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“You are the nefarious person. Hand me the adjustable wrench on the counter,” he said, holding a slightly dirty palm out.

“Umm…” There were two things sitting on the dish towel that looked identical to me. I held them out and squinted. “Which one’s that? I don’t know what any of these are... Oh! I lied. I know which one’s the screwdriver.”

“Everyone knows a screwdriver,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, well, I use mine to shove the cork into a wine bottle when I can’t find an opener.”

Monroe let out a string of curse words, but I only made out something about falling for a difficult woman. I stifled a laugh.

“Gimme the one with the red handle,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Wow. So helpful. They all have red handles, tonto.”

An exaggerated sigh emanated from under the cabinet. “The one with the little nut in the middle to make it bigger or smaller.”

I shoved the wrench into his hand. His fingers brushed against mine, sending my pulse spiking, and then went back to work.

The sounds coming from under there were not particularly encouraging. A lot of grunting, another string of curses, some sloshing I wasn’t sure was supposed to happen.

“Pretty sure I’ve seen a movie just like this,” I said, filling the silence. “Usually it’s the chick stuck under the sink.”

“God, you’re a menace.”

I bit the inside of my cheek at the playful irritation in his tone.

My eyes were glued to where the hem of his shirt bunched up, showing off that strip of hair I loved running my tongue along. I’d do it right now if I didn’t think he might give himself a concussion moving too quickly in that space. It was clearly not designed for a man his size.

“Oh, no, Mr. Plumber, you’re stuck under my sink, and only a blow job will set you free? Sure, I can unclog your pipe for you, like you do mine.”

A deep rumble echoed from the cabinet.

“Stop it, Graciella. I move too much, and I legitimately might get stuck under here. Pretty sure I lost circulation to my left arm thirty minutes ago.”

“That was funny. Admi⁠—”

The pipes gurgled. A rush of water, loud, moving through them.

I grabbed the edge of the counter. “Did you really fix it?”

“Give it a go.” He was already crawling out, grime streaked across his jaw, a smear of something dark on his forearm. He jerked his chin toward the faucet.

I twisted the cold handle and held my breath.

A clean stream shot into the basin.

I grabbed him by the collar of his filthy shirt and kissed him.

He kissed me back before pulling away and cupping my face. “I like that we can do that now,” he said.

The warmth in my chest flickered.

“Can we?” The words came out quieter than I meant. “I know you said friends with benefits is off the table, but kissing like we’re a couple—that’s really on the table?”

I hated every word out of my mouth. But they had been sitting in the back of my throat since we’d crossed into whatever unmarked territory this was.

“You’re mine, Graciella.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I don’t have an answer for all the rest, and maybe we don’t try to figure all of it out right now, but I do know I want you.” His palm came up to my cheek, warm and a little rough, and I turned into him.

My stomach knotted in a strange mix of satisfaction and worry.