The cabin smelled of pine and old memories, nestled deep in the woods where the air was sharp and the distant brook murmured like a restless lover. Inside, the rustic charm was a little too authentic—peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and a bathroom the size of a broom closet. Jenny, a fiery 33-year-old with a tongue that could cut glass, stood under the sputtering showerhead, her auburn hair plastered to her neck as she cursed the universe. The water had started strong, promising a steamy escape, but halfway through her rinse, it choked out a pathetic dribble and died.
“Son of a—” she growled, slamming the knob off with more force than necessary. Water dripped from her skin as she snatched a threadbare towel from the rack, wrapping it tight around her curves. Her hazel eyes blazed with irritation as she stormed out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the worn wooden floor.
In the living room, Michael, her 44-year-old husband, sprawled across the plaid couch like a king on a thrift-store throne. His salt-and-pepper hair was mussed, and his attention was buried in a fishing magazine, completely oblivious to the domestic disaster unfolding. The man had a talent for avoiding anything resembling work, and Jenny was about to remind him of it.
“Michael!” Her voice sliced through the quiet cabin like a whip. She stood in the doorway, dripping and furious, one hand clutching the towel at her chest. “The damn shower just gave up on me. Mid-spray. Care to explain why you haven’t fixed a single thing around here since we arrived?”
Michael’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with the startled look of a man who’d been caught napping on duty. He scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin creeping across his face. “Uh, babe, I didn’t even know it was broken. You sure you didn’t just… turn it wrong or something?”
Jenny’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Turn it wrong? Are you serious right now? I’m soaked, pissed off, and standing here in a towel while you’re flipping through pictures of fish like you’ve got no responsibilities. Get up and do something!”
Michael set the magazine down with a dramatic sigh, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Alright, alright, don’t bite my head off. How ‘bout I call a plumber? I’ll get someone out here, no problem.” He reached for his phone, clearly hoping to delegate his way out of this mess.
Jenny rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of her skull. “A plumber. Great idea, genius. Meanwhile, I’ll just stand here shivering while you play middleman. You’re a useless lump, you know that?” She jabbed a finger toward the kitchen. “How about you make yourself marginally less useless and drive into town for groceries? I’ll handle the ‘real work’ of getting this dump fixed.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped, but he knew better than to argue when Jenny’s tone hit that level of venom. “Fine, fine. I’m going. Just trying to keep the peace, y’know.” He muttered the last bit under his breath as he dragged himself off the couch, snatching the car keys from the coffee table with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to his own execution.
“Peace,” Jenny scoffed, crossing her arms as she watched him shuffle toward the door. “You wouldn’t know peace if it bit you on the ass. Hurry up—I’m not eating canned soup again because you dawdled.”
The door creaked shut behind him, and the gravel crunched under the tires as Michael drove off, leaving Jenny alone in the cabin with a broken shower and a temper simmering hotter than the steam she’d been denied. She paced the creaky floor, her towel slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her shoulder as she muttered curses. “Incompetent men. Every damn one of ‘em. Can’t fix a pipe, can’t fix a marriage, can’t fix a bloody thing.”
She grabbed her phone from the counter, dialing the local plumber with the efficiency of a general issuing battle orders. “Yeah, hi, this is Jenny at the old Harper cabin off Route 17. Shower’s busted, and I need it fixed yesterday. I don’t care what you’ve got scheduled—get out here now, or I’ll find someone who can.” Her voice was sharp, commanding, leaving no room for negotiation. The poor soul on the other end stammered a quick agreement, promising someone within the hour.
Jenny hung up with a satisfied huff, tossing the phone onto the couch. “That’s how you get shit done,” she muttered, resuming her pacing. The cabin felt emptier without Michael’s bumbling presence, but she wasn’t about to admit she missed his sorry ass—not even to herself.
Sooner than expected, heavy boots thudded on the porch, followed by a firm knock. Jenny’s brow furrowed as she strode to the door, still in her towel, and yanked it open. Standing there was Alex, a rugged 39-year-old plumber with a toolbox in one hand and a cocky smirk that screamed trouble. His dark hair was cropped short, and his flannel shirt strained slightly over broad shoulders. He looked like he’d just walked out of a lumberjack fantasy, and Jenny wasn’t sure if that annoyed her more or less than the broken shower.
“Well, damn, didn’t expect you this fast,” she said, her gaze narrowing as she sized him up. “You the guy who’s gonna save my day, or are you just here to waste my time?” She pointed toward the bathroom with the authority of a drill sergeant. “Shower’s in there. Get to it.”
Alex chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that grated on her nerves in a way she couldn’t quite place. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, tipping an imaginary hat as he stepped inside. “I’m on it. Don’t worry, I’ve handled worse than a cranky pipe.”
Jenny’s cheeks flushed—a mix of irritation and something else she refused to acknowledge. “Cranky pipe and a cranky woman, apparently. Just fix it before I lose what’s left of my patience.”
She lingered in the bathroom doorway as Alex set to work, arms crossed over her chest, her towel holding on for dear life. His hands moved with a quiet confidence, testing the pipes and muttering to himself about pressure and fittings. She couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders flexed under that shirt, the way his forearms strained as he twisted a wrench. Not that she was looking. Definitely not.
A sudden burst of water sprayed everywhere as he tested the line, soaking his shirt and splattering the tiny bathroom. Alex laughed, shaking his head as water dripped from his chin. Jenny smirked, unable to resist the jab. “Nice work, genius. Didn’t think I’d need a second shower today, but here we are.” She grabbed a spare towel from the rack and tossed it at him, her tone dripping with mock pity. “Dry off, clumsy ass. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold on my account.”
Alex caught the towel with a grin, completely unfazed by her sharpness. “Thanks, darlin’. Didn’t know you cared so much.” He wiped his face, his dark eyes locking with hers for a split second as their fingers brushed against the fabric. A spark of something—tension, heat, whatever it was—flared between them, quick and electric.
Jenny turned away with a huff, pretending to adjust her towel as her heart gave an annoying little thud. “Don’t get cute with me. Just fix the damn shower before I start charging you for the view.”
His laughter followed her out of the room, low and teasing, and she cursed under her breath again. This day was getting messier by the minute—and it wasn’t just the water.
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