Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
By that afternoon, Summer was in the back of the original Creative Interiors. She sat surrounded by opened boxes, going through some of the stock that Bill had just brought in from his and Tina’s garage, munching on the bag of cookies he’d given her.
Tina kept coming into the room to check on her, telling her that no one expected her to work today, she should be resting, taking it easy.
Summer refrained from admitting that being alone, without any distractions such as a naked fire marshal in her bed, would drive her right into the loony bin.
Braden sat behind her in a corner chair, working on the computer, muttering to himself. Chloe kept finding reasons to come talk to Summer, and every time she did, she took sidelong—and not particularly discreet—glances at Braden.
He, on the other hand, kept working, not looking up from his screen, not doing anything, possibly not even breathing.
“So,” Summer said to Braden after Chloe had left for the fifth or sixth or hundredth time. “You do have a thing for her.”
Braden looked up. “A thing? Sounds like an infection.”
She thought about what she felt for Joe, and how no matter that she wanted to be easy and light, it was so damn messy and complicated. “It can sure as hell feel like an infection.”
A low, rusty sort of sound escaped him.
“Did you just laugh?” she asked, shocked.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Tell me the truth. You missed the how-to-make-friends day in kindergarten, right?”
“So I’m not social.” He shrugged a lean shoulder. “That’s not a crime.”
No, it wasn’t. But his defensiveness was certainly interesting. “Does it have anything to do with why you don’t drink anymore?”
His indulgent smile faded.
“I’m not trying to pry or anything,” she said.
“Like hell.”
“Okay, I’m prying.”
“My past is not relevant to this job.”
“You’re right.” But she had a feeling it was relevant to why he was so cynical and sarcastic. And while she instinctively liked him, her first loyalty was to Chloe, brat or not. “Just tell me. Do you really like Chloe or are you playing with her?”
“Do you really like your fire marshal, or are you playing with him?”
Summer narrowed her eyes.
Braden went back to his work.
“I like him,” she said softly.
Braden looked up in surprise.
“I like him a lot.”
“Well, good for you.”
“And?”
He sighed. “And you’re a pest.” When Summer just waited, he let out an annoyed breath. “Jesus, you’re stubborn too. Okay, listen, I like your cousin. Happy?”
She grinned and he groaned.
“Go back to work, Summer.”
She did. But cataloging inventory was making her eyes cross and not taking up enough brain waves.
She did like Joe, she always had. Liking him had never been a problem.
They’d once shared a deep, abiding, mutual affection.
A binding connection. But after her father’s death, such connections scared her.
Since then, anything she’d felt for a man had been light. Easy. And purely physical. Sex for her was as it should be—a simple relief. Necessary as air, but no real ties required.
“You’re thinking so hard my head is hurting,” Braden said, startling her.
“Sorry.”
“Actually, you’re making me hungry too,” he said, and closing his laptop, left to get lunch.
Her mom came in with Socks in her arms, and for a moment, Summer saw her mother as a stranger would.
Tall, willowy, hair pulled back, only a minimum amount of makeup on her face, but still beautiful despite the dark circles beneath her eyes and her tight expression.
“The marshals are on their way,” she said to Summer. “They need to take interviews.”
Her stomach both dropped and fluttered. “Me?”
“And some others too, but you, yes. They wanted to catch you before you left.”
“Oh. Did you by any chance tell them I wasn’t leaving?”
“No.” Her mom bent to stroke Socks, her eyes full of worry. “Because I thought you might still change your mind.”
“Mom. No.”
“This morning you had trouble even thinking about the fire.”
“I’ll be okay,” Summer said.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
Again.
Her mom didn’t say the word, but it hovered between them as the ghost of her father had for twelve years. “I’m fine. It’s you who’s having to go through all of this: property damage, insurance nightmares—”
“Summer, listen to me.” Her mother’s sudden urgent tone scared her, so did the way she set down Socks and gripped Summer’s hand. “None of that matters. If you want to leave, I understand. I mean that.”
Summer searched her mother’s face for the reason why she wanted Summer gone so badly, and found none. “I told you, I’m sticking,” she said slowly.
Her mother’s stiff shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly.
With relief? With regret? Summer had no idea. “I wish there was something else I could do.”
“Your being here is enough.” Her mom squeezed Summer’s hands twice. “God help the both of us.”
“Mom.” Summer felt scared for no reason. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Yes, it is. Because life goes on.” Her mom’s smile was heartbreakingly sad. “That’s what Tina always claims anyway.”
“It’s been twelve years,” Summer said softly. “It’s okay for life to go on.”
Her mom looked down at their linked hands. “I know people think I’m crazy to still miss him so very much.”
Grief battered Summer, grabbing her by the throat. They’d never talked about this. They’d been wrong to never talk about this. “I don’t think you’re supposed to stop missing him. You’re just supposed to be able to keep loving, even other people.”
“Is there a manual for that?”
Summer choked out a laugh and leaned in for a hug that felt so right she thought she might never let go, but at the sound of a knock, her mom jumped and turned to the doorway.
Two tall, lean, tough, rangy fire marshals stood there. One neatly groomed, wearing an easy smile and those dark-rimmed glasses, the other with ridiculously sexy scruff, looking at Summer in a way that upped her body temperature to unsafe levels.
Last night had been…amazing. Nice to know that when she needed stress relief, Joe Walker could provide it. But she hoped like hell he remembered that was all it’d been.
Her mother dropped Summer’s hand to become the consummate hostess, moving forward with her best “come drink tea out of my fancy china” smile. Kenny followed her, leaving Joe alone with Summer.
He stepped close enough that no one could overhear them. His face was all hard, angular planes. A handsome face, one that had gained character as he’d aged. “You hanging in?”
“Sure.”
His welcoming smile faded. “Truth, Red.” His eyes were filled with concern, and there was a seriousness to his mouth that made her feel like throwing herself in his arms and having him pull her in tight and keep her safe.
A direct contrast to the reminder she’d just given herself about him being only stress relief. She reminded herself that she was ill-equipped to deal with anything deeper. “I’m good. How are your shins?”
“Bruised.” His eyes were warm and soft on hers. “Did you sleep okay after I left?”
“Sure. There was no one to steal the blankets.”
“You know damn well who steals the blankets, and it isn’t me.” He rubbed a thumb over the dark smudges beneath her eyes. “What time are you leaving?”
“Change of plans. I’m going to stay until everything is settled again. The insurance stuff.”
“As opposed to other stuff.”
“Like?”
His gaze held hers for a tenuous beat, then he shook his head. “Let’s start with what I came here to do before we head down a road you’re not ready for.” He gestured to his iPad. “Ready?”
Her heart clutched. No. No, she wasn’t ready. “How about that weather, huh?” She fanned her face. “It’s sure a hot one.”
His eyes filled with regret. “We have to do this.”
“I know.” It was his job, but the thought of reliving it made sweat pool at the base of her spine. “Sure you wouldn’t rather talk about my rug burns?”
The muscle in his jaw worked for a moment as he wrestled with his professionalism. It was fascinating to watch. “Maybe we can save that for a later conversation,” he finally said.
“I’d really rather talk about—”
“Red. I’m sorry.”
So calm. She wondered how many of the twelve years that she’d been gone it had taken him to master his control like that.
If only he could teach her to do it.
“Let’s sit,” he suggested.
She let him lead her to the small love seat by the refrigerator across the room from where Camille was pouring tea for Kenny.
Summer stared at Joe as he moved around the small table in front of the love seat and sat next to her, thinking she’d kissed those firm, unsmiling lips, she’d had her fingers in his too long, wavy, uncombed hair, and it was damn hard to forget that whenever she’d been in his arms, she’d felt alive, gloriously alive.
As she watched, he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bounced.
She wanted to bite it. Bite him. His hands, big and agile, held his iPad, and she remembered what those long, tapered, strong fingers could do to her nipples. What they felt like on her, inside her.
Off balance, she shook her head, but couldn’t clear it. “I’m losing it.”
“You had a traumatic experience,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.” She lifted her gaze and let him see what she was thinking about, and he swallowed again.
“Red,” he said softly, with a desperation that made her sigh.
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temples. “Go ahead. Ask away. What do you need to know? That I think I started the fire by accident, causing my mom and aunt untold amounts of anguish and money?”
“You didn’t.”
“Or that the insurance company is going to up their rates—” She stared at him. “What?”
“I don’t think the candle started the fire.”
Thank God was her first selfish thought. Then she took a good look at his expression and the grimness in it, and got a very bad feeling. “What did?”
“Before you fell asleep downstairs, were you alone in the shop?”
Her bad feeling spread. “Why?”
He just looked at her.