“What?” I manage.
He steps closer, voice smooth and robotic in the way someonetryingto sound human might sound.
“I asked if you require assistance with the pressurized hydro-aggressor.”
“I—what?”
He tilts his head. His hair, wet and tousled, clings to his brow in a way that should be illegal. “The sprinkler,” he clarifies.
“Oh. God. Yes. Yes. Sprinkler. That’s what it is.”
Smooth, Nessa.
Real smooth.
He crouches down beside the valve box like it’s an unexploded bomb. Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask, just yanks open the lid and begins inspecting it with far too much precision for someone who claims to be anaccountant.His fingers fly over the pipes and fittings, adjusting something with the confidence of a NASA engineer defusing a reactor.
The geyser sputters.
Then stops.
Just like that.
He rises slowly, water dripping off his forearms, and nods once. “Your irrigation node was compromised. I recalibrated the flow junction.”
I stare.
“You fixed it.”
“Yes,” he says simply.
“Did you use... a rake?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
I blink. “Okay.”
“I am Richard,” he says then, like it’s a new idea that just occurred to him. “I live adjacent.”
“Vanessa. Nessa, actually.” I extend my hand before I realize I’m still drenched, my fingers pruney and probably freezing. “Sorry, I’m kind of... soaked.”
He takes my hand anyway. Firm grip. Warm skin.
His eyes meet mine—deep gold, too rich to be real, flickering slightly in the sun like molten metal under glass.
I swear the world hiccups.
Something pulses between us, electric and strange. I feel it in my chest. In my fingertips. Like standing too close to an old TV and hearing that buzz only kids can hear.
He tilts his head again, narrowing his eyes. “You are experiencing an anomaly.”
“What?”
“Your heartbeat elevated. Skin flushed. Pupils dilated.”
“I’m cold!”
