The plumbing was circa who-the-fuck-knows, from back when indoor plumbing was still just an experiment. I put the back end of a penlight in my mouth and wedged my head between a spray bottle of something green and an aerosol can of oven cleaner. The pipe work was a fucking free-for-all, like a Tetris of pipes. I maneuvered my hand between them to get to the shut-off valve at the back of the cabinet. The knobs were stuck, like they had thread lock all over them.

I pulled my wrench from my pocket and tried to get a grip on the connection, driving the heel of my hand into the handle, but no dice.

“Need help?” Rosie asked. At the sound of her voice, I instinctively lifted my head—like some bird hearing his mate call out for him. Unfortunately, I was also one inch away from a cast-iron pipe that a guy like Al Capone would’ve had as his weapon of choice, and I clocked myself on the forehead. “Fuck,” I said around the flashlight.

Rosie crouched down with her legs pressed together, giving me a perfect view of the V where her thighs met her panties. Yellow polka dots today. Pink bow, white trim. She’d let me pick them out. Christ. “You okay?” She looked legit worried—eyebrows furrowed, blinking hard.

“Never better.”

“Arm’s okay?”

I glanced at the patchwork of gauze and tape she’d stuck on me. “Perfect.”

She touched her hand to my knee and looked to be biting back a smile. “Got a little something there on your forehead, champ.”

I rubbed the spot where I clocked myself and saw a big smudge of something greasy and dark. Wet rust, probably. Hopefully. “All in a day’s work, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she fucking loved it. “Here, lemme just…” She reached in and grabbed some of the cleaning supplies. “You’re such a dude, Max. Just get right in there and fix it without cleaning it out first. So focused on the job, you don’t even try to make it easy for yourself.”

“I’ll show you focused on the job.” I shined the light at her cleavage.

She smacked my leg and laughed, and then grabbed a stack of dish towels from beside me. She reached up to put them on the counter, giving me yet another perfect view of the soft curve of the side of her breast, milk-white, untouched by the sun or some tattoo artist with the hots for her. That spot, and all the rest, mine, all mine.

I took hold of the shut-off valve knob, digging my fingers into the cracking red vinyl cover. Finally, it let me have a quarter turn. Then a half to the right. I tightened it closed and did the same to the cold-water line. I took the flashlight out of my mouth and placed it on my chest. “All right, beautiful. Give that faucet a try and see if it’s off.”

She stepped closer so her smooth, bare calf was brushing against my jeans. I couldn’t fucking resist and ran my fingertips up those soft, perfect thighs. Her knees buckled a little, and I felt my cock twitch, a physical and instantaneous response. She came up onto her tiptoes slightly to reach the faucet, because my legs were in the way. Above me, I heard the faucet handle move, and the water that had been in the pipes trickled out. “I think we’re good!” Rosie said.

I wasn’t so sure, though. From below me in the basement, I heard a rumbling, followed by a strange and ominous thumping. I still had one hand to the cold-water valve, and I felt it tremble.

“Max?” Rosie asked. “What is that noise…”

Noise wasn’t the word anymore. Imminent disaster was more the idea. There was a rumble and a bang and a weird burping sound. The vibrations in the pipe got more pronounced, and then with a hiss, the connections below the valves split open and sprayed me like I was Fletcher’s dog trying to grab the sprinkler.

I shut my eyes tight. Fucking plumbing. The worst.

I tried to sit up, but as I did, I whacked my head again—hard this time, hard enough to feel it rattle my molars.

Cupcake came racing in—I heard her collar jingle before I saw her. She leaped into my lap, giving me an accidental glancing blow to my balls. I made a sound like I’d just been, you know, kneed in the balls, and instinctively tried to curl into the fetal position. Cupcake took my agony as a hidden sign for playtime and put a paw directly in the center of my scrotum. Motherfuck it. Rosie, unconscious of the fact that I was in the midst of the most mind-numbing, logic-busting pain, just squealed and giggled, barely able to talk, “Max! Do something!”

I forced myself to ignore the pain in my balls and gave the shut-off valve my all. The motherfucking thing came right off in my hand and spewed a jet of water in my eye. The burping shifted to a rattling. It was like a volcano was about to blow. Though I couldn’t see it, I could hear it—the clatter, the sound of a geyser, and Rosie giggling hysterically, as the water shot through the pipes and sheared off the faucet.

* * *

By the time I got the water turned off in the basement, Rosie looked like she’d been in a wet T-shirt contest or in my personal dream version of Girls Gone Wild. Her makeup was smudged, and I could see the pink fabric of her bra straight through the white cotton of her top. I pulled off my T-shirt and stepped outside to wring it out in the sun. I hung it over a hedge to dry, and Rosie emerged, pressing a dish towel to her soaking wet curls.

“Well, that was fun!” she giggled. Cupcake trotted out, her coat shiny and spiky with the water. “What in the world happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said, wiping my eyes and laughing. “I disturbed the memory of Grandma Maryann or something.” I peeled the soaking wet gauze off my arm and wadded it up into a ball.

Rosie snorted and then did this thing where she mussed up her hair in a sexy-as-sin way. Half innocent, half vixen, pure Rosie. “She always said never to touch the plumbing. I think that was the tenth PS in the will, right after PS: The ants come every three years. Just deal with it.”

As I undid my soaking wet boots, I wondered exactly how many dudes in the history of guys trying to impress their girls had blown up pipes or set fire to stuff with shoddy wiring. Lots, I imagined. Millions. I sat on the front step and looked up at her as I took off my socks. “At least tell me you got your snail done.”

“Mostly!” she said, beaming. She turned and headed back inside. The fabric of her dress hugged her hips, and the lace of her panties made a ripple above her ass. She was totally fucking oblivious to what she was doing to me. “More or less!” Rosie added over her shoulder, still drying her curls. “I’ll send it back to the author to make sure she doesn’t want me to draw in some snacks or something.”

I followed her in, and we stood together in the soaking wet kitchen. The ceiling was dripping, and there were big puddles on the floorboards. It looked like the fire department had been here, except without the fire damage. Thank Jesus.

I went to the linen closet and got a whole stack of beach towels that I’d seen Rosie folding a few days earlier. They were old ones, bleached and faded. I handed her a stack and arranged a few on the floor to help soak up the flood. “So,” I told her as we wiped down the cabinets, “I think we should make the best of my total inability to install a garbage disposal.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Chicken salad out of chicken shit?”

“How about I take you out to dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She smiled and reached up to run her fingers through my damp hair. “I could really go for a beer, a cheeseburger prepared completely at random, and a round of pool.”

But we were way past burgers at the Anchor Nurse now, and for one fleeting second, I imagined her grandma laughing, as if it had all been some grand plan to change things up. Matchmaker, matchmaker, blow up the plumbing and see what happens… “I mean out to dinner, for real.”

She inhaled sharply. “Like…a date?”

“Yeah,” I told her, letting myself feel her wet panties on my wet jeans. Christ all fucking mighty. “A date-date. Somewhere really nice. Let me wine and dine you. Let me do it up right.”

She broke the stare, and her eyes moved down to my hand, gripping her waist. “How nice?”

“Heels. A dress. I’ll treat you to something new to wear.” I snapped the edge of her thong. “What do you say?”

“Pfffft,” she said, grinning. “I’ve got something.”

“Just to be clear, I like you naked best.”

“Noted.” She pursed her lips. “Duly noted.”

I gave her a wink and then glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, each hour a different species of bird. It was already three in the afternoon, and I figured she still some work to finish. “How about I take Cupcake, and I’ll go get cleaned up? We’ll pretend we haven’t been all over each other constantly. We’ll be upstanding and pretend we’re just starting.”

Rosie looked nervous, and I fucking loved it. “A date. We’re going on a date.” She gulped. “A date.”

“Our first date,” I said, and I gave her ass a possessive squeeze. “Pick you up at seven thirty.” I lifted her chin, my thumb to her jaw. “You’re sure you don’t want me to take you shopping? Give you some cash? I’d love to do it.”

But she shook her head, and her wet curls slid along her tanned shoulders. “Nope. I know just the thing.”