to say is appropriate. "No, love. You’re stuck here with me."

2

KATY

Wait, what? What did Mason just say? Did he actually say that or am I hallucinating?

Did this smokeshow of a man just call me love? Love, as in: L-O-V-E?

My pulse kicks up in my throat. A bolt of heat sears through me—a flush I can't stop, can't hide, that crawls up my neck and makes my ears burn. My fingers grip the edge of the counter because my hands need to hold onto something, need an anchor, need anything that isn't reaching across this kitchen island and grabbing him by that gray t-shirt.

Love. He called me love.

It's not even just the word, but how he said it. His voice low and gravelly with want as he flashes me a hot glance. My core clenches, and I have to dig my heels into the floor to stop the gush of wetness in my pussy.

My thighs press together, and I open my mouth to respond when the lights go out.

The kitchen goes pitch black. The refrigerator hum dies. The AC cuts off. The only sound is the storm—rain against the windows, thunder that vibrates through the floor and into my bones.

I see Mason’s body outlined in an after-image. Like an optical illusion. It fades instantly. Then I can't see Mason. At all. Can't see my own hand in front of my face. The dark is complete, heavy, and pressing in on all sides.

Then I hear him—his breathing, the scrape of the bar stool as he stands. His voice comes through the dark, low and calm and closer than I expected. "Stay here. Don't move. I'll check the generator."

His voice sounds different in the dark. Without his face to look at, without his body filling the space in front of me, his voice is the only thing, and it's close and deep, and I can feel it in my sternum and lower, much lower.