You were relatively useless in the manual labor department. Building stuff, that is. You had just barely gotten your bed together and you wouldn't trust it to stay together.

Quickly admitting your defeat, you had gotten the information of a contractor from your new neighbours. A man named Joel. A gentleman who works with his brother, they say. A single dad they also said.

You shot a quick text to the number your neighbour provided you, and he was actually quite nice. You wouldn't call it sweet per se, but he was respectful and quick with organizing a date and time.

'Building furniture? Can do that in my sleep, when do you need it?' were his words in response to your request.

You had nearly forgotten all about it until he texted you at 9am, the message reading 'On My Way!' quickly followed by a 'Goddamn autocorrect makin me sound whimsical.' which brought out a loud laugh from your lips.

True to his word, Joel pulled up to the address you gave him at 9:30am, in a black short-sleeved t-shirt and pair of blue jeans, tool box in his tanned hand, nodding respectfully when you opened the door.

"Ma'am."