Page 5 of Hot Under the Collar

“Didn’t notice.” He was far better at banter than he was letting on. But tonight Lynne seemed to be throwing him off. Get it together, man. “Do you have any water?”

“Never heard of it.” She smirked. “One birthday water coming right up.”

Lynne’s dad swooped in behind her. “Happy birthday, kid,” he said, passing him a jar of maraschino cherries with a bow on top. “Ruby said you prefer those in your drink. Makes sense. Every time one of you kids got nosy behind the bar, your dad would distract you with ‘em.”

The mention of his dad stung a little, but Leo stayed gracious. “Aww, thanks, Dale. Yeah, I didn’t mean to put you all out. I know they’re basically candy, but it’s sentimental candy.”

Dale exhaled, long and slow. “No harm. I get it. I miss him, too. Just don’t cry. No cryin’ allowed on your birthday. Okay?”

“Okay,” Leo agreed.

Lynne returned with a big glass of iced water, and he chugged half of it down. Behind him, the bell above the door chimed. When he turned to look around, he noticed the bar was nearly cleared out. Even the last of his friends waved him goodbye.

He fidgeted with his sleeves, not really wanting to leave yet, and tried not to stare as Lynne started cleaning up the tables. The exposed back of her dress was a quiet kind of beautiful. Her bare spine subtle but devastating. His imagination tripped over it, and for a moment he forgot where he was.

Dale’s voice pulled him from the daydream. “Hey, kid. I’m gonna have Lynne walk you home, okay? No insult. Happens to all of us. Too much birthday fun.” He cocked his head. “You just look like you’re about to fall off my barstool.”

If only you knew why, Dale, he thought.

Shocked and barely believing his luck, Leo agreed.

“Hey, Lynny!” Dale yelled. “Walk this guy home, will ya? I’d kill myself if something happened to him.”

Her eyes flicked to Leo, and he tried to appear more drunk than he felt. She didn’t question it and, instead, put the rag down and walked over to him.

“Here, let me have that,” she said, pulling the helmet from his hands. “Don’t want you to get into trouble breaking this thing before you even start.”

There was something about the way her delicate fingers played on the surface of the helmet—careful and measured—that seemed like admiration. Maybe men in uniforms were more than a fetish to her. Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

She turned to Dale. “Did you know Leo’s training to be a firefighter, Dad?”

“Oh, wow,” Dale said, his voice shaking a little. “Your father would’ve been so proud of you.”

It had been eleven years since Leo’s dad had died. In a fire. In this very bar, just after Leo turned ten. It was the worst fire Autumn Ridge had seen up until then or since. Leo knew when he decided to train to be a firefighter, the whole town would have opinions on it. Was he making up for not being able to save his dad? Did he have a rescuer complex? Was this all just unprocessed grief? He realized part of his training would require him to ignore what others thought about it, which was hard, given how much he liked being the center of attention.

But the way Dale beamed at him let him know it was the right decision, that it would all be worth it.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

Dale and Ruby offered a little wave as Lynne escorted him out the back door to the alley.

“I’ve never been to your place,” she reminded him. “I just know it’s close by.”

“This way,” he said, jutting his chin out. “It’s very close.”

They walked in silence for a bit, her clutching his helmet, as one word ran through his mind. Kid. Everyone still called him that. But not Lynne. She called him Leo. He wasn’t drunk—not really. Just warm and floaty from one too many free birthday drinks, and from the way her arm kept brushing against his as they walked the short distance through the now-quiet streets. Autumn Ridge was colder these nights, the kind of cold that nipped at your ears and made your breath look like smoke. He liked how close she stayed to him, as if she was afraid he’d tip over any moment. He liked even more the way she kept tugging the hem of that white dress to keep the breeze from catching it, muttering curses under her breath.

A cursing goddess, he thought, resisting the urge to smile. Sign me up for that.

He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk.

“Hey, Lynne?” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Hmm?”

“What time do you think I was born? My mom never remembers. I’m guessing noon. If I came any earlier, my dad would’ve slept straight through it.”

She snorted. “That checks out. But my guess is whatever time would’ve made your Halloween birthday even more dramatic than it already is.”