“Um…” I answered because I didn’t want to brag. I was good at it. I’d been top salesperson month after month for the last four years after Barney Ruffalo quit (or resigned voluntarily rather than face the sexual harassment charges that Roberta lodged against him). Barney had been my nemesis mainly because he was a dick and always came onto me, along with every woman that worked there or walked through the door, and because he stole my customers.

Mitch looked back at my tap, muttering, “You’re good at it.”

“Pretty good,” I allowed.

“Yeah,” he said to the faucet and continued, “put money down that ninety percent of the men who walk in that place go direct to you and make a purchase.”

This was a weird thing to say. It was true. Most of my customers were men. Men needed mattresses and beds just like any other human being. When they came to Pierson’s, since we had excellent quality, value and choice, they’d not want to go anywhere else.

“Why do you say ninety percent?” I asked Mitch.

“ ’Cause the other ten percent of the male population is gay,” he answered the faucet. I blinked at his head in confusion at his words. He straightened, putting the wrench down and lifting his other hand. Between an attractive index finger and thumb was a small, round, black plastic doohickey with a hole in the middle that had some shredding at the edges. “You need a new washer,” he informed me.

I looked from the doohickey to him. “I don’t have one of those.”

He grinned straight out, and my breath got caught in my throat. “No, don’t reckon you do,” he told me. “Gotta go to the hardware store.” Then he flicked the doohickey in my bathroom trash bin and started to exit the room.

I stared at his well-formed back, but my body jolted and I hurried after him.

“No,” I called. “You don’t have to do that. The water is off now and I have another bathroom.” He kept walking and I kept following him and talking. “I’ll pop by the management office tomorrow and let them know what’s up so they can come fix it.”

He had my door open. He stopped in it and turned back to me, so I stopped too.

“No, I’ll go by the management office tomorrow and tell them how I feel about them lettin’ a single woman who pays for their service and has lived in their complex for six years go without a callback when she needs somethin’ important done. And tonight, I’ll go to the hardware store, get a washer, come back and fix your faucet.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I assured him courteously.

“You’re right, but I’m doin’ it,” he told me firmly.

Okay then. Seeing as his firm was very firm, I decided to let that go.