New Year's Steve

It smells dusty, but there’s a ladder.

Perfect.

Harry eases past me to grab it, and I hold the door open for him, then lock up when he’s done.

What a team we make. I’m so proud of us even though I’ve theoretically done nothing and needn’t be here.

It’s work getting the ladder into the elevator and still have room. It’s too tall to stand up straight and barely fits sideways. Harry is forced to hold it the entire ride back up to my floor, but I don’t hate the sight of his flexing biceps and strong forearms.

Um. Yeah.

“Thank you so much for doing this — it’s going to make a huge difference.”

“Not a problem. I had the time.”

I nod. “As long as it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

“None at all.” He smiles over at me, teeth straight and pearly, winking at me flirtatiously, and I wish I had something in my hands to occupy them instead of wanting to run them down the front of his soft, cotton tee shirt.

Stop it, Felicity. You are not going to date the maintenance man! You’d want to bang in the broom closet and would never get anything done!

Besides, he’s been nothing but professional; even if you were single — which you technically are — a hottie like this isn’t going to ask out the woman from accounting.

I imagine he has a date every night of the week.

He’s not on any dating apps, that’s for sure. I would have seen him, so maybe he’s in a relationship. Or married.

I lower my gaze to his left hand; to the fourth finger.

No wedding band. No tan line. No indent.

How convenient.

Maybe he just doesn’t wear it, some guys don’t. Especially if he’s like, sawing things and fixing stuff — wouldn’t that get in his way?

That’s doctors and nurses and machinists, you moron. They’re the ones who can’t wear rings.

We make it back to my office and in short time, Harry has the ladder set up beneath my bum light, switch flipped to the off position so he doesn’t electrocute himself, and halfway up the rungs he climbs.

When his arms go above his head and the hem of his tee shirt hikes up, bearing a sliver of stomach, I try and turn the other way.

Try to focus on the snow falling outside my window, the frozen pond, the, um.

The… um…

Belly button.

Shit, no!

Not that!

Steve, Steve, Steve.

Harry glances down at me. “Can you take this when I have it unscrewed?”

“Screwed. Got it.” Shit. “I mean, yeah — okay.”

Oh my god, get your mind out the gutter. You still have tons of work left and a date to get ready for. You do not have time to have flirty thoughts about the maintenance dude.

He hands me the faulty bulb, and I hand him the new up.

Watch as he inserts in, jiggling it to make sure it’s secure.

“How does it look?” he asks before stepping down.

“Great,” I say, staring at his butt.

He doesn’t see me, of course — his eyes are planted on the light, giving it one last test before climbing down and flipping the switch on the wall to power it on.

The room lights up like the Fourth of July, bright and steady.

“Yay!” I clap, unable to stop myself. He has no idea what a relief it is that the lights aren’t dancing and short-circuiting, and I can go back to work without the visor shielding my face from the strobes.

“Thank you!”

“No problem.” His smile creates a weird flutter inside my chest. “Anything else?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

With a tip of the cap, Harry packs up the ladder, and is gone.For the first time in weeks, I’m cranking out work with no distractions. It feels good. The reports are compiling, the bunnies are wiggling, and there are no migraine inducing flickers above my head.

Harry is a life saver. I should get his actual number so I can text him directly next time this happens. That would seem too forward, though, wouldn’t it? He might think I’m hitting on him when I’m not. There is absolutely no attraction there.

None.

Nope.

Nothing at all.

Okay fine, there is some attraction.

A teensy, weensy bit.

You can’t blame a girl for having eyes and Harry is hot in a blue-collar, not afraid to get his hands dirty, probably the best kind of maniac in the sack kind of way.

No, Felicity. No.

No, no, no.

I will not begin lusting over Harry. I have a date with Steve tonight.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

But Harry…

Harry, whose low baritone of a voice is what Hallmark movies are made of. With a broad chest and dimple in his chin, and a five o’clock shadow. Deep, easy laugh.

Thinks I’m funny. Didn’t care that I was babbling about the British Royal family like a whacko.

Harry, who is tall and funny and smells like a dream. Okay, he smells like cooked meat, but I think he’d probably just had lunch. It’s not his fault if onions have an adverse effect on him.