“Okay then. Captain told me to take you out to lunch so, how about we grab something to eat and figure out where we go from here.”
She opened her mouth then quickly shut it. Most likely catching herself before she said something she would regret.
“Just say it, Emma.”
“It was silly and stupid and clearly won’t be a problem.”
My curiosity piqued, but I let it go. “You name the place.”
“There is a great little hotdog stand down the road.”
Smiling, I walked over to the door, opened it, and motioned for her to lead the way.
When she walked by, I closed my eyes and tried not to let the smell of vanilla and some other spice get to my head. The woman clearly didn’t care for me, and we were working together. That meant hands off.
As I watched her walk ahead of me, her perfectly shaped body swinging from side to side, I sent up a prayer for strength up to the heaven above that she wouldn’t drive me insane with lust.
The knock on my front door caused me to jump and nearly spill the hot tea I had been holding.
“Okay, Whiskers, you need to get off my lap so we can see whose food is being delivered to the wrong apartment again.”
My cat, Whiskey, made a protest of being displaced by taking his sweet time stretching, then letting out a long meow that I swore sounded like he had said fuck off.
I opened the door to see Wendy standing there bundled up and snow all over her.
“Wendy? What are you doing here?”
She pushed past me and started to take off her layers of winter protection.
“How could you not tell me the hot single dad was a firefighter and that he was the same firefighter who was helping you plan the Christmas dinner!”
“You came over here in a blizzard to ask me about this?”
Wendy fought to get her jacket off. Once she was free of it, she hung it up, turned to me and stared. “You bet your sweet ass I did. Harrison is a firefighter?”
I nodded. “Not only that, but he’s also an ex-Navy SEAL.”
Wendy gasped. “Shut up!”
Giggling, I made my way into the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Yes! I’m freezing.”
She slid onto the bar stool at my small kitchen island. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave a single thing out.”
“Well, after he showed up for the meeting and we exchanged a few barbs, we called a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yep. I regretfully admit I was a bit of a bitch. Stuck my foot in my mouth once again.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “Accused him of knowing nothing about planning a dinner, let alone a fundraiser. To which he quickly put me in my place. Rightfully so.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Mr. Maggio,” I said with a waggle of my brows.
