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This was one of the many reasons Ward was my people. He knew when I needed help even if I was too stubborn to admit it—to him, or myself.
Lauren: Sorry about the little snafu with your reservation. (eyeroll emoji) Great news though! I found an amazing deal at the Kelly Bay Pines. You can check in tonight after 6pm. Reservation number is X7L9B1123.
Only Lauren would consider getting catfished by an ad that sounded like it was placed by an axe murderer a snafu. And of course she got me a room for a steal in the recently fumigated motel. Can’t wait to sleep in that lingering cloud of poison gas.
But at least I wouldn’t be invading a stranger’s personal space to stay there.
Dammit.I’d managed to make it a good thirty minutes without thinking about him. I closed my eyes, pulled a lock of my hair under my nose and breathed deep. The scent of his bodywash filled my nostrils, sunny and bright but with a sharp edge to it. I imagined I was back in the hallway of his house, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off him from his shower. Wishing I would’ve reached out to touch the slick strands of his still damp hair, or the coarse scruff peppering his granite jaw.
Jeez, nothing creepy to see here, folks.
Popping my eyes open, I inspected the memorabilia hanging on the wall next to my booth. Instead of it being manufactured kitsch like at a lot of chain restaurants, it looked like the stuff on the walls here was all real, local treasures. Baseball jerseys, old event posters, newspaper clippings and old photographs.
A framed newspaper article hung in my booth. There was Mr. Mystery Homeowner himself staring back at me in black and white. He was younger, but just as handsome. The newspaper story was dated six years ago. He and three other men stood shoulder to shoulder in turnout gear, looking dirty and exhausted but all sporting tired smiles. The caption below the picture read Kelly Bay Fire Department rescues nine children and three teachers from fire at the Old Apple Ridge School. No fatalities. Only the first few lines of the article were visible, the rest folded up to fit in the frame.
I did not have a thing for broody jerks. But hot firefighters who took pity on you, brought you out of the rain, and gave you a meal and a warm bed to sleep in when you were down on your luck? I mean, come on.
What was next? A picture of him—
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” My eyes stopped dead in their tracks at the picture of him hanging above the next booth over. He was shirtless, in the pants part of his firefighter gear and suspenders, holding a kitten, and smoldering at the camera. “No. Flipping. Way.”
“We’ve got all twelve months up in various spots around the restaurant.” Valerie laughed, causing me to jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
Busted.
“No problem.” Heat rose up my cheeks.
“The fire department did one of those ‘sexy calendars’ as a fundraiser a while back, and Maisie insisted we hang all the guys’ pictures up.” She rolled her eyes.
“Do you know any of them? The guys in that article, I mean.” I pointed at the newspaper article in my booth so it wouldn’t seem like I was asking specifically about him.
Just interested in your local heroes. I’m totally not a pervy stalker who used the bodywash of the shirtless guy holding a kitten last night so I could keep smelling him. And then daydreamed about him some more before breakfast.
“Everyone knows everyone around here.” She started on the left and pointed as she named the men in the picture. “That’s Brody, Will, Ben and Drew. My brother.”
My coffee went down the wrong pipe.
Sputtering, I cleared my throat. “Your brother?”
“Yes.” She quirked an eyebrow.
I glanced back at the newspaper article as if his wintry eyes, tousled hair, and broad shoulders weren’t permanently branded into my brain. “I can see the resemblance.”
She studied me like a butterfly in a display case for a moment before her eyes widened. “Wait a minute…you’re the one who showed up at his house last night, aren’t you?”
I thwacked my head back against the booth. Great. I was already the subject of town gossip. “What did he tell you about me?”
“Pfft. He didn’t tell me anything. Joanie heard from Paul that my brother made a rare appearance at the Tipsy Elk to tear those guys,” she pointed at the article, “a new one because of some prank they pulled where they put up a room for rent in his house.”
“A prank.” A stone sank to the bottom of my gut. Why did the idea of me showing up on his front step being a prank bother me more than the idea of it having been a run-of-the-mill scammer? “Someone he knows sent me to his house?”
“Prank isn’t quite the right word. I think they were hoping to shock him out of his usual behavior. But I’m assuming he told you to get bent when you showed up.”
“Not in so many words, but yeah. Is that his m.o. with everyone? Not just unexpected strangers who show up knocking on his door in the middle of the night?”
She made a thoughtful noise. “These days it is.”
Okay, there’s definitely a story there.
