The washing machine had been rattling like a dying animal for two days straight, the spin cycle turning into a violent shudder that shook the entire laundry closet. I finally caved and called the plumbing service, pacing the kitchen in my thin cotton sundress while the operator promised someone would arrive within the hour. When the doorbell rang, I opened it to find Ryan. He was tall and broad-shouldered, tool belt slung low on his hips, a polite smile that didn’t quite hide the way his eyes flicked down my body before meeting mine again.
He followed me through the house, boots thudding on the hardwood, and I felt the heat of his gaze on my bare legs as I led him to the laundry room. The machine sat in the corner, a puddle of soapy water already seeping from beneath it.
Ryan crouched,
