Page 14 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

"Yes."

"Do you want me to leave?"

My body aches with the need to finish what we started, but desire is tangled with the electrical repair, our business agreement, and the knowledge that Marc's six weeks have already begun counting down.

"I think you should," I say.

Disappointment flashes in his eyes, followed by acceptance. "Okay."

"It isn't because I don't want you."

"I know." He steps close enough to touch his mouth to my forehead. "And when this happens, I don't want either of us wondering whether it was because you were scared about the cabins and I happened to be here."

I swallow against the tenderness of that. "You think very highly of yourself."

"I'm trying to. You make it difficult."

He leaves with one last kiss at the door. I lock it behind him and stand in the center of my kitchen, my dress twisted around my thighs and my lips swollen.

The dishes are still in the sink. For the first time in my adult life, I leave them there.

Chapter Six

Marc

By Wednesday afternoon, bright flags and painted lines mark the ground between Cabins Five and Six. Nolan has the permit. Kelsey has the materials order confirmed, the inspector tentatively scheduled, and a backup list of nearby rentals in case we fail.

I have spent the past eighteen hours trying not to think about my hand beneath her dress. One of these efforts is less successful than the others.

Kelsey is waiting beside the marked route when I return from work. She wears old jeans, boots, and a faded T-shirt with Eight Pines printed across the chest. Her hair is tied back, and work gloves protrude from her back pocket.

"No," I say as I step out of my truck.

She looks behind her. "Who are you talking to?"

"The gloves."

"My gloves haven't said anything."

"They're planning to."

"Then we should hear them out."

I close the truck door and walk toward her. "This isn't a flower bed. We're exposing damaged electrical conduit."

"After you disconnect and verify it."

"You are not getting in the trench."

"I own the trench."

"You don't own it yet. We haven't dug it."

Her eyes narrow, but her mouth is fighting a smile. "Are you always this bossy?"

"Only when someone is carrying work gloves toward an energized service."

"Nolan hasn't arrived. I haven't touched anything, and I won't. I came out to understand what you're doing. Once the line is safe, I can move dirt as well as anyone."