“It’s definitely problematic,” Declan agreed, already pulling out his phone to call someone who presumably knew more about heating systems than we did. “Let me see if I can reach Rhett Blake—he does HVAC work.”
While Declan made calls, I did a walkthrough of the building, testing vents and checking thermostats, trying to diagnose the problem with my extremely limited knowledge of heating systems. The decorations looked beautiful against the snowybackdrop visible through the windows, but Christmas lights and garland weren’t going to keep anyone warm if we couldn’t get the heat working.
“Bad news,” Declan said when I returned to the main room. “Rhett’s already left for his daughter’s wedding, and the other HVAC guy in town is dealing with emergency calls from the storm. We’re on our own until morning.”
“On our own to do what, exactly?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer. “Neither of us is qualified to repair heating systems.”
“No, but we can troubleshoot basic problems,” Declan said with the kind of determined optimism that suggested he was about to volunteer us for another project that would require crawling around in cramped spaces. “Clogged filters, tripped breakers, that kind of thing.”
“Right,” I said, trying not to think about how our last troubleshooting session had ended with us agreeing to professional boundaries while standing uncomfortably close in the storage room. “Basic heating system diagnosis. How hard could it be?”
“Famous last words,” Declan said with a grin that made my stomach flutter in ways that were definitely not designed for freezing temperatures.
The heating system was located in the basement, accessible through a narrow door near the kitchen that led to stairs steep enough to qualify as a mild mountaineering experience. The basement itself was cramped, dimly lit, and filled with the kind of mechanical equipment that looked intimidating even when it was working properly.
“Okay,” Declan said, consulting something on his phone that was apparently a heating system troubleshooting guide. “First step is checking the circuit breakers to make sure nothing’s tripped.”
The electrical panel was mounted on the wall in a corner that required both of us to squeeze into a space clearly designed for one person. I was acutely aware of Declan behind me as I examined the rows of switches, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cold basement air.
“Anything look obviously wrong?” he asked, leaning over my shoulder to see the panel better.
“They all look the same to me,” I admitted, trying to ignore how his proximity was making my pussy a bit damp. “None of them are pointing in different directions or have little ‘I’m broken’ signs.”
“Very technical assessment,” Declan said with amusement, and I could feel his breath on my neck as he spoke. “Let me see if I can figure out which ones control the heating system.”
He reached around me to point at different switches, his arm brushing against mine in the confined space. The contact was brief and completely innocent, but it sent an uncomfortable jolt of awareness through me that had nothing to do with electrical currents.
“This one,” he said, indicating a switch labeled ‘HVAC.’ “And probably this one too.”
“Should we flip them? Turn them off and on again?” I asked, though I was finding it difficult to concentrate on electrical troubleshooting when Declan was standing close enough that I could smell his cologne—something warm and woodsy that made me want to lean back against him instead of solving heating crises.
“Worth a try,” he said, but neither of us moved to actually flip the switches.
For a moment, we just stood there in the cramped corner, ostensibly examining the electrical panel but actually being very aware of each other’s proximity. I could feel the tension buildingbetween us, the same electrical charge that had been crackling through every interaction since we started this shitshow.
“Holly,” Declan said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made me turn to face him.
Which was a mistake, because turning meant we were now facing each other in a space barely large enough for one person, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes were dark and focused on my mouth, and for a breathless moment, I thought he was going to kiss me right there in the basement, surrounded by heating equipment and holiday crisis management.
“The switches,” I said weakly, though I made no move to actually flip any.
“Right,” Declan agreed, but he didn’t move either. “The switches.”
We stood there for another heartbeat, both of us clearly thinking about things that had nothing to do with electrical panels, before the sound of a snow flurry hitting the basement windows reminded us that we had an actual crisis to solve.
“I’ll flip them,” I said quickly, reaching for the switches with hands that were definitely not entirely steady.
The circuit breakers made satisfying clicking sounds when I flipped them off and on again, but the heating system remained ominously silent.
“Still nothing,” Declan said after we listened hopefully for the sound of a system cycling on. “Next step is checking the actual furnace for obvious problems.”
The furnace was located in an even more cramped corner of the basement, behind a maze of pipes and ductwork that required us to crawl on our hands and knees to access. I was grateful for my jeans and warm sweater, though crawling around in a basement was definitely not what I’d had in mind when I’d chosen my outfit that morning.
“There’s supposed to be a pilot light,” Declan said, consulting his phone again while we crouched in front of the furnace. “If it’s out, that would explain why nothing’s working.”
“How do we check for a pilot light?” I asked, though I was distracted by the way our knees kept bumping together in the confined space.
“There should be a little window or panel where you can see it,” Declan said, running his hands along the front of the furnace. “Here, I think this is it.”
