Page 46 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

She stood on the far side of the storage barn, buried in the shadow of the supply racks, head bent over a battered clipboard. Her hair was a halo in the dim light, the rest of her wrapped in a pink raincoat that looked about as useful as a paper towel roll in an actual storm.

I cleared my throat. “Forgot your timecard?”

She spun around, startled, nearly dropping the clipboard. “What the hell, Dean? You move like a ninja. I didn’t hear you at all.”

“Didn’t you leave at seven?” I questioned. “I distinctly recall you worrying about being late for lasagna night at Nonna’s.”

She offered a sheepish shrug. “I did. But when I showed up, Maverick was already asleep on the couch. Nonna insisted on keeping him overnight, and I wasn’t going to argue, I also didn’t plan on licking an electrical outlet and poking a bear with a fork. I have survival instincts.”

“You could have gone home and—” I searched for a word Felicity might use, “—‘recharged your batteries’?”

She gestured at the rows of labeled bins and the mountainous stacks of folding chairs. “And spend the whole night obsessing over whether we have enough for the Founder’s Day Festival? I wouldn’t have slept anyway.”

“You could have shot an email to maintenance.” I gestured to the clipboard. “Is this a new system, or are you just inventing work you don’t need to do?”

She let out a forced laugh. “If I’m the one responsible for something, I need to see it with my own eyes.”

“You are one clipboard away from becoming a public safety concern,” I teased.

She tilted her head, as if she’d only just realized the absurdity of our conversation. “Seriously?”

She shook her head and crossed the room, stopping in front of me and holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pot. I’m Miss Kettle. Oh, my shirt is black, thank you for noticing.”

For some reason, that got me. I laughed—a full-throated, unguarded sound that echoed through the empty space. It surprised us both, and for a second I felt almost human. Like the version of myself I might have been if I hadn’t spent every waking hour trying to prevent disaster.

And then, as if the weather gods were waiting for a moment of levity to punish, the power cut out with a bang and a slow-dying groan. The overhead fluorescents flickered, then darkness fell like a dropped curtain.

I heard Felicity gasp, then breathe out of her nose. “What happened?” She sounded panicked.

“I heard there might be rolling blackouts because of the heat.”

“How long will it be out?” She sounded panicked.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not a fan of the dark. Where is the circuit breaker?”

I aimed my phone light toward the far wall. “About fifty feet that way.”

We stumbled together through the makeshift aisles, her sneakers squeaking with each step. She led the way, refusing my offer to go first, and nearly crashed into the fuse box. I unlocked the panel and flipped the switches. Nothing.

She glanced up at me, the white-blue phone-glow carving unfamiliar shadows across her face. I couldn’t tell if she was actually scared or just uncomfortable with the lack of control. I recognized the feeling. It was unsettling, not being able to fix something with your own two hands.

“It’s fine, I was almost done anyway,” she shrugged.

As much as I was disappointed our bubble was going to burst, I understood her need to leave. We walked back to the door and tried to open it, but no power meant no electronic release. The analog override was outside.

Felicity let out a nervous laugh. “Should I start reciting my last will and testament, or...?”

“We’re not dying,” I said, too bluntly. “Just inconvenienced. Let me call someone.” I lifted my phone and saw I had no service. “Can you try, I don’t have bars.”

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and after a few failed attempts, put it back down in defeat. “No service.” She stared up at me, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. “So that’s it. We’re stuck.”

“It’s a rolling backout,” I explained. “This is the one building that doesn’t have a backup generator. Either the power will come back on, someone will notice the barn didn’t automatically rearm and check on us, or Grant will find us in the morning on his rounds.”

“Morning?!” she repeated, her voice several octaves higher than normal.

I nodded, not nearly as concerned as she seemed to be. There were a lot worse places and people I could imagine being stuck with. This was by far not even close to my worst case scenario. In fact, I would say it was the opposite.