Hudson,
Thank you for saving Archie last night. And for your hospitality. Your floor is very comfortable.
Iris
I snort. “Yeah.”
“And? Did she tell you to stay away from her?”
“No.” I picture the drawn smiley face. Her generation use emojis differently to mine. Did that smiley face mean something I don’t understand? “But she didn’t ask me to breakfast.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like breakfast?”
A wry chuckle falls from me. “Not helping, Conroy.”
He lets out his own chuckle. “Mate, I am the last person to confess to being an expert at relationships and love. Do you think the pair of you have a connection?”
Hell fucking yeah.
I nod. “I do.”
“And you haven’t heard from her today?”
“No.” My gut clenches. “But the second I read the note, I wanted to head up the mountain. If for no other reason than to see if she’s okay.” I throw up my hands. “But doesn’t that make me a creep? Shit, I’ve been out of the dating game for so long I don’t know the rules.”
“I tell you what the rules are.” Jake arches an eyebrow. “Rule number one is make sure everyone is safe.”
“Hate to tell you this, Conroy, but that’s the first rule of the station house.”
“Yep.” He points at me. “You drill it into us every shift and callout. And right now, the day after a storm that caused some pretty severe destruction here on the mountains, can you tell me if Iris Andrews is safe? Do you know?”
I stare at him.
“Go see if she’s okay, mate.” He shrugs those massive shoulders of his. “If she is but wants nothing to do with you, you’ll at least know you lost your heart to a one-night stand.” Sympathy and mirth twist his lips. “And if that’s the case, we’ll get drunk together. My?—”
The phone on my desk rings. Not the one for reporting fires, but the office phone.
Jake answers it. “Hartley Ridge Fire.”
A faint voice comes through the connection, little more than a whisper of indistinct sound from where I’m standing. His eyes snap to me.
“Yeah, he’s here,” he says, voice neutral. Guarded.
I hold out my hand, waiting for the phone. Probably Mr. Dutton on Acacia Avenue complaining about the live music at the pub across the street from him. The old coot is the biggest killjoy in town.
“Sure,” Jake says into the phone. Is he trying not to smile? “I can do that.”
I wriggle my fingers. “Give it to me.”
“Alright,” he says. “Take care.”
He hangs up, folds his arms over his chest, and looks at me.
“Who was it?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
A grin splits his face. “How quickly can you get to Lily Andrews’s place? Cause there’s a certain young woman from Melbourne up there who really wants to talk to you in person. Said something along the lines of the biggest mistake she’s ever made in her entire life is leaving you this?—”
I jolt to my feet and bolt out of my office.
