Page 27 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

Her fingers close around mine. “I can try.”

“That’s enough for tonight.”

Kelsey stares at me for a moment, then rises and steps between my knees. I put my hands on her hips, but I wait.

“I really liked waking up in your arms this morning. Do you think we can cuddle like that again?” she asks.

“I would be honored to be your cuddle buddy. Let me get changed. Check my phone which I left in my truck and I’ll be back. I don’t think you can get rid of me right now.”

Chapter Eleven

Kelsey

The county inspector arrives at seven-twenty Friday morning. I’m optimistic, but he doesn’t seem to be impressed by my enthusiasm.

Nolan is already waiting. Marc stands beside him in work clothes, although he told his crew he would be late rather than leave before the inspection. I try not to read too much into that. I also try not to notice that the travel mug in his hand is mine again or that he came out of my cabin with it.

The inspector checks the permit, the repaired conduit, and every termination. He tests the branch under load while Nolan answers questions and Marc remains quiet unless asked. I stand outside the barrier with my arms crossed tightly enough to leave marks.

Twenty-three Fletchers are scheduled to begin arriving in less than eight hours. Two are driving from Oregon, one family is flying into Denver, and the oldest Fletcher is ninety-one years old. I can relocate bodies. I cannot recreate the year of anticipation Suzanne has poured into bringing them together.

The inspector closes the last panel and writes something on his tablet.

“You’re clear,” he says.

The breath leaves me so quickly I sway.

Marc’s hand rests against my back. He does not announce that he is supporting me or ask whether I need it. He simply stands there, solid and warm, while I thank the inspector and listen to the conditions attached to the approval. The panel needs a final label. Nolan has until the end of next week to submit photographs of the restored surface. All manageable items.

When the inspector drives away, I hug Nolan first. He laughs and pats me awkwardly between the shoulders.

“Save some gratitude for the one who gave up his evenings,” he says.

I turn toward Marc. “Nolan is receiving a substantial payment, and you refuse to invoice me.”

“Romantic,” Marc says.

“How am I supposed to compensate you?”

“I have several ideas.”

Nolan begins laughing as he climbs into his van. I wait until he is safely inside before grabbing the front of Marc’s shirt and kissing him. The kiss is quick because his crew is expecting him, but his hand curves around the back of my neck and holds me there one breath longer.

“Go,” I tell him when I release his shirt. “I have three cabins to prepare.”

“They were clean before we started.”

“They are not Fletcher clean.”

He kisses my forehead and leaves. I stand beside the newly lit cabins watching his truck disappear beneath the Eight Pines sign. Last night’s conversation follows me as I begin opening windows and checking rooms.

Marc asked for a position with less travel before he met me. That should make his choice easier to accept. Instead, I keep imagining him turning down money and prestige, then looking at me a year from now and wondering whether I was worth the difference.

I know what that does to love. It turns every difficult day into evidence of a sacrifice. It makes a broken water heater or missed vacation feel like one person’s fault. I spent too long with a man who treated my life as the obstacle between him and happiness. I will not volunteer for that role again.

By noon, all six Fletcher cabins are ready. Fresh towels wait on the beds. The porch lights work, the refrigerators are cold, and the repaired circuits hold steady while I run every appliance I can without creating a problem of my own.

Suzanne arrives at two-forty in a minivan packed so tightly that someone has tied a folding table to the roof. She steps out, sees the row of cabins glowing beneath the pines, and bursts into tears.