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No more texting.
Sleep.
I flicked a finger along my screen, turned my cell to Do Not Disturb, and then I went the fuck to sleep.
Unfortunately, while I did it, I dreamed of a certain blond-haired, blue-eyedharpy.
The sun was up.
I was standing with a cup of coffee, staring out my window, not enjoying the view, mostly because it was obscured by smoke.
I couldn’t see the mountains.
Nor the Gold Rush era buildings.
Because all Icouldsee was Billie Rose, her arms laden with bags, walking down the street in front of his apartment at her typical pace.
That meaning she was in a hurry.
The fucking woman wasalwaysin a fucking hurry.
Even carrying a shit ton of supplies.
What, had she raided every single Costco from here to San Francisco?
It sure as hell looked like it.
“Fuck,” I muttered, plunking my mug down onto the counter, moving to the door and shoving my feet into shoes.
Then I was pounding down the stairs, hitting the concrete walk.
Hustling after the woman who was the bane of my existence.
And no, I wasn’t looking atmyactions too closely.
Because that would bring too much fucking enlightenment, and I didn’t need that bullshit in my brain right now.
“What the fuck are you doing, harpy?” I called as I watched her juggle bags and an open roll of toilet paper and…apparently about seven hundred pairs of socks.
She jerked, dropping one of those seven hundred sock couplets, and glared at me over her shoulder. “I don’t have time for your particular brand of bullshit this morning,” she snapped, bending and retrieving the package of socks and tucking it under her arm along with the six hundred and ninety-nine others.
“Ah,” I drawled. “There she is. My sweet, sweet harpy.”
And she was.
The cantankerous mayor who always had business to see to. The woman who was more crotchety old man than soft, sweet, and female.
Clearly, I’d wasted my time the night before worrying about her, about the many faces of Billie Rose and that beer she didn’t seem to like, about the tequila and the orgasms and the sexy, curvy body, the tears and the concern for her people and the shadows in her eyes as she watched a hockey game seemingly without taking in a minute of it.
She tossed her head, curls bouncing, and clutching the load she was carrying even tighter, took off down the street.
Clearly,she was fine.
Why wouldn’t she be? She was Billie Rose.
Her town burned down. Yeah, she had a breakdown—but only one from what I’d seen. Only one under extreme circumstances, one that was intense, and I just happened to be there for it. But it was over and now she was back to kicking ass and taking names.
Back to themayor.
