I open the door, only to freeze.
Maybe it’s stereotyping of me, but I was expecting a middle-aged, overweight, bald man, not a contender for Sexiest Man Alive.
I mean he’s not as attractive as my neighbor, but that’s not a fair comparison. I’m not sure anyone can reach his level of perfectly sexy nerd.
But this man’s tall, muscular build and green eyes can’t be ignored. He’s hot. And now he’s coughing awkwardly at catching me ogling him. My cheeks flush.
“I’m Chris with Electrical Sparks. I heard you’re having problems with your oven.” He smiles, and for a split second, I’m taken aback. Back to a different handsome man whose smile had a slight cunning, malicious undertone when directed at me. I shake my head, clearing the thought from my mind.
His smile is normal. It’s a normal smile, and I’m imagining things.
“Please, come inside. Thank you for your help.” I step away from the door so he can enter, then pause. “Erm… I should warn you. I tried to fix it on my own.”
He just chuckles a warm sound.
“Nothing can surprise me. I’ve been doing this a–”
As we turn the corner into the kitchen, the words freeze in the air. I wince at the sight before us.
“I spoke too soon. This is new.” His voice is still jovial, relaxing me slightly. “Don’t worry. It’ll take a little longer, but I’ve got you.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder as he says it, and I freeze. Not noticing my discomfort, he squeezes, then drops his hand.
“Let’s put this back together then I’ll see what the problem is.”
He kneels down and gets to work. I stay in the doorway, supervising. I trust him to do his job, and it’s not like I’d know if he was messing up. But I don’t want to leave him alone in my house. I offer him a drink, and he accepts the water. It takes him longer to reassemble the oven than it took me to disassemble it.
Once it’s back together and in its nook, he looks at me. “What was the original problem?”
“It wouldn’t heat up.”
“Let’s take a look.” He turns my oven on, and we wait. After a few minutes, it beeps, confirming it preheated to the correct temperature. He opens it, and the gust of heat that emerges surprises me.
“Looks like someone fixed it. Maybe your boyfriend did it while you weren’t here?” He pries, and I know exactly what he’s asking.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I make the decision to play his game. It’s time I give a man a chance, and he seems nice enough, if not a little cocky.
“Well, in that case, can I have your number? I’d love to take you out sometime.” He smiles reassuringly which makes me hesitate, but only for a second.
I return his smile. “Sure.”
He pulls out his phone and hands it to me. I slowly type in my contact information and send myself a text, so I have his number.
“When do you want to go out?” I cringe at my boldness. Men don’t like assertive women. But I want to make a plan now.
“Do you know where Duvic’s is? We could go there on Friday at eight?” He rubs the back of his neck as he suggests it, but his grin never falters.
However, mine does. Duvic’s is a sports bar about thirty minutes from here. I only know what it is because some of my coworkers enjoy going there for happy hour. It’s not a place I would ever go to, especially not for a date. But I don’t want to cause an issue, so I nod.
“Duvic’s sounds great.” I hesitate, then add, “However, can we do earlier? Maybe six?”
There’s just no way I’m going to a bar that late. That sounds miserable.
“Actually, I can’t do earlier; I get off work at six and have to go to the gym. I’m only free Friday at eight.” His tone isn’t necessarily rude, but it has lost some of its charm.
“Oh, I guess that works. I’ll see you then,” I say as I lead him through my house to the front door.
“Want me to pick you up?” he offers suavely.
