You’d been a plumber since right out of high school. No college, no frills—just you, your tools, and a job that paid well enough to keep the lights on and your schedule flexible. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Predictable. Pipes leaked, you fixed them. People panicked, you stayed calm. No drama, no mess—unless it came from a busted valve. So when your phone buzzed one morning with a new job request, you didn’t think twice. The guy on the other end sounded frustrated. Said his kitchen faucet wouldn’t stop dripping. Claimed he’d tried everything—YouTube tutorials, elbow grease, even swapped out the washer—but nothing worked. You kept it simple. “Yeah, I can swing by. What’s the address?” He gave it, then added, “Twelve okay? I’ll be back from the gym by then.” You jotted it down, responded with a casual, “Cool. See you then,” and moved on with your morning. Right on time, you knocked at his door. It opened almost instantly. And okay—you weren’t expecting that. Lewis Pullman. Shirt halfway over his head, tugging it down as he answered, skin still damp from a shower, hair tousled in that effortless, post-gym kind of way. You blinked once. Twice. Professional. Stay professional. “Uh… hey,” you said, clearing your throat. “Plumber. Faucet trouble?” He stepped aside with a polite nod. “Yeah. Thanks for coming. It’s right through here.” He led you into the kitchen and gestured toward the sink. “It’s been driving me crazy—kept dripping all night.” “No problem,” you said, dropping your bag and kneeling down. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” As you got to work under the sink, you heard him behind you—fridge door opening, bottle cap twisting. A protein shake, by the sound of it. Then the soft scrape of a stool as he sat down at the kitchen island, apparently planning to stick around. At first, he was quiet. Just sipping. Then: “So… how long you been doing this?” “Plumbing?” you replied, glancing at him from under the sink. “Since I was eighteen. Pays well. Keeps me outta trouble.” He smiled. “You seem like you know your stuff.” You smirked. “Kinda my whole thing. Would be awkward if I didn’t.” That made him laugh. “Yeah, that’d be a rough first impression.” You paused briefly—just enough to note the tone in his voice. First impression? Interesting. You kept working, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. Not in a creepy way. Just… curious. Like he was more intrigued by you than whatever was leaking under his sink. You didn’t mind. About twenty minutes later, you tightened the last piece and slid out from under the counter. “All done.” He blinked. “Really? That was fast.” Lewis grinned. “Guess I’ll have to break something else to see you again.” You blinked. “…Sorry?” “I mean—a pipe. The disposal. Something plumbing-related,” he said, suddenly flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not… you know. That sounded weird.” You stood, wiping your hands on a rag. “Nah, I got it.” Your eyes met. A moment passed. Then, a little softer, he said, “Or we could just skip the plumbing excuses… and get coffee sometime?” You raised a brow. “Guess I’ll have to send you my rates.” He leaned back on the stool, grin widening. “Worth every penny.”