I could call a 24-hour emergency plumber. Except it's four in the morning and this is Largo Waters, not New York City. The most exciting thing that happens here on weekends is the farmers market.
I could wait until morning. Except the ceiling is actively turning colors and every minute I wait is another minute for mold to throw a party in my walls.
Or.
I could call Carlos.
My thumb hovers over his name. Negrorio Carpentry.
"This is a terrible idea," I tell my phone.
My phone, wisely, keeps its opinions to itself.
"He's going to think I'm insane. Calling him at four AM about a pipe. After I literally ran away from him on Sunday. This is going to be so awkward."
My ceiling makes an ominous creaking sound.
"Okay, we're doing this. But if this goes badly, I'm blaming you." I glare at the ceiling. "This is your fault for having a structural crisis at an unreasonable hour."
I hit call before I can change my mind.
It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
I'm about to hang up because this was stupid, what was I thinking, I'll just figure it out myself somehow, when a sleep-rough voice answers.
"'Lo?"
Oh God. His voice.
Deep and gravelly with sleep, slightly confused, and I can picture him in bed. Hair a mess. Probably shirtless because he always ran hot. Fumbling for his phone in the dark with those carpenter hands.
My mouth goes dry. My omega perks up with interest.
Not helpful,I tell it.We're having a crisis.
"Carlos." My voice comes out too high. Too panicky. I clear my throat and try again. "It's Jessica. Jessica Delacroix. I'm so sorry to call so late but I have a situation. A water situation. An aquatic disaster situation. My bathroom sink just declared war on my bedroom and I got the water turned off but there's water everywhere and my ceiling is doing this really concerning impression of a Jackson Pollock painting and my mom's in Mexico and I'm alone and I don't know what to do and I'm rambling, I'm totally rambling right now, aren't I?"
"Jess." His voice cuts through my panic spiral. Sharp now. Alert. Awake. "Slow down. Breathe."
I try to breathe. It comes out more like a wheeze.
"The pipe burst?" he asks, and I can hear rustling on his end. Movement. Bedsprings. He's getting up.
"Under the bathroom sink. It just exploded. Like a geyser. Like Old Faithful decided to relocate to my bathroom without filing the proper paperwork."
Despite everything, I hear him huff a quiet laugh, and the sound makes my chest do something complicated.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Just wet. And scared." My voice cracks. "And really, really alone, Carlos."
Silence for a beat. Long enough that I start to worry I've made a huge mistake.
Then: "Not anymore. I'm on my way. Give me fifteen minutes."
"It's four in the morning."
"I don't care."
