to dial. I listened to it ring and chewed on a nail while I waited. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he refused to help? I pictured my whole bathroom filling with water, and a flood seeping under the door with every passing second.
“Hello?” His gruff voice made my heart flutter.
“Noah, sorry to bother you,” I smiled, feeling like an idiot. Pressing my hand to my forehead, I gave my head a slight shake. “I need your help.”
“Where are you?”
I bit on my lower lip and let it pop free. “My place.” Oh, gosh, that sounded like a line, didn’t it?
“Text me the address. I’m on my way.” Click. I stared at my phone, stunned. He was going to help me; no questions asked. It was just a back and forth of me telling him I needed help and him saying he would be there. Imagine that.
I texted him my address and took a deep breath. My hands trembled, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. Everything had happened so fast that it only then dawned on me that calling him felt right. I could have called a plumber, or my landlord, or anyone else. Even my dad or my brother, but I didn’t. I called Noah.
I walked back toward the bathroom. Thankfully, there was no river of water flowing under the door like the horrific gate scene in Titanic.
The floor was wet, but there was no ark-type flood like I had envisioned. Most of the water seemed to rush down the drain. Seeing the potential disaster somewhat contained, I relaxed a little and closed the door.
My water bill for the month would be ugly, but my house would survive.
As I padded back toward the front door to unlock it, a thought suddenly hit me—Noah would be in my house, and we would be alone.
We would be truly alone for the first time in over a decade.
My heart somersaulted, and I hesitated mid-step, a few feet from the door. Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself that Noah hated me before I continued walking to the door to unlock the deadbolt. When I heard his boots on the porch, I opened it and pasted a smile on my face.
“How did you get here so fast?” I asked.
“I sped. What’s going on? Are you okay?” The intensity in his eyes as he studied me warmed my very soul.
“I’m fine, but let me show you what happened.” I led him through the house and into the bathroom.
The second he looked at the running water, he turned and left. I chased him toward the front door. “Where are you going?”
“To my truck.”
I followed him onto the porch as he walked down the path. He stopped near the street and knelt. A moment later, he walked to his truck, grabbed a few things out of the toolbox in the back of his shiny silver Super Duty, and came back my way.
I swung the door wide, and he entered with a nod. My heart skipped a beat as I followed him. The water had stopped, and I stared, puzzled.
“I turned off the water to your house at the curb. I’ll turn it back on before I go.” He stepped into the shower and began to work.
“Can I make you lunch or something? I appreciate you coming here without notice.” I smiled at him.
“Actually, you can hold this.” He tilted his head toward the shower, and I walked over. Without hesitation, he had me hold a hose while he tightened the screw thing. “You needed a new showerhead. Has it been spraying water around the head?”
I nodded, biting down on my lower lip. “I didn’t know that was a sign of a problem. When I went to turn it off, the handle came loose.”
He nodded. “That was a screw, and now you have a detachable showerhead. Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Grateful, I squeezed my eyes closed as he leaned in close to tighten it up. We were nearly chest to chest standing there. He was so close that I could smell his warm, spicy cologne. I inhaled, loving the way I felt the body heat rolling off him.
“I’ll be right back.” He walked away, and I stood there, missing him suddenly and internally chewing myself out for being so stupid.
A moment later, the pipes in my house hummed to life, and I watched the showerhead, afraid Niagara Falls would set loose again, but not a drop of water leaked.
“How’s it looking?” he asked from the doorway, and