Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
CATALINA
“With the right guy, you have to be a little naughty.”
Gran’s words floor me. My spatula clatters against the pan of jambalaya I stir. “Gran!”
A knowing smile alights on her gracefully wrinkled face, pink cheeks radiant. She chuckles as she runs her hands primly over her short, curly white hair, her cinnamon eyes snapping. “Cat, I know what kind of firefighters make it into your books.”
My cheeks burn. She’s always had a lot to say about my love life … or, rather, lack thereof. But ever since she accidentally mixed up our Kindles and read portions of The Firefighter’s Throbbing Promise, she’s also been highly opinionated about my reading selections.
She nearly fainted at Chapter Five and still teases me about the shower scene.
“You’re twenty-three years old and never had a steady boyfriend. As Ronsard said, ‘Mignonne, allons voir si la rose …’”
She quotes Ronsard’s old poem about beauty fading … the kind of thing that makes my feminist hackles rise. Easy for a man who never had to worry about being reduced to petals and thorns.
And yet …
Gran was happily married for more than fifty years to Grandpa before he passed away last year, and I moved in to act as a part-time caretaker. And that man worshiped the ground she walked on.
Might there be some wisdom behind Gran’s words after all?
I marvel at how quickly her fingers move, the dexterity undiminished by the years as she knits an afghan in pale shades of rose and periwinkle for my newest niece, the click of the needles cozy and comforting.
The pink yarn she uses echoes the decor throughout the modest house I share with her, all frilly and uber-feminine since Grandpa’s passing.
After he died, she filled the house with pinks and frills she’d never dared before. I gladly helped, the only single sibling in my family. With married triplet brothers and a dozen nieces and nephews, my single status feels glaring.
Still, I’m stubborn and not easily dissuaded. I counter, “Ronsard was a dirty old man.”
Gran shrugs. “A dirty old man who knew how other men think and how the world works.” She shakes her head. “Youth really is wasted on the young, only by the time you realize it, it’s too late.”
“Wasted? I’m just over two decades in, and I already have a college degree, a decent-paying job, and full benefits. I wouldn’t call that wasted.” Even if I spend half my day stamping forms while secretly devouring chapters about men like him.
“But you have no fun and no man—”
My phone vibrates, interrupting our conversation. I’ve been on pins and needles all afternoon, calling around and asking exhaustively about Dumpling.
After work, I raced home, frazzled and searching the neighborhood. I even broke down and texted Ambrose. But I have yet to hear from him.
Opening my phone, an instant smile lights my face, and my eyes bug out of my head.
Fluffy, finicky Dumpling lies sprawled in all her glory across Ambrose’s naked, muscular chest. Forget naughty runaway cats … someone call nine-one-one for me.
His accompanying text reads:
Found. Fed. Insulin given.
OMG! Thank you sooo much!
Trade after tonight’s auction?
Yes, please. You’re a lifesaver
Anything for you
My cheeks glow. Anything for me? I scroll back to the photo of Dumpling reclining across his bare chest.
Damn, that cat’s lucky!
Meanwhile, the only warm body I’ve got in bed is the paperback I fell asleep on last night.
So … my place later?
My chest throbs out a yes. What this man does to me is … criminal.
Let’s discuss at the auction?
That’ll be a s—show
Unless you bid on me???
Sorry, don’t have the budget
Understood
“What is it?” Gran asks, watching me fan myself.
“Ambrose found Dumpling, and she’s okay.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! He’s such a nice boy. You know, that’s the kind of man you should be going for.”
“A hunk like that?” I counter, focusing on heaping jambalaya on two plates, which I carry to the table.
“A hunk like that, a gorgeous girl like you. I don’t see a problem.”
“Oh, Gran.” I sigh, coming around the kitchen island to kiss her baby-soft cheek before grabbing silverware and napkins. “Always the perpetual romantic. But I told you. I’m too busy for men and all their drama.”
I meet her at the table, showing Gran the picture after we’re both seated next to each other at the corner. She giggles. “You don’t have time for that?” She leans over, two fingers to my wrist. “Do you have a pulse?”
My pulse is practically breakdancing, but I’ll never admit that to her.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you think he sent you that picture by accident?” She scrolls down, pointing at his last texts. “Or that he asked you to bid on him for no reason?” A devilish glint sparkles in her mahogany eyes.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, talking with my hands in the air. “It’s not like I can read his mind. Heck, I barely know the guy.”
“This is what I mean about you going out on a limb … being a little naughty.”
She may have a point, but it’s not one I’m willing to entertain.
“After the day I had? There will be no discussion of going out on a limb. Now, enough talk of firefighters. He’ll probably be too tied up with his date tonight to get back to me about Dumpling anyway. At least, she’s safe and medicated.”
“True, and at least you get to see that handsome young man again tonight. I’m telling you, Cat. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”
I’m so annoyed by my heated cheeks at this point that I snap back, “It doesn’t matter, Gran. I’m from a different generation. We don’t need men to provide for us or any of that. I’m far too happy with you and Dumpling to mess things up with dating drama.”
“True. But you’re really talking about my mother’s generation. Not mine. We were independent in the sixties and seventies, too, you know. But for women like my mother? There were no options, completely at the mercy of my father. Trou du cul!”
Asshole. Gran never minces words about her father, a violent man she still spits French curses at.
“Thankfully, Ferdinand whisked me out of that abuse. My savior. I miss him so much.” Her words repeat the lesson I learned long ago. Love is dangerous, painful to lose, and only rarely worth the risk.
She looks down sadly at her plate, and I instantly regret the turn in the conversation. I’d much rather focus on silliness like auctions and firemen than see her sad.
“They don’t make men like grandpa anymore. It’s that simple.”
“Oh, but they do,” she says, dropping her fork and grabbing a newspaper on the chair next to her and holding it up.
Plastered on the front page is Ambrose Dutch in a sexy pose, wearing a cowboy hat.
My stomach does a little flip, heat curling low in my belly.
The headline reads:
“SoCal Celebrity-Turned-Firefighter Will Go to Highest Bidder”
My eyes wash over the black and white copy of my rescuer, wishing I could see him again. And mortified any other woman will get dibs on him tonight.
“We should bid on him,” she says with a mirthful grin.
“Gran!” I exclaim. “What in the world are you thinking?” But the idea lands like a spark in dry tinder, one I can’t stamp out no matter how hard I try.
“Seriously, Cat. We should.”
“Oh, my goodness. I can’t even.” I shake my head, working hard to play Devil’s Advocate. “I’m sure he’s got lots of gorgeous women lining up for him. Me winning him would probably be a disappointment.”
Though I try to be a body positive gal in love with my own curves, I’m well aware of how society still treats women my size … and more specifically, Hollywood.
“How can you say something like that? With the way he was eyeing you earlier? And flirting with you?”
I shake my head. “He was probably just trying to keep me from panicking?”
“At the bottom of the ladder, too, when it looked like he was about to kiss you?”
“Gran, were you spying on us?”
She shrugs, a smile tinging her lips. “Not spying, making sure my granddaughter was okay. You have no idea how much you terrified me out there. And then, I couldn’t find Ferdinand, and …” She stops, pushing her rice around on her plate as my heart breaks.
Maybe it’s wrong of me. But I don’t have the heart to explain that the love of her life is dead. It never sticks anyway.
“According to the newspaper, Avery—”
“You mean, Ambrose?”
“Yes, Ambrose is all the buzz in Gold County since moving here a month ago. He’s single, and he only had eyes for you in the tree.”
“Only had eyes for my underwear,” I lament, still embarrassed by what happened.
“At least, you were wearing pretty ones. It could have been worse.”
“Worse? How?”
She ignores the question, chuckling. “If you refuse to bid on him tonight, maybe I will.”
“Gran!” I choke on jambalaya, half horrified at the image of my seventy-five-year-old grandmother bidding on a shirtless firefighter, half panicked at what would happen if she actually won.
“Speaking of the auction, we’d better get ready,” Gran says, eyes darting to the clock.
I stand, grabbing our half-eaten meals to cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate. “Yep, it’ll take a while for you to do your hair, and I want to take a shower and change again.”
I got awfully sweaty sitting in the tree and then had to rush back to work. The Gold County Courthouse, a three-story 19th-century building where the DMV is located, leaves much to be desired in terms of air conditioning. So, I’m a hot, sticky mess.
“Me, too,” Gran says.
“We’ll have to hurry, though, because I told Roxy I’d help with decorations.”
“Yes, and I told the Ladies’ Auxiliary I’d be there early to handle last-minute things.”
“I hope everything goes well tonight. Roxy’s put so much work into this event.”
Gran claps her hands together, her features still hinting at mischief. “I think it will go better than you could possibly imagine, and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find someone to carry you home, Cat. Maybe even the same man Dumpling already claimed.”
“Oh, Gran …”
Her words chase me down the hall as I grab my towel, my pulse already spiking at the thought of tonight.