Chapter 9
Lizzy
“Come on! Please, heat up,” I beg my oven.
I’m not typically one to converse with my kitchen appliances, but this is an emergency… Sort of.
The loaf pan full of double chocolate banana bread batter glares at me from the counter. It’s been waiting patiently to be put in my still-cool oven for almost an hour. I’m not even sure how long batter can be out before it goes bad. I mean, it has raw eggs.
I deliberate for a moment before covering the loaf pan in plastic wrap and popping it in the fridge.
Back to the misbehaving oven.
What do I do with you?
I contemplate pulling the oven from the wall and fiddling with the back, but I really don’t want to move it. After a few moments glaring down the appliance, I sigh and roll up my sleeves anyway. It’s not like there’s anyone here to do it for me.
Pulling the oven out of its slot proves to be easier than I anticipated. I flex my arms, appreciating my biceps. Maybe I’ve gotten stronger?
The vacant space rolls my stomach with all the dust accumulated behind. Crossing my kitchen, I grab my broom and clean the area.
Once that’s settled, I start inspecting the back of the oven.
The glint of screws holding in a panel catches my eye.
So, again, I stand, and this time, I retrieve my toolkit.
I remove the access panel to reveal a collection of multicolored wires.
I finger a few of them, checking to see if any are loose.
Then I work my way around the control board. Flipping switches that call to me. I freeze occasionally, waiting to see if anything catches fire. When it doesn’t, I continue my work.
I clean the exhaust outlet then check the cooling vent. Even unplugging and replugging the thick power cord for good measure.
Almost as though in a trance, I work on my oven. My fingers glide over the compartments, working as though I’ve been possessed by an electrician.
I come to when one of my pets hisses. Quickly, I check on them, and when all seems to be well, I return to my kitchen.
My eyes widen in horror at the sight before me.
Oh my God. What have I done?
What was once an oven is now stripped bare. Instead of fixing it, I seem to have dissected it. Looking over the mess, I realize I have no idea how to reassemble this.
I let out a choked laugh. How did I even do this?
Resigned, I grab my phone and call a real electrician. After explaining the gravity of the situation, and possibly hearing the hysteria in my voice, they agree to send someone this afternoon.
…
The doorbell rings, alerting me to the electrician’s arrival. I rush over to the door but pause to straighten my dress. I don’t know why I put it on for the electrician, but I don’t have company often… or ever. I wanted to be decent.
I open the door, only to freeze.
Maybe it’s stereotyping of me, but I was expecting a middle-aged, overweight, bald man, not a contender for Sexiest Man Alive.
I mean he’s not as attractive as my neighbor, but that’s not a fair comparison. I’m not sure anyone can reach his level of perfectly sexy nerd.
But this man’s tall, muscular build and green eyes can’t be ignored. He’s hot. And now he’s coughing awkwardly at catching me ogling him. My cheeks flush.
“I’m Chris with Electrical Sparks. I heard you’re having problems with your oven.” He smiles, and for a split second, I’m taken aback. Back to a different handsome man whose smile had a slight cunning, malicious undertone when directed at me. I shake my head, clearing the thought from my mind.
His smile is normal. It’s a normal smile, and I’m imagining things.
“Please, come inside. Thank you for your help.” I step away from the door so he can enter, then pause. “Erm… I should warn you. I tried to fix it on my own.”
He just chuckles a warm sound.
“Nothing can surprise me. I’ve been doing this a–”
As we turn the corner into the kitchen, the words freeze in the air. I wince at the sight before us.
“I spoke too soon. This is new.” His voice is still jovial, relaxing me slightly. “Don’t worry. It’ll take a little longer, but I’ve got you.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder as he says it, and I freeze. Not noticing my discomfort, he squeezes, then drops his hand.
“Let’s put this back together then I’ll see what the problem is.”
He kneels down and gets to work. I stay in the doorway, supervising.
I trust him to do his job, and it’s not like I’d know if he was messing up.
But I don’t want to leave him alone in my house.
I offer him a drink, and he accepts the water.
It takes him longer to reassemble the oven than it took me to disassemble it.
Once it’s back together and in its nook, he looks at me. “What was the original problem?”
“It wouldn’t heat up.”
“Let’s take a look.” He turns my oven on, and we wait. After a few minutes, it beeps, confirming it preheated to the correct temperature. He opens it, and the gust of heat that emerges surprises me.
“Looks like someone fixed it. Maybe your boyfriend did it while you weren’t here?” He pries, and I know exactly what he’s asking.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I make the decision to play his game. It’s time I give a man a chance, and he seems nice enough, if not a little cocky.
“Well, in that case, can I have your number? I’d love to take you out sometime.” He smiles reassuringly which makes me hesitate, but only for a second.
I return his smile. “Sure.”
He pulls out his phone and hands it to me. I slowly type in my contact information and send myself a text, so I have his number.
“When do you want to go out?” I cringe at my boldness. Men don’t like assertive women. But I want to make a plan now.
“Do you know where Duvic’s is? We could go there on Friday at eight?” He rubs the back of his neck as he suggests it, but his grin never falters.
However, mine does. Duvic’s is a sports bar about thirty minutes from here. I only know what it is because some of my coworkers enjoy going there for happy hour. It’s not a place I would ever go to, especially not for a date. But I don’t want to cause an issue, so I nod.
“Duvic’s sounds great.” I hesitate, then add, “However, can we do earlier? Maybe six?”
There’s just no way I’m going to a bar that late. That sounds miserable.
“Actually, I can’t do earlier; I get off work at six and have to go to the gym. I’m only free Friday at eight.” His tone isn’t necessarily rude, but it has lost some of its charm.
“Oh, I guess that works. I’ll see you then,” I say as I lead him through my house to the front door.
“Want me to pick you up?” he offers suavely.
“No, no. That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you there.” I want to be able to leave on my own if I need to and not rely on him.
“I already know where you live.” His joke causes my heart to pound, and not in a good way. Suddenly, this date is making me agitated.
I force out a laugh anyway, determined to put myself out there. Betty will be proud.
“See you then,” I say firmly.
Then, before he can respond, I shut the door.
I hope I don’t regret this.