Page 9 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

Marc came to Cady Springs to oversee a major commercial project, not to rescue the wiring at Eight Pines. But at this rate, my cabins may not be the only thing he rewires.

Chapter Four

Marc

Ibegin my first official day in Cady Springs with three hours of sleep and an erection that has nothing to do with the sunrise.

Kelsey is outside when I step onto my porch at five-fifteen. A light glows in her office nook, and she stands beside Cabin Eight in soft gray pants and a white tank top, watering two enormous pots of red geraniums. Her hair is piled on top of her head. She has not seen me yet, which gives me a few unguarded seconds to watch her move through the property she loves.

She is softer this morning. Not less capable, simply unarmored. She hums beneath her breath while she pinches a dead bloom from one plant, then bends to move a fallen pinecone from the path. The tank top pulls across her breasts and leaves the generous curve of her hips outlined beneath thin fabric.

My body was already awake. Now it is determined to make the drive into town uncomfortable.

Kelsey straightens and spots me. Her humming stops, but the smile that touches her mouth feels private, as if morning has not officially begun and neither of us needs to remember all the reasons I did not kiss her last night.

"You're up early," she says.

"So are you."

"My guests enjoy believing the flowers water themselves."

I walk across the short stretch of lawn, drawn by her and the smell of coffee drifting through the open kitchen window. "Do they also believe breakfast appears for the electrician next door?"

"Absolutely not."

She takes another drink from the mug sitting on the porch rail. Her lips leave a pale mark on the rim, and I have the irrational urge to turn the cup and put my mouth in the same place.

"But," she continues, "I did set the timer for a full pot. There is more than I can drink."

"Convenient."

"I hate waste."

"Me too."

Kelsey narrows her eyes, but she carries the watering can toward her porch and leaves the door open behind her. I follow. She pours coffee into a travel mug bearing the Eight Pines logo and hands it to me with a foil-wrapped square of cornbread.

"Guest hospitality," she says.

"Business breakfast?"

"You haven't earned breakfast. This is leftover management."

I take the mug, letting my fingers brush hers. The contact is slight, but her breath changes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. What time will you be back?"

"Around four. Nolan said he could be here by four-thirty."

"I'll have the original plans and all the repair records ready."

"Kelsey, you had them ready before I arrived."

"Then I'll find something else to organize."

She says it lightly, but concern shadows her eyes. I understand the instinct to work harder when a problem refuses to yield. Electricity gives me something measurable: voltage, load, resistance, heat. Worry does not.

"We'll know more tonight," I tell her. "Don't cancel your reunion reservation yet."