“I was hoping for a spectacle,” I said.
Liam shot me a warning look that I ignored entirely as I took a seat behind the bar.
He moved with quiet efficiency, clearing the counter space and lining up the tools he’d need in order of use. He reached behind him, grabbed a glass from the rack, and filled it with ice from the service bin that still functioned. He opened a Diet Coke, poured it cleanly into the glass, then slid it across the counter toward me.
I stared at the glass. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You’re thirsty,” he replied.
Frowning, I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass. Liam crouched and slid beneath the bar, broad shoulders disappearing behind the paneling. From where I sat, I had an uninterrupted view. His hands moved with precise control, checking each connection, tightening one fitting, loosening another.
Liam reached up to adjust the water line, forearms flexing. The fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back as he shifted position and braced one knee against the cabinet frame, giving himself leverage. There was nothing showy about it. No wasted movement. Just focused strength applied exactly where it was needed.
I took a sip of my soda and told myself to behave.
He leaned back out from under the bar briefly to adjust a gauge, jaw set, concentration absolute. His hands were largeenough to make the tools look smaller than they were. Without looking up, he wiped some grease onto a rag.
Nora leaned over the counter toward me. I hadn’t even noticed her walk up. “He’s been like this since he arrived here.”
“Like what?” I asked, not taking my gaze off him.
“You know, all focused,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
Liam slowly turned the main valve, his eyes on the gauge. For a moment, everything held steady.
Then a sharp metallic pop sounded from beneath the counter.
Water exploded outward in a violent arc, hitting him square in the chest.
Pete barked out a laugh, then immediately clutched his back.
I choked on my soda.
Liam, however, didn’t even flinch. He reached up instantly and twisted the valve shut, cutting the flow. Water dripped from his hair, down his face, soaking through his shirt. The floor beneath him glistened.
Silence.
Nora quickly handed him a towel, and Liam peeled off his shirt without ceremony.
I forgot how to swallow.
The man should come with a posted advisory.
Caution. Structural integrity compromised.
In my recovery haze, I had apparently edited some of his beauty. My brain must have downgraded the memory for self-preservation. That was the only explanation. No one should look like that in normal lighting while performing routine maintenance.
If I was scrolling past a photo of him online, I would assume it was digitally enhanced. I would tell myself no human beingwas built with that level of competence and bone structure at the same time. I would block the account and move on with my life.
But no, Liam was real and unreasonably attractive while calibrating plumbing.
This was unfair to women everywhere.
His torso was broad and solid, muscles defined but not excessively so. Faint scars lined his ribs and shoulders.
Water tracked down his skin and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
