“Please don’t tell me you’re trying to see if the cookies she burnt are still edible,” I say, and it comes out more as a growl.
“No harm in checking,” he replies, his dopey grin on his face as he opens the screen door. “I’m going to do a quick walk around the duplex to check for clear pathways for emergency access and make sure they have safe placement of any propane tanks,” he adds, and it reminds me that he isn’t a complete moron.
“I’ll do the inside,” I mutter, as he closes the screen door behind him, giving me a salute as he heads out to walk the perimeter of the backyard.
I left my clipboard on the lawn out front, but I know the checklist for the inspection like the back of my hand. Now that our little detour is over with, we can get back to what we’re actually here for.
And that doesn’t include fixating on whose house this is or how it’s like I thought of her enough times today to conjure up a scenario where I run into her—again.
I already know the fire alarm works just fine, and there are two clear exits—one of which I completely destroyed—at both the front and back of the house. There’s no upstairs, so as long as she has at least one fire extinguisher, she should be good.
And that’s when it hits me.
Where is her daughter?
She doesn’t seem like the type to put cookies in an unattended oven and take a shower with a baby in the house. I look around the living room, evidence of Evee all over the place. Her toys, books, and stuffed animals decorate the space, making the space feel that much more homey.
I’m not left to wonder alone for long when the door to what I assume is a bedroom opens, revealing Rumi, no longer wet and naked—much to my relief.
And disappointment.
“Where’s Evee?” I ask at the same time she says, “So what are you doing here?”
We both let out a laugh, ignoring the awkwardness of our third coincidental meeting in the last two days—fourth if you count last year—and I gesture for her to go first.
Her wet hair is brushed, tucked behind her ears, and she has on a light green crew neck with matching sweatpants, her feet still barefoot.
“What are you doing here?” she asks again before adding, “not that I’m not happy you were here to help with the smoke—and witness my pure, unadulterated embarrassment—but it’s not every day a firefighter breaks down your front door after you burn some cookies.”
“We were in the neighborhood for an inspection,” I answer, and she nods, watching me carefully as I continue. “We were about to knock on your door when we heard the alarm, and then when we did, there was no answer.” I look toward the front door, now realizing it was a slight overreaction to the situation, but it was instinct when I heard her scream. My hand goes to the back of my neck, and I feel a warmth to my skin. “I’ll fix it.”
Her eyes move from mine to my neck and back up to my eyes, her lips curving. “I might take you up on that,” she says.
I clear my throat, coughing into my fist. “Where’s Evee?”
“Oh, um, she’s with Ava at swim classes.”
“You started her young then, huh?” With my EMT training, water safety, especially with infants, is something I’m familiar with, and I like that Rumi does all she can to keep her daughter safe.
Rumi nods. “It was a way for me to get rid of some of the worries I had as a new mom about not being able to protect her from everything.” Her eyes look almost gray in the dim light coming from her kitchen, the sun now almost set. She shakes her head. “It sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud.”
“It’s not stupid,” I tell her. I want to say more, but she lets out a humorless laugh before I can.
“Ava offered to take her after I worked an open to close shift today. Tonight was supposed to be a night for me to…relax.” That blush is back in her cheeks.
“You burn cookies to relax?”
This time she laughs for real. “Thanks for rubbing it in. At least it brought my new friend to my door, or should I saythrough?”
The smile on my face blooms before I even realize it, and I bark out a laugh. I take a step closer to her. “You think fire safety is a joke?” I tease—flirt?I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I don’t want to stop.
Rumi takes a small step toward me, only a few more steps separating us where we stand in her living room. “The same way you think burnt cookies are,” she teases back, crossing her arms over her chest. Last night, she crossed her arms to put distance between us. Tonight, the way she sticks out her hip, cocking her head, she’s giving me attitude.
And I fucking love it.
I take another step in her direction, and she does the same. “First thing you need to know about me,friend,” the word makes my lips tingle in a not-so-nice way, “I take cookies very seriously.” I have no idea what the fuck I’m saying—I don’t evenlikecookies, or any sweets for that matter—but it makes her take that final step between us, bringing her bare feet only inches from my work boots, and I think I’d say absolutely anything in that moment as long as she stays right here.
“As do I,” she replies, her voice taking on a more playful tone, one I wouldn’t mind coaxing out of her more as ourfriendshipgrows.
