She, the Kingdom (She #1)(43)

“Shit,” I hissed, walking over to the thermostat. It was on. “Oh, no. No, no, no…” I switched it off and then on again, fiddling with the settings and temperature. I closed my eyes and blew out a breath of frustration.

I went into the bedroom and dressed, and then returned to the kitchen, passing through to the laundry room, and out the back door. I nearly killed myself trying to climb down the steep, concrete steps, and then stood in front of the bulky, sun-bleached gray box that was my AC unit. The fan was still; the buzzing had stopped.

I crossed my arms and glared at it as if it had insulted me, and then my anger went away. I had over two-thousand dollars in my bank account, aside from what the kids and me had in savings. I could afford it.

An old pickup truck bounced as it pulled in behind my Lexus, the loud engine switching off as soon as the driver put it in park. The truck reminded me of Dad’s old Ford: old, but in pristine condition, with a white, horizontal stripe down the center, sandwiched between faded red. Colton stepped out, wearing his faded red Pete’s electric T-shirt to match his truck. He smiled when he saw me standing in the side yard and walked over.

He held up his hands. “I know what you’re thinking. I was coming over to ask you if you’d had breakfast. My early appointment cancelled.”

I twisted my hair and held it on top of my head, the sweat already dripping down my neck. “I drink coffee for breakfast, normally. You don’t…” I hesitated. He’d come over to ask me to breakfast. Asking Colton for help would be starting something I couldn’t finish.

He looked down at my AC unit. “Why isn’t your fan runnin’?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m going to call someone. Thanks for coming by, Colton, but I have to find a repairman. Is Phil still working on air conditioners?”

He looked at the unit. “I can fix it. It’s probably the coils, or clogged fins, or a dirty blower fan filter.” He was talking to the unit now, sizing it up.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Morgan. It’s going to be a hundred and eleven degrees in a few hours. Did you know that? You can’t wait on Phil.”

“I can call Max. He’ll get someone out here.”

Colton smiled, his dimple sinking into his cheek. Lord, he was beautiful. “I’m here. Turn off the power. I’ll get my tools and the shop vac outta my truck.”

“Colton,” I called, but he was already walking toward the driveway.

By nine, it was ninety degrees, and Colton had my AC unit pulled apart and cleaned. He’d hosed off the fins, left once to get more coolant and new indoor filters, and lubricated something with electric motor oil. His red shirt was soaked with sweat, and his jeans were covered in grass.

He stood up and brushed off, and then stared at the unit for a moment before turning to me. “Where’s your main breaker box?”

“In the house, why?”

“Show me.”

I led him through the back door, into the laundry room, and pointed to the gray covering that encased the breaker box.

He opened it, looked over the labels, switched one left and then right. He went outside, and before I could get to the third step of the back stairs, a familiar buzzing kicked on.

“You fixed it?”

He walked over to me, his hands on his hips. “I cleaned it. You had a year’s worth of dirt and debris in there. Your inside filters are new, too. Should be good for another year.”

“Thank you! But… you didn’t fix it?”

He nodded to the back door. “You just flipped a breaker.”

My eyebrows shot up. “All I had to do was flip that breaker switch? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He chuckled, squinting to keep the salty sweat from dripping in his eye. “Because I knew you’d flip it and wouldn’t let me clean it.”

I stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “Where did you come from?”

“Pardon?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? And why did you just suddenly decide to start coming around? I mean… I’m thankful. I just don’t understand.”

The cicadas were already starting to hiss and screech, wailing from heat. A gorgeous man ten years younger than me was soaked in sweat from doing me a favor I hadn’t asked him to do. I wasn’t model thin or tall like Amelia, or particularly funny or successful. I couldn’t fathom why he was trying so hard to take care of me.

He shrugged. “I just wanna help.”

“Do you just want to help everyone?” I asked.

“No,” he said with a smile.

“You know I can’t—”

“I know that’s what you said. And I said I’d wait. I didn’t say I’d stay away. We can be friends, right?”

I smiled. “Come in. You can wash off.”

He pointed toward the front of the house. “I have a change of clothes in my truck. Would it be okay if I changed?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course,” I said, watching him jog to his pickup.

He walked in the front door as I walked in the back. He’d removed his boots before stepping onto the carpet, holding a Wal-Mart sack with his clothes. “Nothing worse than wet clothes, you know?”

“It’s pretty miserable. You can, um… if you want to use the shower, you’re welcome.”