Page 31 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

At eleven forty-five, my boss calls.

“You owe me an answer,” he says.

I stand inside the renovated mechanical room while my crew completes the last panel schedule. Around me, what should have been weeks of work has been reduced to neat labels and clean readings. Finishing a job has always brought satisfaction. Today it feels like a door closing behind me.

“I want the western-region position.”

“Good. I’ll send the final agreement.”

“I’m basing in Cady Springs.”

There is a pause. “You’ve been there five days.”

“I know.”

“Denver would give you easier access to the interstate and the airport.”

“Cady Springs keeps me inside the territory, and I can reach the major sites from here. You said I could choose the base.”

“I did.” Another pause follows, this one carrying amusement. “Does this decision have anything to do with a woman?”

“It has something to do with realizing I want a place that feels like home.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“Send the agreement.”

When the call ends, relief surges through me. I expected panic or doubt once the choice became real. Instead, I feel grounded.

I do not tell Kelsey by message. This deserves more than a line on a screen.

We complete the final tests shortly after three. My crew will return tomorrow to clear equipment and turn over the project, but the electrical work is finished. I drive back to Eight Pines with the signed agreement waiting in my inbox and a plan beginning to form.

The Fletchers have transformed the open area beside the lake. Folding chairs circle a firepit. Crockpots cover two picnic tables. Someone strung an additional line of lights between the trees, plugging them into an exterior outlet on Cabin Four.

The installation is not dangerous, but the cord crosses the walking path where several children are running. I unplug it, reroute the line along the edge of the gathering area, and secure it with the cable covers Kelsey stores in the maintenance shed.

I am finishing when she finds me.

“What are you doing?”

Her voice is sharper than the question requires. I straighten slowly. “Removing a trip hazard.”

“You went into the maintenance shed?”

“It was unlocked.”

“That does not make it yours.”

I look at the cable cover in my hand, then at her. The morning’s understanding vanishes beneath the accusation in her face.

“A child nearly caught his foot on this cord.”

“Then you tell me. I'll handle it.”

“Kelsey, I corrected a safety problem. I didn’t restructure your business.”

“It starts small.” The moment the words leave her, regret appears. “I didn’t mean …”