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“Your electrical?” he finally asks.

“Oh! Yes. Come in.” I remove my hand from his, immediately bereft from its warm embrace, and step aside so he can enter.

“Whoa.” He stops in his tracks as he eyes my menagerie of Christmas decorations.

“Don’t worry, it’s all 3M hooks, I won’t leave any permanent damage.”

“No, it’s just... July?”

I giggle. “You don’t say.”

He squints and twists his mouth to the side.

“I’m method acting,” I explain.

He continues his quizzical look.

“It’s where you immerse yourself in a part to really get into the emotionality of it, even when you’re off set—”

“Like Daniel Day Lewis?”

I snap my fingers and jump in excitement. “Yes!”

He gives a short nod of his head. “That explains the sweater.”

I cast a glance down at myself. “Oh, yeah. I’ve had this thing forever. I wear it every year.”

“Are you here for that movie they’re filming downtown?”

My grin grows ten sizes. “Yes! It’s a Christmas movie, hence—” I gesture to my sweater, then to our surroundings.

“That’s so cool,” he says, slouching a little closer to my level. “I feel like I know someone famous.”

My face tingles with warmth. I don’t correct him about the famous part. “Well, if you want an autograph, let me know.”

He chuckles. “I’ll definitely have to get one.”

We hold each other’s gaze for exactly four and a half seconds.

“Anyway,” he says, finally breaking away and stepping toward the bedroom. “The electrical box is in here if you need it again. It’s behind this picture.”

He has a great voice. It has a playful quality to it, with a slight rasp like he’s just woken from a nap, and there’s a subtle lisp on hiss’s. I follow him into the bedroom and watch as he lifts a mountain-scape off the wall to reveal the rectangular grey panel. He opens it, immediately locates the source of my problem, and switches it back. The lights go on, the AC unit hums to life, and Arnie’s voice begins shouting in the other room about getting back his doll.

And Matt is in my bedroom.

And my clothes are spread out on my bed.

Including my Christmas-themed underwear.

Our eyes land on the red-and-green-striped thong at the same time. I swipe it away and it flies across the room, landing on the floor somewhere in the corner.

“Uh, thank you?” I say, sheepishly scratching my messy bun.

“Oh, um, you’re welcome,” he says, snapping his focus back to me as he comes around the far side of the bed. I back out of the bedroom and he follows behind, then turns to face me as he walks backward, our chests brushing alongside each other’s oh so gently. A titillating zing zips through my entire body, ending somewhere between my thighs. I can’t help but inhale his scent: masculine, tangy, no masking of cologne or obtrusive soap, like he hasn’t showered yet today. I don’t mind it one bit. If anything, I want to get closer, run my nose up his neck, taste the salt on his skin at the base of his throat.

He pauses in the living room to admire my handiwork.

I fill the silence while giving my head a subtle shake. “Christmas is my favourite time of year, so any excuse for another Christmas is great. You know? I love everything about Christmas—” I move past him and get back on my hands andknees to remove the blow-up Santa’s plug so I don’t flip another breaker or start a fire “—I love the music and the decorations and the movies and the gifts and the food, oh my god, don’t get me started on the food, turkey dinner? Why don’t we eat turkey other times of the year? Why just Christmas? And—” I scoot backward, plug in hand, and look over my shoulder.