I pull into the single-car driveway in front of the garage, knowing Nana is already home and Betty, as she refers to her car, is tucked into the garage for the night.
The rumble of Karter’s bike sends goose bumps along my arms, but even more so when the noise stops and he dismounts.
I manage to stop staring at him just before he catches me looking like a girl with a teenage crush. I’m younger than him. It’s obvious. Even if I didn’t know his birthdate—because of his patient chart, not because I wasstalking him—his appearance speaks of age. There’s gray in his beard and through his thick locks, as well as wrinkles at the eyes. But not one bit of it takes away from him. It all makes him more distinguished. If this were December, I would be having every naughty Santa idea there is about this man.
Instead, I have to suffer through the month of April and see him in tight jeans and fitted T-shirts. No bulky suit to cover that mass of a body of his.
I pop the trunk and gather my items quickly. But not quickly enough, as he pulls the bags from my hand a second before I close the trunk.
I look at him to debate the matter, but he flashes one of those charming smiles I can’t seem to resist as he gives me a wide space to move around him to the walkway.
“After you.”
“Thank you.”
I force myself not to turn back as I lead him to the front steps. I fight the urge to check he’s still there when I unlock the door and push it open. But as I go to pull the key, which sticks, I see he’s still on the threshold, waiting for me to move inside.
“Nana, I’m home,” I call out once I open the door.
“About time. How long does it take to pick up some knobs at the hard—well, hello there.” Nana comes bustling in from down the hall and stops dead in her tracks as I shut the door behind Karter, who stepped into the foyer a moment before. “Dear, I didn’t know they sold these at the hardware store. Please tell me you got him for a good price.”
“Nana!” I’m shocked by her words as she blatantly looks Karter up and down and gives him a Cheshire grin.
To his credit, the man only laughs. “She got me for a steal, ma’am.”
“He’s here to help with the kitchen light,” I explain.
Nana raises a brow at him. “You’re an electrician?”
“Nope,” he replies.
“He’s a…” How do I say this? A man I fantasize about after having to give him sponge baths, and one I spoke to more about my wants and desires than anyone else in my life, but it doesn’t fully count since he was asleep for the entirety of it? “A friend.”
“Friend?” they both ask simultaneously.
Nana’s suspicious of him. I might have told her about the man in the coma, but she has no clue it’s him standing in our foyer. I refused to describe him to her despite her numerous attempts to force it out of me. I didn’t want her poking fun at what I found attractive. And I secretly wanted to keep him all to myself.
But he gives me a smile that makes my panties melt when he says it. Like he’s daring me to deny that we might be more than that. Something he’s already decided on.
“Yes,” I squeak out. Literally squeak. I cough and repeat myself, but it comes out more baritone than anything else. “Yes.”
I shake my head, and they both laugh at me softly as I look at the floor, hoping a hole will open and swallow me up. Taking a deep breath, I turn to Karter. “This way to the kitchen.” Then I’m off, leading him to the problem he came here for.
And unfortunately, Nana comes too.
“This is the light I was talking about.” I show him the one above the sink. “The switch is over there.”
“I was wondering why you put that tape on there,” Nana says as she leans against the counter on the opposite side.
This house is old. It even has a closed-off kitchen still. I would love an open concept, for the simple fact of being able to see others in the house. But per Nana, this place has charm, and we’re going to keep all of it, including the kitchen.
I’m sure someone would love to knock out the walls and give this house a modern update, but that won’t work for us. Mostly because it’s out of our budget. We also don’t need anything fancy. Neither of us is the type to be drawn in by clean lines and everything white. We like color. We don’t dress like we do, both leaning toward neutral tones, but ourthingshave color. When Christmas comes around, we’re the house that explodes with decorations that take more than a week to put up and so many colorful lights that it can give a person Christmas overload if we aren’t careful.
“Can you show me the fuse box?”
I look at Nana, who purses her lips and moves them from side to side for a second. “Is that the silver box thing in the laundry room or the one with the switches under the stairs?”
I know what one is, but I have no clue where it is in this place. It was never something we needed before now. But I’m mortified that Nana is playing this game. She’s smarter than this and probably knows exactly which one it is and where it is, but she’s just teasing. That or checking his skill level before he starts messing around with ourelectricity. Especially since he already admitted he isn’t an electrician.
