"Okay, and what's the address?" the gruff voice asked pleasantly.

"2722 Cambridge Street."

"Oh!" The man on the other end of the line perked up. "Miss Fields! Our best customer! We ought to give you a volume discount!" Emily laughed, hiding her embarrassment. "Okay," the man said. "I'll send Paige by at 9 AM tomorrow."

"Okay, thank you!"

Emily hung up the phone and blew out a long sigh. She had no business owning a house – especially one of those grand old Philadelphia row houses, where the plumbing was older than most colleges out on the West Coast. She knew, of course, that she was very fortunate, especially at her age, to own her own house, but, especially at times like this, she missed her old studio apartment. It may have been tiny, but she never had to worry about clogged drains or leaky faucets.

For as long as she could remember, Emily had wanted to be a writer, and, living in Rosewood, in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the dream was always about writing in the city: Becoming a regular at the coffee shop where she would her early morning hours, writing late into the afternoon, ordering take out for dinner, and enjoying the Philly nightlife on the weekends. In her senior year at Temple, she got an internship with Philadelphia Magazine, and that led to a position as a copy editor after graduation. It didn't pay much, but it was enough to allow her to live frugally in the city and still have time to write.

When her great aunt passed away and left behind an old row house in North Philadelphia that none of Emily's cousins had any interest in maintaining, the family decided to give it to Emily, since she was already living in the city. After the family took the keepsakes and curios that they wanted, Emily held an estate sale, which covered some minor renovations to make the house more suitable for a young writer than an older widow. The house itself had been paid off long ago, leaving Emily with just the property taxes, which were about the same as what she had been paying for rent, but with considerably more space. The house was big enough that Emily had the option of taking in a roommate – or offering a room on Airbnb, but she was in no hurry to do so. For the time being, at least, she was just enjoying the quietness of the house and all of its little spaces where she could write.

Enjoying it, that is, until one of the faucets started to leak.

Emily could've called her father to look at the pipes. That would have been cheaper – at least from a financial standpoint. But Emily would have had to accept the cost of being teased mercilessly by her dad about not being able to take care of minor repairs herself, about how she never outgrew her need for "Daddy" to come and bail her out, and blah, blah, blah. It was just easier to take the hit to her checkbook. And, despite what Mr. McCullers said about her being a regular, it didn't seem to Emily the she had called on his services that often; – five or six times, maybe, in the year or so that she had lived there. She didn't even think that he would remember her, since Philadelphia was a pretty big city. But, as Emily was beginning to realize, the city functioned more like a group of small neighborhoods. Yes, it was big, but McCullers Plumbing & Heating only covered a small portion of it. He was basically her neighborhood plumber.

Emily tidied up a bit and made sure that everything was wiped down in the bathroom before she went to bed that night, in preparation for Paige's visit.

Paige stood in the doorway in her usual navy blue coveralls, leather tool belt, and disarming smile. She was always very pleasant. Emily thought that she must really enjoy her job. She certainly enjoyed talking. The first time Paige came, to look into a drippy toilet handle, Emily wasn't sure how to behave with a contractor in the house. She didn't want to hover, as if she was checking on Paige's work, but she didn't want to seem aloof, as if she thought that talking to the plumber was beneath her. But Paige made it easy. She always had something to talk about, and she didn't make Emily feel helpless or foolish for not being able to fix her own plumbing problems. Once or twice, she repeated a story that she had told Emily on a previous visit, and Emily smiled to herself over that. With the amount of homes Paige had been in, Emily understood that she couldn't keep track of which jokes or stories she had already used. It was kind of cute.

Emily was leaning against the doorpost, with her arms casually crossed around her waist, as Paige worked under the sink. "So, do you think you'll take over your dad's business when he retires?"

Paige chuckled. "Oh, I never had much interest in the law," she said grunting as she twisted a pipe. "I'd much rather work with my hands." She turned and shot Emily a quick smile, about to continue, but stopped when she saw the confusion on Emily's face. "Oh! You mean my Uncle John's business!" Paige smiled, tilting her head, realizing that Emily thought that John McCullers was her father. "I thought that question was a little out of the blue!"

Emily hid her face in her hand. "I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I just assumed…"

Paige shrugged a shoulder. "How would you have known?" She gave Emily her disarming smile again before she turned back to the business underneath the sink. "My Dad and I never really got along," she explained. "Especially not after I came out." Emily was glad that Paige was back under the sink and couldn't see the smile that lit up her face when Paige mentioned coming out. "That's when Uncle John and his family took me in. He taught me a trade and made me a part of his business." Paige came out from under the sink, wiping the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. Emily reached for the bottle of water that she had brought Paige earlier and handed it to her. Paige tipped it in Emily's direction in gratitude and took a long gulp. "Some people think it's a step down, choosing plumbing over the law. But I like what I do," Paige said, upbeat. "I like problem-solving, you know? It's a new puzzle every time. Plus, I get to meet a lot of interesting people, and I get to see their houses…" Paige looked at Emily with a mock-serious expression. "You can't hide anything from your plumber," she said, managing to keep a straight face. "The pipes… the pipes tell all secrets."

And what do my pipes tell you about me? Emily wondered. She didn't have the courage to ask. Even though her long-held suspicion (or was it just a hope?) about Paige's sexuality had just been confirmed, Emily wasn't sure whether or not Paige was flirting, or even single.

"Anyway," Paige said, waking Emily from her mind's wanderings, "getting back to your question, I'm not sure. I mean, his kids don't have any interest in the business – which is why he taught me everything – so I would logically be the next in line, but, it's not so straightforward. Well, for one thing, I do electrical work on the side, and I don't know whether or not I could juggle those two things, or, you know, should I give up the electrical work for this established business…" Paige smiled, embarrassed that she was going through the whole decision-making process in front of Emily, who had just been making conversation. "Well, anyway," she said, turning back to the pipes. "We'll see. Uncle John has started talking about retirement, but I don't think he's going to be ready for that for a long time."

"Well, you obviously love the work," Emily observed.

"Yeah, I do!"

"And you're obviously great at it…"

Paige chuckled shyly, under the sink, where Emily couldn't see her expression. "Thank you," she said.

Back downstairs, as Paige finished writing out the invoice, Emily cleared her throat and, with a nervous flutter in her voice, asked, "So, you, um… You do electrical work, too?"

"Uh huh." Paige reached into a slot on the side of her tool belt and produced a business card. "Usually nights and weekends, though. You know, I'm not doing anything behind my uncle's back, but I want to make sure that I'm not costing him any business, whenever he needs me to go out on a call."

Emily held the card with both hands as she looked it over:

Paige McCullers
Wiring and Electrical
Repairs - Renovations - Emergency

It was brief and to the point, just like Paige. Emily tapped the card against her thumb and raised it in the air, making a show of pinning it to her note board. "Well, I'll keep that in mind," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

"I hope you do," Paige said with a slight huskiness in her voice that Emily assumed had to do with wanting to drum up new business, despite what her heart wanted her to believe about at least a little bit of flirting being involved.

Emily had always used the excuse that she never had time to research how to do home repairs, so it was a little odd that she found herself scouring the internet to find out about electrical work for the opposite reason: She was trying to learn how to break a lighting fixture, without making it obvious that it had been done intentionally. It was the kind of thing Toby would know for sure, but asking him was out of the question. He would tell Spencer, and Spencer would tell Aria and Hanna, and it would turn into a big deal. And the last thing Emily needed was for her friends to make it into a big deal. But she quickly gave up on her internet search, since the results that she was getting were all on some pretty sketchy web sites, for people who wanted to defraud their insurance companies or cover up a crime. Just looking at the search results made Emily feel vulnerable to being hacked.

It was amazing how often her plumbing broke down, but when she needed something to go wrong electrically, nothing.

She was having dinner at her dining room table one night (instead of in her basement office, where she usually ate) when a lightbulb came on – literally and figuratively. The chandelier above her great aunt's antique table was very old and elegant – and very bright. Emily wondered whether it could be put on a dimmer. That question, had it come to her a week earlier, would've been filed away on her "To Do – Eventually" list, but, with the knowledge that Paige did electrical work, the idea got fast-tracked.

Emily tried to convince herself that the idea wasn't crazy as she punched in Paige's number. It was a legitimate request, after all. Still, her heart was pounding as she waited for Paige – or, preferably, her voice mail – to pick up.

"Paige McCullers," Paige said, and Emily paused for a second, to make sure that it wasn't a recording.

"Paige? This is Emily."

"Hi, Emily! How are you?"

Paige didn't ask what she could do for Emily. She answered as she might have were it a regular phone call rather than a business call, and that helped Emily calm down. She didn't want to have to rush through the details of what she needed done, and Paige didn't seem to be in a hurry. Talking to her felt like talking to a friend.

"I, um…" Emily was about to launch into the speech that she had so meticulously prepared, when she realized what Paige had asked. "I'm good," she said in reply, quickly changing course. "How are you?"

"Great!" Paige replied, with that McCullers enthusiasm.

"Good!" Emily said with a chuckle. "Um… I was actually calling about some electrical work?" Emily was apologetic at interjecting business into the call.

"Great!" Paige repeated. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I'm not sure this is even possible, but I've been wondering whether I could get a dimmer added to the light switch in my dining room?"

"Sure," Paige said. "I mean, probably. Do you know what kind of switch you want?"

"What kind of switch…" Emily echoed helplessly.

"Yeah. I'm just thinking, because it's an older house, you know, some people don't like to use those circular switches that you usually see. They think those switches look out of place. I could put in one that looks like a regular flip-switch, or I could put in a slider…"

Emily winced, realizing that she hadn't prepared adequately for this conversation. Paige picked up on the silence on the other end of the line and eased off. "Tell you what," she said reassuringly. "I'll bring a couple of options when I come, and we'll see what looks best. And you don't have to make a decision on the spot. I can leave the switches, and, once you've had some time to look them over, you can let me know which way you want to go."

"That sounds great," Emily said, relieved.

"Does tomorrow work for you?"

"Perfect!"

"Okay, how about 6:30?"

"That would be great, Paige. I'll see you then."

Paige took longer than usual getting ready, admittedly nervous about her upcoming appointment at Emily's house. She wasn't worried that she wouldn't be able to do the job to Emily's satisfaction; she was nervous because it was going to be the first time that Emily saw her in something other than those horribly unflattering coveralls that her uncle insisted that she wear to plumbing jobs. Over the years that they'd worked together, Paige had managed to get him to make some concessions to modern times. He let her put together a web site. He learned how to text her when any of her appointments changed, rather than using that balky radio in the van. And he started taking credit cards. But, on the issue of the uniform, he was unmovable. When you're going into someone's house, he insisted, you have to project an air of professionalism. And nothing was more unprofessional, in Uncle John's eyes, than the stereotypical plumber's crack.

Emily, too, was nervous about the appointment. Usually, during her daytime appointments, Emily was wearing her writing uniform: loose-fitting sweats, or yoga pants and a shapeless t-shirt. The outfit she had chosen for her electrical appointment was decidedly different, and she was worried that, even if she were able to work up the nerve to go through with her little plan, Paige, feeling underdressed and uncomfortable, would back away. Or Paige might rip off those coveralls, revealing a dashing tuxedo – or a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing those strong shoulders that not even the baggy coveralls could hide.

Emily was surprised but impressed when she looked through the peephole and saw Paige, in dark jeans, and a faded denim shirt over with a white t-shirt underneath. She didn't have her tool belt, but when Emily opened the door, she saw that Paige was carrying a toolbox instead. Paige's draw dropped a little when she saw Emily in her little black evening dress, but she pulled it together immediately. Professionalism. Emily was barefoot, as she usually was when Paige saw her, but her hair was down, not up in the bun that Paige was used to seeing on her other appointments.

Paige slapped her forehead with her palm. "Oh, crap!" she exclaimed, embarrassed. "It's Friday night! What was I thinking?" Shaking her head, she added. "I'm sorry, Emily. We can reschedule…"

"No, don't be silly, Paige!"

Paige hesitated for a moment before she came inside. "Okay. I'll be quick, I promise."

Emily smiled back at Paige as she led her to the dining room. "Paige, it's fine, I swear. I knew it was Friday when I made the appointment!"

As soon as Emily turned her head away from Paige, facing forward again, Paige dipped her head, shaking it in shame at her stupidity.

When Paige saw the bottle of wine and the pair of glasses on the dining room table, her face fell. "Oh, God. You've got someone coming over, and I'm going to have your wall all torn up…" Her whole body sagged as she tried to collect herself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll hurry. You'll never know I was here."

Emily saw the look of panic on Paige's face and began second-guessing her plan – again. But Paige was so adorably flustered that it brought out Emily's protective instincts. "Paige," she said, putting her hands on Paige's shoulders to help settle her. Paige's shoulders were every bit as solid as Emily had expected them to be, and she found herself squeezing them slightly, before she realized that she was doing it. "Relax, okay?" she said in a soothing tone.

The feeling of Emily's hands on Paige's shoulders, combined with the consoling smile that Emily was flashing at her, short-circuited Paige's brain. She fell back into her only comfort zone: work.

Paige knelt down on the ground, opened her toolbox, and started fumbling through the collection of dimmer switches that she had brought. "So, um… as I was saying, we could go at this several different ways."

"So, I could get a switch that looks like this one," Emily proposed, pointing to the light switch on the wall, "but it's a dimmer?"

Paige nodded, brandishing a switch that was a pretty close match for the one that was already installed.

"Yeah – let's go with that," Emily said, nodding her head and smiling.

"Are you sure?" Paige said, standing. "You don't want to think it over?"

"No, I'm sure." Emily nodded again, with a confident smile. "It's perfect."

"I'm just going to need to get at your circuit breakers," Paige said, her voice breaking slightly. She had seen Emily's smile before, but there was something about it that night that made her stomach flutter. "I should be able to wrap things up here in about 15 or 20 minutes?" Emily nodded. "Or I could come back tomorrow morning? Or in the afternoon, in case you…" Paige stopped herself mid-sentence, realizing that there was no delicate way to continue. "In case you need to sleep in, after your guest keeps you up late?" "In case you two are still feeling a bit frisky in the morning?"

Emily looked rather confused about the sentence that Paige had cut off in the middle.

"I just don't want to be in your way," Paige pleaded. "You know, I'm supposed to be like the photographer at a wedding. You shouldn't know I'm there, until you see how great the end results are."

Emily had to laugh at the obscure example that Paige had chosen to make her point. She lightly slapped Paige's cheek twice. "Paige. Chill," she said sternly, before she broke into a smile.

Paige grunted out a shy laugh, sensing that she had enjoyed Emily's fingers on her cheek a little more than Emily had intended for her to. She cleared her throat. "So, uh… that circuit box?"

"Right… the… circuit box…" Emily swiveled around, surveying the layout on the first floor as she spoke. She knew she had seen the circuit box somewhere, but she had never paid that much attention to it, and she couldn't for the life of her remember where she had seen it.

Paige gestured with her arms, to give Emily a sense of the box's size. "It's a grey metal panel, with a bunch of…"

"Paige," Emily said, stifling a laugh. "I know what a circuit box is! I just don't know where mine is."

"Probably in the basement," Paige said, grabbing a flashlight from her toolbox. Emily led the way downstairs. After they looked around a bit, Paige asked, "Is that a closet?" pointing to the far corner, where there was a door, partially blocked by Emily's desk.

"Oh, right!" As soon as Paige pointed it out, Emily remembered that the circuit box was behind it. "Sorry, I can move my desk."

"No need," Paige assured her, as she poked her flashlight inside the partially opened door. She was relieved to find that the breakers were labelled. Flipping one of them into the "OFF" position, she asked Emily to confirm that the chandelier had gone off. In a matter of minutes, she had replaced the switch – just in time, she hoped, for Emily to be able to use the dimmer to create some atmosphere befitting the bottle of wine.

"Listen," Paige said as she quickly gathered her tools together, "I can just drop off your invoice some other day, so I can get out of your hair…"

"Well, don't rush off," Emily said, whining slightly. Before Paige could start in again about Emily's date, Emily confessed. "I don't have anyone coming over tonight." She sighed, embarrassed. "This is going to sound silly, but I've been saving that bottle of wine" (Emily pointed vaguely towards the dining room) "for when I sold my first book, and I just got a notice from a publisher this week."

"That's fantastic, Emily!" Paige broke into a big smile and, before she realized what she was doing, gave Emily a hug. "That doesn't sound silly at all," she said. As she filled out the invoice, she joked, "I'd better keep my eyes on the events calendar at Barnes & Noble. I wouldn't want to miss your big book signing."

"Oh, God, no!" Emily laughed, her hand landing on Paige's shoulder. "This is just my first book! Trust me, nobody wants my signature…"

"Except for me," Paige joked, handing Emily a pen and pointing to the "X" printed on the invoice next to the block for the customer's signature.

As Emily signed, she explained, "I won't get asked to do any signings unless my book makes the bestseller list or gets made into a movie or something."

Paige handed Emily her copy of the invoice and held up the original. "So, I guess I'd better hang on to this signature, for when you're a famous writer?"

Emily shook her head, smiling. "I'm kind of like you," she explained. "I didn't get into writing because I want to be famous. I got into it because I just enjoy writing," she said with a shrug. "And, if I can make a living at it…"

"'Find the job you love, and you'll never work another day in your life.' That's what my uncle always says."

"Sounds like a wise man."

"Yeah." Paige dipped her head. Tucking the invoice into her file, she reached for her toolbox. "Okay, well, I'd better be on my way."

Emily grabbed Paige by the shoulder, lightly. "Paige…" She looked away, nervous. "Do you have to leave so soon?" Emily dipped her head. "I… don't like to drink alone."

Paige was confused for a split second. She had seen two wine glasses on the table. A smile stretched across her face as realization hit. "I don't have anywhere to be," she said in a soft, husky voice.

Emily led her by the hand back to the dining room table. As Paige opened the bottle, Emily dimmed the lights.

Emily wasn't a romance novelist, but even if she had been, she couldn't have come up with a more perfect ending.

A/N – Hey, all you beautiful people… I just wanted to let you know that I've been working on a prompt for a multi-chapter Paily fic that I was hoping to start posting in October, but life had other plans. :( So, please accept this little one-shot as my way of letting you know that I'm still on the Paily train, and my way of asking you to be so kind as to hang in there with me despite the delay.

Thanks so much for reading! :)

(…and by the way, I'm not so egotistical as to suggest by that last line that I think this story has the most perfect romantic ending…)

(Oh, yeah – sorry about the title. I came up with a half dozen worse ideas before I settled on this one… ;) )