Page 38 of My Favorite Hero

“Even if it was, what makes you think you’d get any?”

“Because you’d never deny a local hero, Casey,” I said seriously.

She began to laugh, making my lips quirk.

“Keep telling yourself that, Thorne.”

I followed her to the living room, still holding on to the box. We stood staring at each other. She waited patiently.

“One set of wind chimes on the house,” I acquiesced. “Only one.”

“But they’re all so pretty.”

“One.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“You decide which one, and I’ll hang it. No borrowing ladders. It’s not safe.”

She pursed her lips. “I rather liked it outside my bedroom window.”

I held in my enthusiasm for her choice. That was the farthest spot from me, so I wouldn’t hear it as much.

“Which one?”

She held out her hands, and I gave her the box. Her look of delight turned into a frown. “You have them all bunched up.” She held up a mass of string, shells, and bells, the sounds all clanging together in muted rage.

“Oops.”

She glared at me, her hand on her hip. “It will take two people to untangle this mess, Thorne. And you’re helping me.”

I withheld my groan. “Fine. But my reward is dinner.”

“Your reward is that I didn’t file a real report at the station.”

“Would you really do that?” I asked, tilting my head to the side and studying her. “Tarnish my reputation?”

Her mouth pulled upward at my teasing. “I guess you’ll never know.”

I answered her grin. “I guess we’d better get this mess straightened out.”

It took a long time to untwist and fix her wind chimes. Longer than I expected. My suggestion of taking a pair of scissors and simply cutting them and starting over was met with a frown. Casey’s patience seemed endless as she untied, un-looped, and freed each one, then started the seemingly never-ending task of untangling the individual ones.

I looked around the room, noticing a few more changes.

“Nice bookcase.”

“I got it at the local thrift shop. I thought it looked good there.”

I studied the books. “You like to read, obviously.”

“Yes.”

I squinted, mouthing the titles. “I see. You’re a closet historical romance reader,” I teased.

She rolled her eyes, not stopping in her busy endeavors. “Nothing closet about it. I already found a book club. I love regency. So much pent-up passion under layers of rules and forbidden lines.”

I chuckled. “Are you going to come down the stairs in a ball gown on your way to your book club?”