3. David
DAVID
Of course, Scott Hansen’s daughter is great.
Really great.
That’s very annoying.
It would be a lot easier if the asshole’s kids were assholes, but they’re not. I’m going to assume they get their good personalities from their mom.
I don’t know any of them well, but I’ve been around Peyton, Scott’s wife.
She co-owns the bakery in town, and well, there’s no way I’m avoiding that place, even if Scott does have ties to it.
Peyton is warm and funny and because my parents love to sit around with their friends and tell stories, I’ve overheard enough bits and pieces to know that Peyton gives Scott a hard time.
I like that about her.
But I can’t like Mia. We can’t be friends. We absolutely, definitely, no question about it can not be more than friends.
She’s making it very difficult to just not think about that at all though.
His librarian daughter—how did I forget she was the librarian? Maybe because I’m not really a library kind of guy—is gorgeous, funny, smart, and easy-going.
When we got to the basement, I told her to get comfortable while I did a few things around the house to make sure it was secure for the storm.
When I’d come back downstairs I’d found her stretched out on Tim’s old couch, propped up with a pillow, her boots off, and a blanket over her lap. She looks right at home.
And she took off the ball cap she was wearing. Now her long dark hair is spilling around her shoulders. It’s mussed from, well, everything, but I take in the waves, the coppery highlights, the way she doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that it’s messy.
I also notice the empty plate. She ate the whole sandwich and the banana and drank the entire bottle of water.
My first thought? Good girl .
But, fuck . I can’t say shit like that. I shouldn’t even think it. Or feel it.
But I really fucking like taking care of people and I love it when they just listen to me and follow my directions. It is always a good idea to do what I say, and the fact that Mia Hansen realizes that definitely has my attention.
I like fixing problems. I like helping people.
It’s only peanut butter and jelly . Don’t make this into something bigger.
But she’d been stranded out there alone, in the dark, for hours—my whole body tenses whenever I think about that—with a storm coming. Now she’s here, safe, warm, dry, fed…because of me.
You’re welcome, Chief Hansen .
I shouldn’t be thinking things like that either. I didn’t rescue her because of him. Hell, I hadn’t even known who she was. And it would probably be best if he didn’t know I was the one who helped Mia out tonight.
Kept her safe.
Looked out for her.
Took care of her.
I shove a hand through my hair and cross the room to drop into the recliner perpendicular to the couch.
This isn’t about Scott. Definitely not.
She smiles at me when I look over. “Are the tater tots almost done?”
“Ten more minutes.”
Despite the sandwich and banana, she had enthusiastically agreed we should raid the freezer and make a frozen pizza and tater tots.
I love a girl who likes to eat and doesn’t turn her nose up at perfectly good snack food. Tater tots are one of my favorites. Another point for Mia Hansen. A point she absolutely does not need to accumulate.
Then she happily took the turtle I handed her without even blinking.
Yes, I handed her a live turtle. Well, I handed her the turtle’s aquarium with him inside.
You can’t leave the pets upstairs during a tornado. That is a dick move. And yes, I handed him over to test her.
But her eyes lit up, she took Rex without a word other than ‘ooh’, and now she’s lying on her side on the sofa with a turtle on the floor next to her, watching him and tossing him bits of lettuce.
From the recliner, I can see the TV and pretend to watch this show about elephants while holding Tim and Donna’s rabbit, Murphy. And steal glances at Mia. I’m also keeping track of the weather alerts on my phone. Kind of.
Okay, mostly I’m stealing glances at Mia.
Who seems equally enamored with the show about elephants and the turtle beside her. Though she keeps glancing my way as well.
She’s probably just watching the rabbit.
How does uptight, rule-follower Hansen have a laid-back daughter like this?
“Do you want to hold Murphy?” I ask. I should go check on the food in the oven upstairs.
Her smile is quick and wide. “Sure!”
I start to stand. I know the pizza isn’t done, but if she wants to hold the rabbit, then who am I to deny her?
I take a step toward the couch but a second later, the room is plunged into darkness.
“Fuck,” I swear.
“You okay?” Mia asks.
“I’m…the power went out.”
She giggles. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“That’s not a great development.”
“Means the storm is close.”
“Yeah. And our pizza isn’t going to be fully cooked.”
There’s a pause, then she groans. “Or the tater tots.”
Yep, I like a girl who has her priorities straight.
I fumble with my phone and manage to get the light on with one thumb. It’s incredibly bright in the completely dark basement.
She hasn’t moved. She doesn’t seem upset by the sudden power outage.
“Are you okay?” I ask anyway.
She tosses a bit of lettuce to Rex. “I’ll be honest, I was really craving tater tots. But I’m fine otherwise.”
I hand her the rabbit. She immediately cradles him against her chest.
“I’ll go get something else.” I start across the room with my phone light leading the way.
“No, David! You don’t have to,” she protests. “You’ve been up and down taking care of the house, the pets, me ever since we got here. The storm is close enough to knock the power out. You should stay down here!”
But she’s still hungry.
“I’ll just get some chips or something. Donna always has cookies.”
“No.” She pushes up, bracing her hand on the sofa. “Sit down. I’m fine.”
“But—”
“David,” she says firmly. “Sit down.” She points at the recliner. “You need to be safe.” She’s giving me a stern look.
I lift a brow. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Is that your librarian voice?”
It’s…hot.
Dammit.
She grins. “Yeah. I mean, usually my librarian voice is this one. ‘Oh, let me help you with that. Let’s go over here and look for books about trains,’” she says in a sweet, lilting voice. With an equally sweet smile.
That is also hot.
Dammit .
“But sometimes I have to get bossy,” she says, her smile growing wider.
I move back to the recliner trying very hard not to picture her with her hair in a bun with a pencil stuck through it, glasses on her nose, and her wearing a cardigan.
The librarian-hot-teacher-nerdy-girl type is not my type.
So, why do I want to ask her how many cardigans she owns? And why am I hoping the answer is several ?
“Of course, I usually use it with adults,” she goes on, settling back against the pillow on the couch again, Murphy against her breasts.
Lucky rabbit.
See, I really have to stop all of this. With another woman, thoughts like that would be okay. With Mia Hansen? It’s so, so fucking bad.
Her long hair spreads out over the patterned pillow and I realize I like it like this too. Bun, under a cap like earlier, long and loose…it’s all good. Beautiful.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
“When you have to use your bossy librarian voice, it’s usually with adults?” I ask, needing a distraction. I turn my phone light away from her. Not looking at her seems like a really good idea.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because adults are way more often assholes than kids are.”
I choke on a laugh. “I can’t argue with that. At all.”
I glance down at my phone to check the radar. “The tornado warning has lifted. Thunderstorm warning still in place for the next hour.”
“Okay.”
She sounds perfectly content.
“Are you all right if I turn my flashlight off? I want to save my battery.”
“Sure. I don’t mind the dark.”
I kill the light and settle back in the chair.
I assume it’s my imagination but I swear I can hear her hair moving against the pillow and can smell her body spray even from here. That whole ‘lose one sense and the others become heightened’ thing, I guess.
Or you’re becoming a little obsessed with her.
Probably because she’s completely off-limits and you’re a not-quite-fully-reformed rule-breaker.
But I’m really fucking trying to be fully reformed.
Making other people follow rules helps. Kind of.
I try not to dwell on the rules I think are stupid and a waste of time. Rules are mostly good. We need rules. Rules keep things civilized.
It’s completely quiet in the basement for nearly two minutes besides the sound of Rex moving in his aquarium.
Two minutes doesn’t sound like a long time until you’re sitting in a dark room with no sound or distraction.
It’s a really long time.
“Did you know that Blanding turtles are endangered? “Mia eventually asks.
I give a soft chuckle. “Um, yes, I know that.”
She laughs too and the sound is even more…something…in the dark. Something I shouldn’t put a word to.
“Yeah, I guess you would know that, wouldn’t you?”
I just smile.
“So how does Tim have one as a pet?” she asks. “And with a conservation officer’s knowledge?”
She not only knows turtle facts, but she can identify the various types? Be still my Game and Parks officer’s heart.
“I found Rex injured by the road. Tim has done a lot of wildlife rehabilitation, so I brought him over here. He didn’t think Rex could make it if he was re-released, so he became a part of the family.”
“Ah,” Mia says. “That’s really nice.”
We lapse into a long silence again. It’s not completely awkward, but I’m very aware of her and that’s not completely comfortable either.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask, opening my music app. It will use my battery too, but I don’t care now.
“Whatever,” she says. “I like all kinds.”
Of course, the gorgeous, bright, easy-going librarian likes all kinds of music.
I choose a general contemporary country channel and lower the volume so it’s background noise.
“So,” she says.
I ready myself for a fun fact about rabbits. That I probably already know.
“So?”
“What’s the deal with you and my dad?”