Thanksgiving with Three Brothers Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
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2

LEO

“This had better be an emergency where a bunch of starving puppies and old people are going to freeze to death if I don’t drop everything right now and save them,” I muttered into the phone.

“Bro, where do you think I hang out? It’s a coffee shop. I’ll send you the location. And if there were people and animals starving, I’d feed them instead of calling an electrician,” Noah said.

“Fine. I’ll be right there, but you owe me one. You can work your money boy magic on my farmhouse budget,” I quipped.

“It’s a deal.” Noah didn’t argue or try to negotiate. Either he had a fever, or this was one hell of a hot woman he was trying to help out.

I parked illegally outside the door of a coffee shop that occupied the corner unit of an older building. The sign on the door said Muffins on Maple and a bell jingled when I walked in.

“Thank you for coming on short notice. Your brother was in line at the counter when the lights went out and insisted on calling you,” she said.

Yep, she was hot alright.

“Noah can be pushy. Baby of the family,” I said. “Leo Foster,” I introduced myself.

“I’m Madison,” she said and shook my hand. She smelled like lemon blossom cake and everything from the curve of her cheek to the dark hair trying to escape from her ponytail seemed to hit me with the impact of a boulder. The kind that rolls right over the cartoon characters and leave them pancake-flat on the ground.

“Let me show you the scene of the crime,” she said, “My assistant told me something was wrong with the oven, and I got the idea to see if a breaker was tripped or something. Nothing looked wrong, so I started flipping the switches, and the lights went out. Even when I flipped it back, I couldn’t undo the damage. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing you could have done with a breaker that would have caused this,” I said, following her back to a storage area. I turned on my Mag-lite and looked at it.

“How old is this box? 1960s?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I know the place was up to code when I signed the lease. I saw the documentation. “

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do back here and then I’ll take a look at that oven,” I said.

She went back to the kitchen, and I surveyed the situation. I replaced a couple fuses and did a workaround to get the lights back on. After a few minutes, I went to find her.

“Hey, I looked it over. I thought maybe you just needed a fuse replaced, which I did, but you aren’t pulling enough voltage to run commercial appliances here.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “In terms of the extent of the problem and how much it would take to fix.”

“Your electrical system is overloaded. The building isn’t up to code, and someone’s paid off an inspector for starters. Rewiring will take weeks, and it’s not cheap. Let me look at the oven and see if I can get it going.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate how quickly you came here. I’ll be glad to pay the emergency call fee. I just want to get my lights on and the oven up and running so I can reopen in the morning.” She said it matter-of-factly as if that were the logical conclusion.

“I’m not trying to predict the future here, but it doesn’t look to me like you’ll be able to open those doors tomorrow. Bottom line is, it’s unsafe.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see. Well, I’ll leave you to inspect the oven.”

She was absolutely going to grab her phone and google ‘electrician near me’ for another opinion and I knew it. She didn’t know me and certainly didn’t get the answer she wanted from me. But I wasn’t going to risk anyone’s life or property, much less my professional reputation, and let a coffee joint burn down because the owner was too stubborn to close for the necessary upgrades.

“I wouldn’t bother with a second opinion, although it’s your money if you want one. No licensed and bonded electrician would tell you different about this setup,” I said.

I heard her make an inarticulate noise that could have been a sigh and put down her phone.

“There has to be something I can do. What size generator should I rent to run the oven and the coffee machines until the wiring’s redone?” She said, her jaw set with determination.

This woman did not want to shut down her shop for repairs. To tell the truth, I was impressed by her determination, her search for creative solutions.

After examining the oven, I knew I’d have to tell her how bad the situation was, how expensive it would be. For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t want to tell a customer the truth about their wiring trouble. She didn’t seem fragile or helpless—she seemed stalwart and tenacious, like she’d stand, stoic as if she were carved from marble when I broke it to her that it would take more than this shop could make in a year to make the electrical circuits safe and to buy a new oven. That thing was on its last legs. ‘Shot to hell’ is the term I would have chosen if I were delivering the news to any other customer.


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