Chapter 4
Marcus
T hese days, it seemed like all I had was time.
Since things ended with Emily, it felt like there was almost nothing in my life. I worked at the store, of course, and I helped other people with DIY projects when they came up. But I'd decided to take up a hobby, something to make use of all the time I suddenly had.
The old clock lay splayed open on the kitchen table, its gears and springs exposed. The good thing about clock repair is that it demanded a lot of time, and a ton of focus.
Shortly after the divorce, it massively helped me to keep my mind positive, and to forget the challenges in my life. I picked up the screwdriver to tinker with the antique timepiece but I faltered.
Today, no matter how fiercely I tried to focus, I couldn’t keep my mind calm. Nope. All I could think of was a pair of luminous green eyes. A gorgeous smile. The kind of body that I should not be noticing.
Lucy. It wasn’t just her looks, either. It was her vibe, her spirit, her soul. It was the way she had cradled that stuffed bunny at the cafe, a mix of strength and vulnerability that tugged at something deep in my chest. Was she a Little, like I suspected? The protective instincts rising up caught me off guard.
I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced out the window at the fading light over Maple Lane. Long shadows stretched across the street as evening settled in. An uneasiness crept over me, urging me to check on her. Make sure she was alright in that big old house all alone.
"It's just a neighborly visit," I reasoned quietly to myself. "To remind her that I’m here if she needs help."
I decided that time would wait.
Grabbing my jacket and toolbox, I headed for the door before I could think better of it. As I stepped onto the porch, I paused—reminding myself to keep things professional despite the unusual draw I felt towards Lucy. She was younger than me and going through a lot with her father's passing. The last thing she needed was me overstepping.
Sucking in a deep breath of crisp autumn air, I walked down the steps and turned towards her house. "Easy Marcus," I muttered. "Be the helpful neighbor, nothing more. Don't mess this up."
The crunch of leaves beneath my boots filled the quiet street as I walked towards Lucy's house. I tried to focus on the sound, on the nip of the evening breeze—anything to distract from the anticipation quickening my steps. But my mind kept circling back to her.
As I neared the old Victorian, I noticed her windows were open, gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze. Odd for this time of night. Faint noises drifted out—a clatter, then a muffled curse that made me pause. I frowned. "That doesn't sound good."
A sudden crash from inside the house made my pulse spike. Followed by Lucy's panicked voice. "No no no!"
I was running before I realized it, toolbox banging against my leg. Took the porch steps two at a time. "Lucy? It's Marcus!" I pounded on the door, fighting to keep my voice even. "Everything alright?"
No response. Just an escalating rush of water and my heart hammering in my ears. I should walk away. Call a plumber. Let her handle it.
But worry overrode hesitation. Jaw clenched, I tried the doorknob, expecting resistance. It turned easily in my hand.
"Screw it," I breathed and pushed inside.
Water sloshed around my boots the second I stepped through the threshold. I froze, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Torrents gushed and gurgled from deeper within the house, pouring across hardwood that wasn't meant to be a riverbed.
"Lucy!" Her name tore from my throat, sharper than I intended. Wading through the deluge, I slogged toward the source. My socks squished with each splashing step. The old floors groaned under the weight of the spreading flood.
I found her in the laundry room, looking like a drowned kitten up to her calves in sudsy water. A burst pipe sprayed behind the washing machine, the geyser pressure pinning her in place as she flailed.
"I can't—" A faceful of water cut her off mid-shout. She sputtered and slipped, arms windmilling. Her sopping clothes left little to the imagination. "I can't make it stop!"
She looked up at me, eyes wide and almost accusing. Like this was somehow my fault. Frustration and helplessness warred across her delicate features. Drenched auburn hair clung to her flushed cheeks in dark tendrils.
An odd urge gripped me to brush those strands back. To pull her against my chest and shield her from the chaos. The protective instinct surged so strong it stole my breath.
I wanted to tell her it would be okay. That I'd fix this. Fix everything. But I swallowed the words, knowing I couldn't promise that. Not yet.
Snapping into action, I sloshed forward, rolling up my sleeves. "I'm here," I said instead, raising my voice over the rushing deluge. "I've got you. Step aside, Lucy!" I instructed, firm but gentle. No way was I letting her get any more soaked.
She stepped back obligingly, but her foot slid on the slick tile. A small yelp escaped her lips as she lost balance, arms flailing.
Without thinking, I lunged to catch her. My hand grazed the soft skin of her arm, steadying her. Fuck. A jolt of electricity sparked through me at the contact, but I pushed it down. Focus, Wilkins.
Ensuring she had her footing, I dropped to my knees beside the machine, icy water instantly soaking through my jeans. Reaching back behind the metal beast, my fingers fumbled for the shutoff valve.
"Come on, come on," I muttered, twisting with all my strength. The old fixture resisted, rust and time conspiring against me.
Lucy hovered nearby, shifting from foot to foot, hugging herself. I could feel her gaze boring into my back. Watching. Waiting.
With a last determined crank, the valve finally relented. The geyser died with a sputter and hiss. Blessed silence descended, broken only by the drip drip drip of residual leaks.
I sat back on my heels, suddenly aware of my ragged breathing. My soaked shirt clung to my chest as it heaved. Raking a hand through my hair, I glanced up at Lucy.
She stood frozen, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Like a fairy tale princess who'd just battled a dragon. Water pooled around her bare feet, the puddle an aftermath of her adventure.
"You okay?" I asked softly, searching her face for signs of distress.
A slightly manic laugh bubbled out of her. "I've been better," she admitted, voice wavering.
Our eyes locked and the world momentarily fell away. I became acutely aware of our proximity. Her lavender shampoo cut through the mildewy air, enveloping me. Beads of water traced down her neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of her drenched shirt.
I swallowed hard. Damn, she was beautiful. Even like this—sodden and disheveled. Maybe especially like this.
Realizing I was staring, I forced my gaze to the ruptured pipe. "Let's see about patching this up."
Rising to my feet, I shrugged off my flannel and wrapped it snugly around her quivering shoulders. She pulled it tight, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. Luckily, I had a t-shirt underneath.
"Thank you," she murmured shyly, glancing up at me through dark lashes. "For coming to my rescue."
"That's what neighbors are for, right?" I answered with a crooked smile, tamping down the surge of satisfaction her gratitude evoked.
As I turned to assess the damage, I wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into. Burst pipes were one thing. The feelings taking root in my chest? That was a whole different kind of trouble.
My hands moved on autopilot, twisting valves and tightening gaskets, as my mind churned. Focus, I chided myself. She needs your help, not . . . whatever this is.
But my heart refused to cooperate. The protective instincts I usually kept tightly leashed strained against their bonds. She looked so small, so vulnerable. Like a little bird with a broken wing. She shivered.
“I need to warm you up,” I said. “Where do you keep your towels?”
"Hall closet. I'll grab some."
"No, you stay put. I've got it." The words came out more brusque than I intended. Softening my tone, I added, "You're soaked. Let me."
Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, but she nodded. "Okay. Thanks."
I ducked into the hallway, riffling through the indicated closet. Plush cotton met my seeking fingers and I snagged a stack, tucking them under my arm.
Returning to the laundry room, I held one out. "Here, this should help."
"Thank you," she whispered, pink staining her cheeks.
"No problem."
With any luck, we could get this pipe situation sorted quickly. Then maybe I could put some much-needed distance between us. Rebuild the walls her mere presence seemed to effortlessly dismantle.
Because this warmth spreading through my chest? The overwhelming need to gather her close and chase away the uncertainty clouding her eyes?
It spelled trouble. The kind I wasn't at all sure I was ready to handle.
I cleared my throat, dragging my focus back to the task at hand. "I'll take a look at the pipe. See if it's a quick fix."
Lucy stood nearby, toweling her damp hair as she watched me crouch down and inspect the damage. "I thought I could handle a simple load of laundry," she said ruefully.
Glancing up, I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "These old pipes can be tricky. It's not your fault. Most likely hasn’t seen any maintenance for years."
Leaning in closer, I examined the source of the leak. Corroded metal flaked beneath probing fingers. I sat back on my heels with a sigh. "The pipe's shot. It needs replacing. Honestly, we should check the others too, make sure this doesn't happen again."
"Great." Her shoulders slumped. "Just what I need."
"Hey." I straightened, fighting the urge to reach out and tip up her chin. "We'll get it sorted, okay?"
She blew out a shaky breath. "Why do I get the feeling that I might be in over my head with this whole renovation."
The admission hung heavy in the air between us. I wiped my hands on a rag, choosing my next words carefully. "It's a big undertaking for anyone," I agreed gently.
My heart twisted at the lost look that flickered across her face. She was drowning in this, and every protective instinct I possessed reared up, demanding I throw her a lifeline.
"Listen," I began, "I know you want to do this on your own, but there's no shame in accepting help." I took a steadying breath, pulse kicking up a notch. "I'd be more than happy to assist you. I’ve got plenty of time."
Wide blue eyes searched mine, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling in their depths. Trepidation. Gratitude. And something else, something that sent a thrill humming through my veins.
"I couldn't ask you to do that," she protested weakly.
"You're not." I held her gaze, tried to convey my sincerity. "I'm offering."
Seconds stretched as she wavered, a war playing out across her delicate features. Then, just when I was sure she'd refuse, she exhaled softly.
"Okay," she whispered. "I . . . thank you, Marcus. Truly."
My name on her lips did funny things to my insides. I swallowed hard, scrambling to maintain my composure.
I glanced around the damp laundry room, the wet floor glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. This was no place for her to stay, not with the risk of more plumbing disasters looming.
An idea took root, and before I could second-guess myself, I found myself speaking.
"You know, it’s not really safe for you to stay here. There’s no running water, and the pipes are shot.” My heart hammered against my rib cage as I forced out the next words. "I have a guest room at my place. You're welcome to stay there until we sort this out."
Lucy's eyes widened, a pink flush creeping up her neck. "Oh, I couldn't possibly—"
I raised a hand gently, cutting off her protest. "I insist. It would give me peace of mind knowing you're safe."
The air between us crackled with tension as she bit her lip, indecision written across her face. I held my breath, hoping she couldn't hear the way my pulse pounded in my ears.
"Besides," I added, aiming for a lighter tone, "it'll be easier to plan the repairs if we're not dealing with a flooded house."
A heartbeat passed. Two. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Alright. Thank you, Marcus. I . . . I really appreciate it."
Relief surged through me, followed swiftly by a thrill of anticipation that I firmly tamped down.
Get a grip, Wilkins. This is about helping her, not indulging your fantasies.
I busied myself with shutting off the water main and mopping up the worst of the puddles, hyper aware of Lucy's presence just a few feet away.
As I worked, I couldn't help sneaking glances at her from the corner of my eye. Even drenched and shivering, there was a luminous quality to her, a strength that shone through the vulnerability.
It stirred something deep in my chest, an urge to protect, to cherish, to. . . .
No. I gave myself a mental shake. I couldn't go there, not when she was counting on me to be a friend, a support.
Wringing out the mop one last time, I straightened up and met her gaze. "All set. Let's get you somewhere dry."
The gratitude in her eyes was almost my undoing, but I steeled my resolve, determined not to let my baser instincts get the better of me.
This was about being there for her, in whatever way she needed. Even if it meant ignoring the part of me that longed for so much more.
I grabbed my toolbox and gestured for her to lead the way, following her out into the darkened hall.
It was going to be a long night.