to them.

When I heard the bell ring, I quite carefully untucked the sheets stuffed under the door and eased it open. A quick site check revealed no movement, and so I tiptoed in my clunky boots to the foyer. “Coming!” I shouted, not wanting the exterminator to think I was taking too long and decide to bolt.

I snatched open the door and commented, “Boy am I glad you’re here...” but that was before I’d taken a look at the guy. Once I glanced up and let my eyes adjust to the morning light, I realized just how amazingly glad I really was.

The exterminator was a beast of man. He stood six-foot-four and was broad and thick across the shoulders. He was wearing the usual blue button-down shirt and navy work pants. As I eyed him up and down I remarked his huge, black, steel-toed boots (he must have been at least a size 13) and an embroidered nametag on his left breast that read ‘Emmanuel’.

“I understand you have a pest control problem,” he responded with a thick, deep, raw voice and a heavy, African accent.

“Um... yes. Wow. Where are you from?” I was too distracted to focus on the rat problem.

Emmanuel smiled, revealing big, pearly perfectly aligned teeth behind his full, pink, rosy lips. “My family as Nigerian. But I am from right here in Florida.”

There was something in the way he said it – “Flohr – Ree – Dah” – that weakened my knees and set a fire in my stomach. This man was oozing pure sex.

Flustered, I managed to explain my predicament. Emmanuel listened with a calm focus, staring in the direction of the kitchen as I detailed the particulars of the event. Without a word, he walked casually across the livingroom and turned into the dining room. He walked in front of the refrigerator and crouched down, peering into the gap between the edge of the fridge and cupboards. He seemed to be thoughtfully assessing the situation. Rising back to his feet, he plucked two weathered leather gloves from a pouch on his utility belt and stretched them over his huge, dark, mitts. Emmanuel then reached around the sides of the refrigerator, effectively bear-hugging the immense device.

I marveled at what I saw next, as he effortlessly lifted the entire machine an inch off the linoleum and just walked it back wards out into the kitchen. “Oh my...” I muttered under my breath. Involuntarily, one hand came up to cover my mouth, while the other dropped to rub my lower belly.

Emmanuel then crouched again, and squeezed into the space previously occupied by my refrigerator. He let out a little “Ah-hah” sound and I saw him reach through a tiny hole in the wall near the baseboards and begin groping around. In an instant, he withdrew his arm and in his big, leather-gloved palm he gently held a tiny little brown field mouse.

I squealed at the sight of it, but a moment after that reaction, I softened to the little critter. He was actually kind of cute. “I must dispose of the animal now,” Emmanuel declared as he turned and headed back toward the front door.

I felt a twinge of guilt. “Do... do you have to?” I muttered. “I mean, can’t we just let him go?”

Emmanuel thought for a moment before responding. “We certainly could. But it is very likely