The ceiling fan in the living room had been flickering for three days, a single bulb refusing to stay lit no matter how many times I twisted it or tapped the fixture. The rest of the house lights worked fine, but that one dark spot bothered me more than it should have. I finally gave in and called the electrician whose card had been stuck to the fridge for months. His name was Ryan, according to the card. Local guy, reasonable rates, available same-day if you were lucky.
I was lucky.
When the doorbell rang just after two in the afternoon I was still in the loose cotton tank and shorts I had slept in. The fabric was thin, the shorts riding high on my thighs, and I had not bothered with a bra because the air conditioning was off and the house felt sticky. I opened the door expecting a midd
