Mr Right, Next Door!. Barbara Wallace
smoky look that managed to transcend her scowl. “Why not?”
“I didn’t turn it off.”
“Then who did?”
“Beats me,” he replied. “Did you pay your water bill?”
She stiffened, pulling her ramrod spine a little tighter. “I always pay my bills.”
“Whoa, take it easy,” he said, holding up his hands. Damn. He figured she’d be unamused, but the way she spat the words you’d think he’d delivered a blow. “I’m sure you do. I was just making a joke.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a sense of humor right now.”
No kidding. He would have said as much, but at that moment her shoulders sagged a little. “It’s been a really long day and I just want to take a shower.”
She said it with such longing, so much like a little girl who missed out on getting a treat, Grant couldn’t help but actually feel a little for her. Enough to give her a straight answer anyway. “Wish I could help you, but the only water I had anything to do with in this building is my own, and I turned that back on yesterday.”
“Any chance you turned mine off by mistake?”
“If I did, how would you have taken a shower this morning?
His question cut off that argument. “Besides, even if I did turn my water off today—which I didn’t—every unit has its own meter. You have to turn off each one individually.”
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t give up easily did she? “Positive. You’re either going to have to wait for a plumber or shower somewhere else.”
“Terrific.” Her shoulders sagged a little more, and Grant swore for a moment when he saw dampness well up in her eyes. “Guess I better start making some phone calls.” She turned and headed down the hall only to stop halfway, as if remembering something. “Wait a moment. Isn’t this your job?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you were head of the building association. Isn’t it your job to look into building problems?”
Oh, that was rich. First she spends a month slipping notes under his door, then she accuses him of water theft, and now she wanted him to fix her plumbing? “Only regarding common areas,” he clarified.
“Plumbing’s common.”
“Nice try.” But like her complaint to the so-called building association, it wasn’t going to work. “You’re on your own, sweetheart.”
“What else is new?” At least that’s what it sounded like she muttered. She resumed her retreat, although this time her walk looked suspiciously like trudging.
Damn. Did she have to look so defeated? As if she were about to break? Guilt began snaking its way into his stomach. No way could he ignore that kind of distress. “Hold on,” he called out. “I suppose I could look in the basement. Maybe give you an idea of what to tell the plumber.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it.”
He minded, Grant said to himself. He just couldn’t say no.
Sophie continued her way downstairs, trying to decide if she felt foolish or justified. On one hand, seeing as how Mr. Templeton had disturbed her past four weekends, checking out her pipes was the least the man could do. On the other, barging upstairs and accusing him of water theft bordered on crazy lady behavior. For someone who believed in being aloof and in control she wasn’t doing a very good job. Templeton started it though, by shutting the door in her face and acting all flirty. She’d been stirred up for the past two days, and now, between the sweat and the work and the bumpy subway guy, she wasn’t thinking rationally. That was her excuse.
It was also, no doubt, why his presence felt as though it was looming behind her. The back of her nylon running shorts insisted on sticking to her thighs, so that when she stepped down, the material would pull upward, and, Sophie was certain, reveal way too much bare skin. Even though a man her neighbor’s age probably wouldn’t notice or care about her legs, she felt exposed. Which was interesting because she’d just ridden on two subway cars in the same outfit without a second thought. Then again, no one on the subway looked like her neighbor, either.
Two steps from the bottom she made a decision. They would have to pass her door on the way to the basement. She could slip into her apartment and ditch the shorts in favor of something more appropriate. That way, when he reported back about the pipes, she’d be rid of this weird self-consciousness.
Unfortunately, her front door was where her neighbor chose to catch up. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said when he saw her reach for the door handle. He caught her elbow with his hand. “You’re coming with me.”
Her pulse picked up. This new position had him standing almost as close as her subway friend. Either that or her awareness of him had increased again because he sure felt close. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re coming downstairs with me so we can both learn what the problem is together.”
“But I don’t know anything about plumbing.”
“Doesn’t matter. I want you to see that I checked everything out thoroughly.”
She supposed she deserved that. “Fine.” Stepping sideways, she broke contact, silently advising him to take the lead. If she was going downstairs to the basement with him, she could at least avoid the skin on the back of her neck prickling.
Back when it was first built, part of the brownstone’s basement had been the servants’ kitchen. Thus, instead of being greeted by cold damp air, Sophie found herself stepping into a room that was warm and stifling. She instantly felt the air close in around her. The lack of adequate lighting didn’t help matters, either. There were, she knew, a line of overhead lights, but her guide apparently didn’t need to use them. Instead, he deftly navigated the space using the dim glow of the night-light. Sophie followed along. They walked past the storage cages and the skeleton of the building’s dumbwaiter and through the opening that led to the rear portion of the room. Here the air was slightly cooler but not by much. Lack of windows or space erased any air circulation that might have existed.
A cobweb dangling from the ceiling beam tickled Sophie’s face. She wiped it away, spitting imaginary strands from her lips.
Oblivious, her neighbor pointed toward the rear of the room where the heating units sat side by side. Perpendicular to them was a series of pipes with levers, each connected to a pipe feeding upward. He stopped in front of the first one on the left and bent down to study the joint.
“I think I found your culprit,” he announced. “Come here.”
She tiptoed forward.
“This set of pipes feeds to your apartment. Though I can’t tell for sure, I’d guess your gate valve is broken.”
“My what?” Peering over his broad shoulder, all Sophie saw was a collection of copper tubing.
“When they laid the pipes, the plumbers must have used an old kind of valve. Sometimes, when debris breaks off from inside the pipe, it knocks down the gate inside, blocking the water flow. I’m betting that’s what happened here. The water came in through the main pipe, and then got blocked at the base of your pipe.” He turned and gave a smirk from over his shoulder. “You can feel free to apologize at any time.”
Apparently, the blood flow to her cheeks wasn’t blocked because her face flushed with chagrin. “Can you fix it?” she asked. He was a contractor, right? She’d gladly pay him to get her shower running.
True to the rest of her day, however, he answered with a shake of his head. “Not without ticking off most of the area’s plumbers. Repairs like this are out of my jurisdiction, so to speak. You’re going to have to call a professional.”
And