My mood taking a dive for the worse, I ripped open the herbal tea bag like my life depended on it. Hopefully a long soak in the bath and a relaxing cup of chamomile tea would soothe my nerves. I picked up the steaming tea, and rounded the corner into the hallway, then stopped in disbelief.
“Holy shit!” I cried.
Quickly, I put the cup of tea down on the tiles and raced toward the torrent of water that was quickly making its way down the hallway toward me. I hesitated when I reached the edge of the river of water and rebuked myself. Obviously whatever was causing the leak needed to be stopped, the sooner the better. There was no way that quantity of water was coming from the bath as it hadn’t been running long enough.
I stepped into the puddle and shrieked in agony. It was scalding. I jumped back onto the cool hallway tiles and eyed the flood with a sense of horror. “Shit,” I hissed. The sole of my foot was now burning.
What in the hell was I supposed to do? Personal preservation dictated that the smartest thing would be to run my burnt foot under cold water to prevent any long-term damage. Unfortunately that didn’t resolve the little issue of my apartment about to be immersed in boiling water.
I swore again to myself. It was very out of character for me, but hey, desperate times. I half-hobbled and half-hopped into the safety of the kitchen. The first thing I did was throw open the cupboards above the stove where the electrical panel was located.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, when I found the switch for the hot water unit. I flicked it off. Then I turned and surveyed the rest of the kitchen cupboards. Now where the hell was the valve to turn off the water to the apartment? If I had more time to dwell on it, I’d probably be upset with myself for not knowing exactly where it was. In my defense, the apartment complex wasn’t particularly old and we’d never needed to turn off the water before.
After opening and slamming shut all the floor cabinets in the kitchen it was apparent the valve was located elsewhere. “Crap, crap, crap,” I said. Surely that meant it had to be in the bathroom, which was entirely logical but not at all helpful to my current situation. I hopped back into hallway and stopped in terror.
“Oh no!” I wailed.
In the minute I’d been in the kitchen the water had covered the rest of the tiles and was now starting to seep into the carpet in the lounge room. Heart pounding, I put my hands on my head, forcing myself to think. I had to get into the bathroom without burning myself to see if I could shut the water off. Failing that, not only was my apartment going to be immersed in water, the apartment below would have a water feature before too much longer.
In desperation, I scanned the lounge room as though wishful thinking would make a valve materialize in front of me. No luck, except I did spy my pair of knee high boots which I’d left next to the sofa. Clapping my hands together in joy, I raced over and put them on, ignoring the burning pain as the leather slipped onto my injured foot.
I waded into the water, not caring how stupid I looked in knee high leather boots coordinated with only a bra and underwear. My feet sloshed through the small-scale river and my extravagant four hundred dollar boot purchase seemed like the best investment of my life to date. My feet stayed dry as I rushed to the linen cupboard just outside the bathroom door. I threw it open and let out a cry of disappointment. The vacuum cleaner we kept in there was nearing a watery death.
I grabbed a pile of towels from the shelves above and raced to the edge of the lounge room again to create a dam using the towels. I hoped they would soak up the water and save our lounge room from devastation while I located the water valve. As soon as that was done, I rushed to the bathroom and then moaned.
As well as water coming from the cupboard where the hot water unit was housed, the bath was now overflowing. I’d kind of forgotten about that while I was dealing with my hot water hell. I waded through the water and quickly shut off the bath taps, then plunged my hands into bathtub to release the plug.
The bath started to empty. Sort of. The bath connected to the drain in the middle of the bathroom floor and it was having a hard time coping with all the water flooding from the hot water unit. With a sense of determination, I turned to the cupboard in the corner and flung open the door.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. More hot water gushed out – if that was even possible. I silently praised my knee high boots again because, without them, my legs would have been burned by the hot water. On the downside, there would definitely be no relaxing, hot baths for me tonight. Unless you wanted to count the bath in the hallway and lounge room. Maybe that would do.
I surveyed the hot water unit with an intensifying sense of helplessness. It wasn’t a big unit. Only about eighty liters. Surely it had emptied itself of all its water by now? Judging by the steady torrent passing by my boots, no, it wasn’t finished yet.
I stared at the unit with impressive concentration considering the circumstances. There was a valve-like thingy attached to a pipe at the side of the unit. Technical term obviously, but goddamn it, I was an accountant, not a plumber.
I eyed the valve one last time and then figured, what the hell? It wasn’t like things could get any worse. I turned the valve ninety degrees and held my breath. After about thirty seconds the flow of water started to lessen.
“Thank God.” I stood and watched the water reduce to a slow drizzle. I should have started mopping up but I wanted to be sure with my own eyes that the water had been successfully shut off. The destruction could wait. There was still the possibility that my apartment would float away into the harbor, but that was really just wishful thinking. I was seven floors up and the damage wasn’t going to go away.
With another groan, I trudged back into the hallway. The towels had done a decent job but half the lounge room carpet was definitely ruined. Wasn’t this just a wonderful end to an absolutely brilliant night?
I sighed and turned my back on the wreckage. I needed to call the emergency number for our building’s plumber. Not that they could do much at eleven pm on a Saturday night. I recalled the flyer we kept stuck on the fridge did have a twenty-four-hour number though. I walked up the hall to get my phone from my room. Thankfully the universe didn’t hate me completely and my and Christa’s bedrooms appeared untouched by the water. I found my phone in my bag and then waded back down the hallway to where we kept the number in the kitchen.
I dialed the number and listened while it rang. An answering machine picked up. “Oh, that would be right,” I complained.
I waited for the beep and then left what I thought was a reasonably calm message given the situation and my mood, although I may have implied there was a degree of urgency in no uncertain terms. Leaving my phone in the safety of the water-free kitchen, I went back out into the lounge room to deal with the aftermath.
I was onto my third round of towels when I heard a loud knock on the front door.
Startled, and probably still in shock, I paused and stared at the door, but didn’t move.
I jumped at another loud knock.
“Hello?” a deep voice called out. “Is there anybody in there?”
I dropped the towel and straightened. “Just a minute!”
Crap. Who on earth was it at this hour? My heart sank. I didn’t know the neighbors on the floor below, but I had an awful feeling I was about to meet them. I was halfway up the hall when I remembered what I was wearing. Or not wearing.
“Shit!” I cried and ran back down the hallway to grab a towel to protect my dignity.
“Everything alright?” the deep voice said through the door.
“I’m coming!”
I wrapped the towel around myself as I hurried back up the hall. Normally I wouldn’t consider answering the front door in a state of undress but that was before I’d been forced to go swimming in my own apartment.
I opened the front door and strategically positioned myself behind it because I still had some modesty.
The man blinked, then seemed to catch himself. “Hey.”
Hey? Serio
usly, who was this guy? I was dealing with a plumbing disaster of epic proportions and here was some random guy knocking on my front door greeting me with a hey?
I opened my mouth to tell him that unless his apartment was currently sporting a new water feature like mine, or he was a plumber sent by God, now was not a good time, but stopped.
OK. So he wasn’t just some guy. He was a rather attractive guy. Maybe it was the tawny brown hair. He wore it long and swept back from his face. Some of it was tucked behind his ears and it looked like keeping it there would be an endless battle because it was thick and full of body. There were girls who would die for that sort of hair, me included. Or maybe it was his eyes. They were a tawny brown like his hair, and they reminded me of a cat’s. Alright, not so much a cat, more like a tiger. Or it was quite possibly his body. He wasn’t that tall and we were on the same eye level, but judging by the ripped arm muscles and solid chest outlined by his fitted t-shirt, he kept fit.
Or maybe I was staring.
I cleared my throat self-consciously. “Can I help you?”
He gave me a funny look and ran a hand through his amazing hair. “I think you’ve got it the wrong way around. I’m here to help you.”
Chapter 3
My head still hurt from the alcohol. Now that I thought about it, my foot still hurt too. And now I was seriously confused. “You’re here to help me?” Damn. Had that come out sounding more hopeful than I’d intended?
He dropped his hand back to his side. “Yeah. You rang for a plumber?”
I looked past him down the hallway. Well, yes, I had rang for a plumber, but that was five minutes ago, maybe ten minutes at the most. I was supposed to actually believe this guy was a plumber sent to save the day?
“Well, yes, I did. But there’s no way you could have gotten here so quickly.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you live downstairs? Is this some sort of joke because your ceiling is leaking water thanks to my hot water unit bursting? Because that’s what happened, by the way. My stupid hot water unit burst. And I’m really sorry about any damage to your place, but trust me, the situation up here is a lot worse. I’m doing my very best to deal with it. I burned my foot trying to turn the water off. Hopefully the leak through your ceiling was cold, or at least cooler, when it got to you. Hey!”
I was forced to step back as he pushed open the door. The towel slipped down and I tugged it back up, which was kind of difficult because I was hopping on the spot. My injured foot was throbbing and I really didn’t want to put any more pressure on it.
“That foot?” He pointed to my raised boot.
“Well, yes—”
I sucked in a sharp breath as his hands gripped both of my arms and he eased me back against the wall. With some actual support I was able to stop hopping, which meant I could start talking again. “Um, I’ve no idea who you are, or what you think you’re doing—”
“I told you. I’m the plumber.” He released me.
I felt upset, but not for the right reasons. Outrage. I was aiming for outrage at his manhandling of me, except all I could think about was how his hands had felt on my bare arms. They’d felt calloused and strong and alright, I’d admit it, like the sort of hands a plumber or tradesman would have. It still didn’t change the fact that this man was a complete stranger who had entered my apartment without an invitation and was now proceeding to invade my personal space.
My eyes widened to the size of saucers when he crouched down in front of me. “What are you doing?” I squeaked.
“We need to get this boot off. I’m assuming you put it on after you burnt your foot so you could walk through the water?”
He wasn’t looking at me. Instead his focus was directed at my boot and my bare leg poking out from beneath the towel.
We? I wanted to cry. There was no we! As I struggled to find the appropriate words to deal with his lack of manners, I discovered that my new plumber was a man of action. Choosing to ignore my non-response, he carefully undid the boot and then gripped the heel so he could tug it off.
“Ow!” I cried. I winced when the boot dropped to the floor.
He looked up at me from his position near the floor and I realized he’d be able to see right up my towel. I blushed furiously while trying to glare at him at the same time.
Unmoved by my expression, or ignoring it – I couldn’t tell which – he frowned at me, which did nice things to his forehead. “Have you put this under water?”
“Well, no,” I sputtered, “unless you count the scalding water I stepped in. I was too busy trying to deal with—”
“Come on. You need to run it under cold water.” He stood up quickly, making me press my back harder against the wall.
He held out one of his strong arms to me. “You’ll need to lean on me so we can get you to the bathroom.”
I pushed myself off the wall. “No. I’m fine. I can manage.” Without the boot on for protection things were a lot harder, I discovered. I wasn’t able to put my sore foot on the floor and had to do an odd sort of hobble using the tip of my big toe to balance myself.
The plumber’s frown deepened and those golden brown eyes observed me with disbelief. “As soon as you reach the water you’ll slip over. Come on.” He slipped an arm around me and against my better judgment I put my own arm around his shoulders.
It wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. Distracted by the contours of his shoulder muscles beneath his t-shirt, the journey to the bathroom was over very quickly.
“I’ve seen worse,” he said, when we reached the doorway and he saw the bathroom.
“I know that ought to comfort me,” I told him, “but it really doesn’t.”
He led me to the bath, which was now empty. On the bright side, thankfully I didn’t have blocked drains.
“Sit on the edge and put your feet in the bath,” he instructed.
Still gripping my towel tightly, I let him help me sit on the edge of the bath. He turned on the cold tap, grabbed my ankle and shoved my injured foot under the flow of cold water. I squirmed but kept my foot in place. The cold was a shock. It might have felt good but it was hard to tell because my foot was still throbbing painfully.
“Keep it under there.” He straightened.
“The hot water heater is in the corner,” I said, grateful I could give him a reason to move out of my personal space.
His scuffed brown leather boots – obviously plumber’s attire, and I was now slightly more convinced he wasn’t a mass murderer – squelched as he walked to the corner of the room.
“You managed to turn the water off. Good girl.”
Good girl? Who was this guy? He must not work with any women because that language would be considered inappropriate in my office.
He crouched down to survey the damage. “There’s your problem. Nasty, cheap piece of Chinese crap.”
“Excuse me?”
“The heating element,” he explained. “Looks like someone repaired this unit at some point and used the cheapest part they could find.”
“Well, it wasn’t recently because I’ve been here four years.”
“I’m surprised it lasted that long.” He stood up again and surveyed the puddle of water that was now my bathroom. “People never check their hot water units and then they act surprised when this sort of stuff happens.”
I didn’t like what he was implying. “I’ll have you know I’m renting.”
“So? You should still check the unit routinely, but I can’t say I’m surprised. This sort of thing happens all the time in rentals. Most tenants don’t bother with contents insurance either, which you’re going to need to claim on, by the way, for any damage to your personal items. If you have it.”
“I have contents insurance,” I ground out. Who did he think he was talking to? I was a financial planner, for God’s sake. I didn’t neglect important things like insurance. Although as he’d so helpfully pointed out, I should have had a better working knowledge of water heaters.
He nodded. “Makes fo
r a nice change. You’ll also need to go through your agent to get the water heater fixed. I can’t put in a new one until they give me the OK. I can have someone over here Monday though, if you get the go ahead.”
I didn’t say anything because the truth was, my foot was still kind of painful. While I wasn’t entirely convinced of his social skills, he was perceptive enough to pick up on my suffering.
“Keep it under there a bit longer. I’ll see what I can do out there.”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked – squelched – off. Over the running water I could hear him moving around in my hallway and living area, and hoped he had experience dealing with this sort of situation. He was a plumber after all, not a mass murderer who preyed on helpless women experiencing water emergencies. Hopefully.
After five more minutes sitting on the edge of the bath, I was becoming edgy. The strange sounds coming from the living room weren’t helping.
I opened my mouth to yell out to him, then realized I had no idea what to call him. “Excuse me?”
No reply. Just those odd noises which sounded sort of like material being torn.
“Hello?” I tried again. “Mr. Plumber man?” Nice one, Cate. But seriously, his people skills were not going to get a good rating from me.
He appeared at the door. The bottom of his jeans were all wet. “It’s Dave.”
Huh. Dave. Well, that name seemed to fit with his vocation, although clearly I was suffering from a case of tradesman stereotyping. “I’m Cate,” I told him, still conscious of the need for manners. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“I’m ripping the carpet up.”
“You’re what?”
“Ripping the carpet up,” he repeated, like I hadn’t caught it the first time.
I waved an impatient hand at him. “Yeah, I got that. Can I ask why?”
“The concrete needs to dry. If you don’t let it breathe, it can cause long-term damage. Concrete cancer. That sort of thing. I wouldn’t normally do it, but you needed to sit with your foot under cold water.”
So what? He was just killing the time by pulling my carpet up? For God’s sake, could this night get any weirder?
Wish List: City Love 4 Page 2
