He huffs out an exasperated sigh. “No, youcan’t.”
“Yes, I can.” I make my tone gentler. “Because it’s not just in your head, it’s on your face.”
I exhale a laugh. “I’m not lying to you. I literally don’t think Icould. So, please believe me when I tell you you’re sexy?” I scoot close enough to brush a lock of white hair off his face before running my thumb over his lower lip.
With impeccable timing, the kitchen timer dings, interrupting the moment. I sigh. “Be back in a minute.”
Last time I bought groceries, I picked up a package of those slice-and-bake cinnamon buns, remembering how much Errol liked them when my mom made them. Yeah, so maybe my brain has been running a thinking-about-Errol program in the background for longer than I realized.
There’s a little smile on my face as I walk into the kitchen, which vanishes in a flash when I realize the oven is still cold and there’s a smell of gas in the air. “Fuck,” I mutter, rushing to turn it off and open all the windows. After I’m convinced I’m not going to blow Errol’s house to smithereens over breakfast, I stand in front of the oven and scowl at it.
That’s how Errol finds me. “What’s the matter?”
“The oven won’t heat up. I don’t think I broke it. I just turned it on like usual when I came in to refill my coffee.”
He sighs. “Bet the damn pilot light burned out again.”
“Really? How can you tell?”
“Well, it’s obviously not a problem with the gas line, so I’m just taking a guess. Also, because it’s crapped out on me before.” He sighs again like he’s annoyed and heads for the cellar.
I blink at his retreating back in surprise. Errol can apparently fix… everything? I can barely tell different kinds of screwdriversapart. That shouldn’t make me insecure aboutmymasculinity, right? Definitely not.
But when Errol comes back upstairs with a toolbox and I’m still standing here like an idiot, I have to be honest with myself: I feel like tits on a bull. When I tell him that, he sort of grins.
“Actually, I need you to run out and get me a replacement starter switch, which I’d bet a million bucks is what needs to be replaced in this ancient thing,” he says, swinging the toolbox onto the stovetop and opening it.
“Um, I don’t know what —” I feel my cheeks heat.
“I’ll check to make sure they have the part in stock and then send you a link. Don’t worry, Stud, I’m not letting you just wander through a hardware store unsupervised.” His smile turns a little mischievous. “Don’t want some hot contractor sweeping you off your feet on me.”
I mumble something about getting dressed and head upstairs.
Errol is surrounded by what looks like half of the oven’s guts when I come back from the hardware store. He’s still in a T-shirt, but he swapped out the pajama bottoms for cargo pants while I was gone. Wonder what’s underneath them.
Filing that thought away for later, I pick my way around the stuff scattered over the floor and thrust the starter switch at him. “You might want to make sure it’s the right one.”
“I’m sure it is.” He huffs out a laugh. “You’re the smart one, remember?”
“I can build software, but when it comes to real-world shit,I’m a lost cause,” I admit.
Errol shakes his head as he ducks his head and shoulders inside of the oven with a tool I can’t identify in one hand and the replacement starter in the other. “Bullshit,” he says cheerfully. Coming from inside the stove, his voice is a little echoey. “You’re the one with the hot-shit Ivy League degree.”
“No! I dropped out my junior year.”
Errol tries to straighten up and whacks his head on the inside of the oven. “What? Ow —fuck!” He scoots back out to look at me, rubbing his head with his mouth agape.
I cringe. “Shit, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to distract you. Do you want some ice for that?”
Errol grimaces and rubs his fingers over the point of impact. “Nah. I don’t think it’ll make a bump. But seriously? I thought you graduated!”
I sigh. “I didn’t exactly advertise it. It’s only cool to brag about dropping out of college to start a tech companyafteryou get really famous. So for now, I’m just a guy with no degree who can’t fix shit.”
Errol looks at the disassemblage of the oven around him and sighs. “Well, I haven’t fixed it yet, so save your praise.”
“Yeah, but I know you will. Not even a question in my mind.”
At first, I think he’s going to reply with a self-deprecating crack. But after looking at me in silence for a few seconds, something like pride comes over his features. “Thanks, Stud,” he says quietly.
