Page 12 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

"Seven."

I walk into Cabin Seven without kissing her because I know exactly what will happen if I start.

My shower is cold. It does not help.

Chapter Five

Kelsey

At six fifty-eight, I decide inviting Marc to dinner two nights in a row makes me look overeager. At six fifty-nine, I decide I am a grown woman who is allowed to be eager about whatever she pleases. At seven, he knocks.

I open the door wearing a rust-colored wrap dress I bought last spring and have never found the right occasion to wear. The fabric crosses over my breasts, hugs my waist, and falls softly over my hips. It is not subtle. Neither is the way Marc looks at me.

His gaze travels down and comes back slowly. He has showered and changed into dark jeans with a charcoal button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled over his forearms. His damp hair is combed back from his face, although one lock has already fallen over his forehead.

"Those aren't fish sticks," he says.

I glance behind me at the roasted chicken and vegetables on the counter. "How can you tell?"

"You wouldn't wear that dress for fish sticks."

"Maybe I dress for myself."

"I hope you do." He steps inside, his eyes returning to the neckline of my dress before meeting mine. "I'm still going to enjoy it."

I close the door while reminding myself how locks work. Turning one would take a second. Pulling Marc against me might take less.

He brought wine and a small bakery box from Millie's Café. The label on the box makes me smile, because everyone in Cady Springs knows Millie does not sell pastries after four unless she likes the person asking.

"How did you get this?"

"I explained that I was having dinner with the owner of Eight Pines."

"And she opened the case?"

"She asked several questions first, and answered a few of mine."

"How many questions did you have for Millie?"

"Enough that I now know your eighth-grade science project involved a potato, copper wire, and a small fire."

I close my eyes. "She told you that?"

"She said you've always been interested in electricity."

"My mother said I was banned from it until college."

Marc laughs as he sets the wine on the table. The sound loosens the last of my nerves, and dinner becomes easier than it should. We talk about Cady Springs, his crew, and the places his work has taken him. He has spent winters in Wyoming, summers in Texas, and six miserable weeks in a windowless hotel outside Kansas City. He tells the stories without trying to make himself sound important, but his pride appears when he speaks about difficult jobs completed safely and apprentices who became skilled electricians under his supervision.

"You like teaching," I say.

He considers that. "I like watching someone realize they can do work that scared them a month earlier."

"That sounds like teaching."

"It sounds better when you say it."

The warmth between us grows through dinner, fed by every look that lasts a few seconds too long. Marc's knee rests against mine beneath the table. Neither of us moves. When I stand to clear the dishes, his hand rests at the small of my back as he follows me into the kitchen.