Grath watches. Silent. Attentive.
"You're staring."
"You're interesting."
"I'm elbow-deep in electrical work during a fundraiser that's currently falling apart."
"Still interesting."
Heat crawls up my neck. I focus harder on the wiring. Green to ground. White to neutral. Black to hot.
"How'd you learn this?" he asks.
"Dad. Before he decided I was better suited for corporate law than actual useful skills."
"He's wrong."
Simple. Direct. No hesitation.
Something cracks open within me. Just a little.
"Yeah. Well. He's not here to see it." I secure the new outlet. Test the connections. Looks solid. "Flip the breaker."
Grath moves to the panel. Flips the switch.
Lights blaze. Refrigerator hums back to life. The exhaust fan kicks on with a wheeze.
"Success." I stand. Dust off my knees. "Now we just need to reconnect the keg and pray the line didn't freeze."
Grath maneuvers the keg back into position. Gentler this time. I plug it in. Check the tap line. Pressure gauge climbs.
"We're good. We're actually good."
Relief floods through me. Sharp and dizzying.
Then the tap explodes.
Not explodes. That's dramatic. But the line detaches. Beer sprays everywhere. Cold and foamy and absolutely drenching both of us.
I yelp. Lunge for the shutoff valve. Slip on the wet floor. Grath catches me. One arm around my waist. Solid. Steady.
We freeze.
His arm's still around me. My hands braced against his chest. Both of us dripping beer. Breathing hard.
His eyes meet mine. Dark. Intense. Closer than they should be.
"You okay?" His voice is low. Rough around the edges.
"Yeah. Fine. Wet. But fine."
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "You smell like a brewery."
"So do you."
The kitchen door swings open. Nora leans in. Takes one look at us—soaked, pressed together, faces inches apart—and grins like she's won the lottery.
"Lights are back. Choir's regrouping. How's the beer situation?"
