3. Marigold
Chapter Three
MARIGOLD
The day dawns even hotter than the one before. The leaking tap in the bathroom drips repeatedly. Every time I try to get back to sleep it doesn’t work. The night sky shifts from a bluish-black, to violet, and then to orange and pink.
The colors spark something in my overtired brain. Grabbing the sketch pad by my bed, I work on some character sketches as the sun comes up. But my thoughts keep returning to Dean’s visit yesterday. It’s not just his huge body and irritatingly gorgeous face. It’s the way he settled his hands on his hips and gazed down at me without an ounce of remorse. His unshakeable, infuriating confidence.
And, just like in high school, he’s the one who has the upper hand. I’m the invalid stuck on the couch in a boot, while he calls the shots. Cool, calm, and collected is the only way to deal with this. To deal with him . For jocks like Dean Montag, everything’s a game. He doesn’t take anyone - or anything - seriously.
Making my way carefully to the bathroom, I nudge Moose who’s lying in the hall like an oversized log. It takes me a long time to decide what to wear. I settle on a slip dress. Reaching for my makeup bag, I sit on the bed holding it for a while, and then put it away. No way am I going to give Mr. Cocky the satisfaction of thinking I’ve put makeup on for his benefit.
By the time he arrives, my heart is thrumming in my chest. I keep telling myself it’s the caffeine from that cup of coffee I had hours ago.
Dean walks in with a tiny, white, fluffy dog under one arm and a huge bunch of red, and orange flowers in the other. He puts the little dog on the floor, who takes one look at Moose and runs over to bark repeatedly at him. The back door’s open and Moose dashes outside with his tail between his legs. The little dog chases after him, still barking.
Dean shakes his head and stares after the dogs. “That didn’t work like I expected. I thought Moose might be lonely.”
“That’s your dog?” I try not to smile. I hadn’t imagined that a big, macho firefighter would have a little white pooch.
“My aunt’s dog. Poupon. She’s obsessed with France.” He hands me the flowers and the latest edition of Comic Lovers Monthly .
“What are these?”
“They’re for you. To say sorry for being a jerk in high school.”
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Dean, but flowers and a magazine aren’t going to cut it.”
“I’ll put them in some water. You can look at the magazine while you ignore me. Believe it or not, I got into reading comics after teasing you about it in high school. You were always sketching and I wanted to find out what you were so interested in. Is there anything you need doin’ around here?” He walks over to the kitchen and puts the flowers on the counter.
A flush rises in my cheeks as a completely unexpected image of his head between my thighs pops into my head. I squeeze my legs together.
“Doing?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a mile away. Dean’s into comics too? Because of me?
“Like fixing the fan, yesterday? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. Have they got you on those super-strong meds for your ankle?” He cocks an eyebrow. Somehow, he’s located a vase, poured some water, and is already arranging the flowers.
“Uh, the tap in the bathroom keeps dripping. It kept me up last night.”
“I was up too last night. Late shift. Let me check if those dogs are okay and then I’ll fix the tap. Then I’ll make us both some coffee.” He strides out the back door. He’s left his phone on the counter and it lights up with message notifications every minute or so.
Ten minutes later, Dean walks back inside, the light behind him, and I stifle a gasp. There’s something so masculine about the set of his shoulders and his effortless, long-legged stride. Maybe I’m just man-starved from all my recovery time up here, but I can’t stop staring at him.
“Would you believe the dogs are playing together now? Cutest thing. Point me in the direction of the tap, Goldie. Or would you like coffee first?” He sounds amused.
“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. I think you have about a million messages on your phone. Juggling girlfriends?”
He mimes being punched in the stomach and then puts his phone in his jeans pocket. “Low blow, lady. No girlfriends. I’m on call a lot, we have a firehouse group chat, and my aunt is always bugging me.”
We both gaze at each other. The only sound is the occasional yap from the dogs playing outside and the whirring of the fan.
He clears his throat. “I’ll go look at the tap.”
While he’s out of the room, I stare at the flowers.
“Tap’s fixed. Cream? Sugar?”
“Cream. So you’re a comic nerd too now?” I ask.
“I guess I am. I’ve written a few stories of my own.”
“You have?”
“Yep.” He walks over, placing the cup on the table in front of me, sitting in the chair opposite. His hazel eyes are playful.
I shrug. “How the mighty have fallen!”
Dean throws back his head and laughs. It’s a joyous, deep roar that makes me want to laugh too. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Where the hell did you learn that expression?”
“Grandma used to say it. It’s a Bible quote, I believe.”
“That’s why I like you, Goldie. You’re always surprising me.” He takes a sip of coffee.
Poupon runs inside, his claws clattering on the stone floor, followed by Moose. With a sigh, the little dog lays down directly underneath the fan. Moose watches him carefully, then delicately arranges his huge body in a semi-circle shape around the small dog.
“Mr. Moose has found a buddy.” Dean sounds smug.
“I think he has. That’s the happiest I’ve seen him since my sister started fostering him. I guess he was just waiting for another dog in the house. I’d like to leave them together, but I have to get going.” I drink the rest of my coffee.
“Going? I just got here!” His eyebrows shoot up.
“I have a doctor’s appointment. I get this boot off in a couple of days and they’re replacing it with a brace. My appointment is to check that I’m healing on track and see the physio again.” I start to heave myself off the sofa.
Dean puts his cup on the table and walks over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. A thrill runs down my spine to my core.
“Were you planning on getting down the mountain on your crutches?” He’s not smiling.
I grin at him. “Of course not. I’m calling a taxi.”
“No, you’re not. I’m taking you. It’s part of my duty as a volunteer.” His big hand is still on my shoulder.
I shake my head. “It’s fine, I can just–”
My words are cut off as he scoops me up and holds me against his chest. The move is so professional that my ankle doesn’t even twinge. I’m pressed right up next to him, breathing in his spicy cologne and staring up at the chiseled line of his jaw.
“You’re going to argue with me about it, but you might as well do that while I get you in the car. I’m qualified to do this, Goldie. Do you think the taxi driver is going to be lifting you into his car? Mr. Harris is in his seventies.” Dean strides off in the direction of the door.
“What about the dogs? And my crutches?” I gasp.
“Dogs are coming too. I’ll walk them while you’re at the doctor. And I’ll grab your crutches once you’re in the car.” He whistles and both dogs jump up and follow us.
I should be protesting more, but pressed close to him it’s like my brain’s been scrambled. It’s all kinds of wrong, but I could stay nestled in his strong arms for a long time and not get bored.
Dean carries me out to his car, opens the door, and places me on the seat like I’m one of the museum’s priceless artifacts. The dogs jump onto the back seat and curl up together. Moose looks delighted to be going on a journey with his new friend.
And, secretly, so am I.