Page 13 of Small Town Daddy

The old clock lay splayed open on the kitchen table, its gears and springs exposed. The good thing about clock repair is that it demanded a lot of time, and a ton of focus.

Shortly after the divorce, it massively helped me to keep my mind positive, and to forget the challenges in my life. I picked up the screwdriver to tinker with the antique timepiece but I faltered.

Today, no matter how fiercely I tried to focus, I couldn’t keep my mind calm. Nope. All I could think of was a pair of luminous green eyes. A gorgeous smile. The kind of body that I shouldnotbe noticing.

Lucy. It wasn’t just her looks, either. It was her vibe, her spirit, her soul. It was the way she had cradled that stuffed bunny at the cafe, a mix of strength and vulnerability that tugged at something deep in my chest. Was she a Little, like I suspected? The protective instincts rising up caught me off guard.

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced out the window at the fading light over Maple Lane. Long shadows stretched across the street as evening settled in. An uneasiness crept over me, urging me to check on her. Make sure she was alright in that big old house all alone.

"It's just a neighborly visit," I reasoned quietly to myself. "To remind her that I’m here if she needs help."

I decided that time would wait.

Grabbing my jacket and toolbox, I headed for the door before I could think better of it. As I stepped onto the porch, I paused—reminding myself to keep things professional despite the unusual draw I felt towards Lucy. She was younger than me and going through a lot with her father's passing. The last thing she needed was me overstepping.

Sucking in a deep breath of crisp autumn air, I walked down the steps and turned towards her house. "Easy Marcus," I muttered. "Be the helpful neighbor, nothing more. Don't mess this up."

The crunch of leaves beneath my boots filled the quiet street as I walked towards Lucy's house. I tried to focus on the sound, on the nip of the evening breeze—anything to distract from the anticipation quickening my steps. But my mind kept circling back to her.

As I neared the old Victorian, I noticed her windows were open, gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze. Odd for this time of night. Faint noises drifted out—a clatter, then a muffled curse that made me pause. I frowned. "That doesn't sound good."

A sudden crash from inside the house made my pulse spike. Followed by Lucy's panicked voice. "No no no!"

I was running before I realized it, toolbox banging against my leg. Took the porch steps two at a time. "Lucy? It's Marcus!" I pounded on the door, fighting to keep my voice even. "Everything alright?"

No response. Just an escalating rush of water and my heart hammering in my ears. I should walk away. Call a plumber. Let her handle it.

But worry overrode hesitation. Jaw clenched, I tried the doorknob, expecting resistance. It turned easily in my hand.

"Screw it," I breathed and pushed inside.

Water sloshed around my boots the second I stepped through the threshold. I froze, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Torrents gushed and gurgled from deeper within the house, pouring across hardwood that wasn't meant to be a riverbed.

"Lucy!" Her name tore from my throat, sharper than I intended. Wading through the deluge, I slogged toward the source. My socks squished with each splashing step. The old floors groaned under the weight of the spreading flood.

I found her in the laundry room, looking like a drowned kitten up to her calves in sudsy water. A burst pipe sprayed behind the washing machine, the geyser pressure pinning her in place as she flailed.

"I can't—" A faceful of water cut her off mid-shout. She sputtered and slipped, arms windmilling. Her sopping clothes left little to the imagination. "I can't make it stop!"

She looked up at me, eyes wide and almost accusing. Like this was somehow my fault. Frustration and helplessness warred across her delicate features. Drenched auburn hair clung to her flushed cheeks in dark tendrils.

An odd urge gripped me to brush those strands back. To pull her against my chest and shield her from the chaos. The protective instinct surged so strong it stole my breath.

I wanted to tell her it would be okay. That I'd fix this. Fix everything. But I swallowed the words, knowing I couldn't promise that. Not yet.

Snapping into action, I sloshed forward, rolling up my sleeves. "I'm here," I said instead, raising my voice over the rushing deluge. "I've got you. Step aside, Lucy!" I instructed, firm but gentle. No way was I letting her get any more soaked.

She stepped back obligingly, but her foot slid on the slick tile. A small yelp escaped her lips as she lost balance, arms flailing.

Without thinking, I lunged to catch her. My hand grazed the soft skin of her arm, steadying her. Fuck. A jolt of electricity sparked through me at the contact, but I pushed it down. Focus, Wilkins.

Ensuring she had her footing, I dropped to my knees beside the machine, icy water instantly soaking through my jeans. Reaching back behind the metal beast, my fingers fumbled for the shutoff valve.

"Come on, come on," I muttered, twisting with all my strength. The old fixture resisted, rust and time conspiring against me.

Lucy hovered nearby, shifting from foot to foot, hugging herself. I could feel her gaze boring into my back. Watching. Waiting.

With a last determined crank, the valve finally relented. The geyser died with a sputter and hiss. Blessed silence descended, broken only by the drip drip drip of residual leaks.

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