Caroline subconsciously brushed down her sweater and smoothed her hair, irritated by her instinctive preparation for his appearance. She was a professional requesting services from a contractor, for crying out loud, not a teenager awaiting a date.
"Back here,” she called, keeping her voice even. "And thank you for coming so quickly."
The water continued to drip, each drop striking the metal trash can with a soft ping that seemed to count down the moments until Finn appeared in the doorway, his expression shifting from neutral to mild irritation when he saw her. “Well, Ms. Efficient" he greeted, taking in the scene, "I see you've met Nantucket spring weather."
Caroline bristled at the nickname but kept her expression neutral. "The leak appeared suddenly this afternoon. I've movedthe vulnerable dresses and positioned containers to catch the immediate drips." She gestured toward the ceiling. "But even though the rain’s stopped it seems to be worsening."
Finn set down his toolbox and surveyed the scene. "You did right to call," he said, surprising her with the approval. He looked up at the spreading stain, then down at the dresses she'd moved. "These old buildings, water always finds the path of least resistance. Usually right to the most valuable thing in the room."
He unfolded a piece of tarp and spread it across the floor beneath the leak. The blue plastic crackled as he arranged it to cover the maximum area, tucking the edges against the baseboards.
"Can I help?" Caroline asked, stepping forward.
Finn glanced at another rack of dresses still positioned near the growing leak. "We should move those too, just to be safe."
She nodded and moved toward the rack, grasping the metal frame and preparing to push it across the room.
"Not like that," he said quickly, abandoning the tarp to intercept her. "You'll damage the beadwork. These need to be handled from the hanger, not the fabric."
His hand closed fully over hers where it gripped the rack, and Caroline yanked her hand away, irritation flaring at being corrected – by a man, no less – in a task she'd already successfully completed once.
"I moved the other rack without incident," she said, her tone cooler than the rain outside.
Finn's expression softened slightly. "These are different." He pointed to the dresses. "These are Ellen's oldest pieces – 1930s satin that's brittle with age, beadwork on threads that have weakened over decades. One wrong movement and you could lose irreplaceable handwork."He demonstrated, lifting the rack by the central pole rather than pushing it, then sliding itsmoothly across the floor with minimal vibration to the hanging garments. "See? Less stress on the fabric."
Caroline watched, annoyed by the logic of his approach and the ease with which his strong arms managed the weight she'd struggled against. More annoying still was her awareness of those arms – the defined muscles visible beneath his rolled-up flannel sleeves, the light dusting of dark hair, the capable hands that moved with such certainty.
"I stand corrected," she said, the professional concession hiding her inner turmoil.
Finn nodded, accepting her words without gloating. He returned to the tarp, positioning it more precisely now that the dresses were safe. Then he retrieved his toolbox and pulled out a small penlight, directing its beam at the ceiling.
"Old pipe connection," he diagnosed after a moment of examination. "Probably the supply line to Ellen's bathroom upstairs. This building's plumbing is a historical record of the last century's plumbing trends – copper pipes connected to galvanized, connected to PEX, all trying to play nice together." He set down the light and pulled out a small cordless drill. "I'm going to need to open up this section of ceiling to get a better look."
Caroline stepped back, watching as he worked with quick, practiced movements. He positioned a small plastic bin directly beneath his drilling point to catch debris, then carefully opened a section of the tin ceiling, revealing the network of pipes above. Water dripped more steadily now, but Finn seemed unconcerned, catching it in a rag as he examined the exposed plumbing.
"Yep, corroded connection. I've got replacement parts in my truck. This is a pretty straightforward fix." He glanced at her. "You don't have to hover, you know. I've been doing this for Ellen since I was sixteen."
"Sixteen?" Caroline couldn't hide her surprise.
Finn's mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "Summer job. Unlike my brother, I was never that good at school so my dad reckoned I needed to learn a trade." He reached deeper into the ceiling, his shirt pulling taut across his shoulders as he examined the pipe connection. "Came in handy when engineering school didn't pan out."
"You studied engineering?" The question slipped out before Caroline could contain her curiosity.
"Two years at Rhode Island." He shrugged, the movement casual but something in his eyes suggested the story wasn't. "Then my mom got sick. Came back to help and ended up working in the family construction business, so I never quite made it back. Probably for the best though.”
He disappeared through the storage room door, presumably to retrieve parts from his truck. Caroline found herself staring at the space he'd vacated, recalibrating her understanding of the man. Not just a handyman then, but someone who'd had other plans - different dreams - before life intervened.
Finn returned quickly, carrying a small plastic bag of plumbing fittings, which he set carefully on a dry section of counter.
"So you've been maintaining this building since you were a teenager,” Caroline said as he sorted through the fittings.
"This one and about half the businesses on Centre Street." He selected a brass coupling from the bag. "Old buildings need people who understand them. Can't just call a modern plumbing service and expect them to know how to work with hundred-year-old systems."
He climbed back up to the ceiling opening, tool in hand. "Hand me that pipe cutter, would you? The red-handled one in my toolbox.” Something softened in Finn's eyes as he took the tool from her. "Those old-timers are the heart of this island.Least I can do is make sure they're safe in their homes." He turned back to the pipe, positioning the cutter around the corroded section. “Especially when the younger ones are so busy chasing tourist dollars that they forget what makes Nantucket special to begin with. It's not the beaches or the lighthouses – it's the people who've been here through generations, keeping traditions alive."
The pipe cutter made a sharp clicking sound as Finn rotated it around the copper tube. Water sprayed briefly before he quickly shut off a valve Caroline hadn't noticed. He worked silently for several minutes, focused entirely on the task. She found herself studying his profile – the strong line of his jaw, now darkened with evening stubble; the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated; the way his mouth pressed into a firm line when he encountered resistance.
"Hand me that coupling next?" he asked without looking down, his arm extended.
