Latch

She opened the door, her heart thumping high in her chest. Her breath caught slightly.

“Come in,” she said.

He looked at her quizzically. His beard was dark, his frame stocky. He pushed off his work boots and stepped over the threshold in thick, fuzzy socks.

They were both unsmiling.

She glanced down at the large black toolbox in his right hand. A smile broke over her face.

“That looks like a doctor’s bag!”

He laughed. His eyes crinkled.

“It’s this way,” she said.

He followed her into the bedroom.

“What’s the diagnosis, doctor?”

They chuckled lightly.

She walked around the side of the large bed in the middle of the room, guiding him to the broken latch. She pointed at it and explained what had happened. He twiddled the latch and gave a knowing, “Ah”.

“Shall I leave you to it?”

“Sure.”

She went into the other room and started pottering. There were quiet sounds coming from the bedroom, but it would seem weird to stand and watch him working. She wanted to, though. Her days were dull and long, with Joseph working out of town and their children living elsewhere.

She turned up the music. Oh shit. It had moved on to a romantic ballad. Would he think she was sending a message? It was too late to turn it off or skip it. That would make it worse, anyway. She crouched down and started moving things around in the lower kitchen cupboards.

“That’s all done.” Suddenly he was in the room. He was bigger than she had remembered: his shoulders, his arms. He wasn’t smiling, again. He didn’t look frightening or angry, only intense in some way. “Is that all?”

“Well, since you’re asking!” she said brightly, smiling.

She walked to the living room window and leaned over the sofa. Why had she done that? Now her backside was poking out at him. She had never been elegant.

She pointed to the wobbly catch. She stepped away and gave him room to examine it.

“I see. It’s a bit loose.” He gestured at the other windows. “I’ll take a look at all of them.”

She smiled a small smile and tried to think what to do while he worked. There was nothing else to potter with. She saw on the coffee table her book and reading glasses. Of course. She picked them up and sat on the other sofa. She consciously disconnected from what he was doing and forced her eyes along the lines on the page.

All right, just a quick glance. His hands were wide, with dark hair. He certainly knew his way around a screwdriver.

He started to turn. Her eyes flicked back to the page in a heartbeat.

“I’ve sorted all of them for you.”

He looked down at her. She looked at him over the top of her glasses. Their eyes held a couple of beats too long.

“Thank you!” she said, deliberately keeping her pupils small.

He walked towards the front door. She laid aside her book and glasses and rose. As he bent over and pushed his feet back into his boots, she opened the door and peered outside. Cold air rushed in. The sky was dense with grey cloud, and a few drops of rain fell.

“It’s a good day for being inside!” he said with a smile.

“It certainly is!” she laughed.