23. Chapter 23 - Minnie
“You want my help with chipmunks?” I ask, finally breathing normally again.
“Luca was in with Grayson earlier,” Amber says, referring to the fire chief and his eight-year-old son, “and I was telling them what a great help you were with Latte. When Luca realized you could talk to animals, he asked if you could talk to chipmunks, and of course I said yes. So he asked if—”
“Before you say it,” I raise a hand, “no, I can’t form a chipmunk band. I tried, and it was a colossal fail.”
Harkin chuckles and slides his hands into his uniform pants pockets.
Jett raises an eyebrow. “Say what?”
“Chipmunks are terribly uncoordinated,” I explain. “They don’t have the dexterity to play musical instruments, and you do not want to hear them sing.”
Jett grins. “Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.”
“I am. It was supposed to be a birthday present for… a friend,”—one who abandoned me two months later—“but all the chipmunks did was destroy his parent’s garden.
Dug up all the bulbs and ate a bunch of plants.
It was a nightmare.” I grimace at the memory and wonder if that contributed to Damien’s ditching me.
“I know a chipmunk band would make a great present for Grayson, but it’s just not possible. ”
“Right,” Jett grins. “It’s a good thing we don’t need a band. We need an exterminator.”
I gasp.
“A humane one,” Harkin adds, speaking up for the first time.
Jett nods. “The chipmunk keeps running through the firehouse. It’s a nuisance. We’ve tried trapping it and setting it free in the park, but it just keeps coming back. Chief sent us here to take you back to the firehouse so you can talk to it.”
I grimace, because talking to chipmunks? Wasn’t pretty. I kept darting from side to side on all fours, twitching and wiggling my ass. And there’s no way I’m doing that in the middle of the firehouse with the entire station watching.
I shake my head. “I really don’t have the time.”
Which is the truth. I still have to figure out how to move all my stuff from the abandoned bakery to the new house without being seen. Not to mention get Natty settled, buy groceries, and make it look like we have been living in the house all along.
“Please, Minnie?” Amber begs. “I already told Luca you’d do it. And he promised Natty a chance to sit in the firetruck.”
Jett gestures at the firetruck waiting outside. “We’ll give him the grand tour. And you’ll be doing the station a huge favor. Chipmunk’s a nuisance. We keep tripping over the fucker, and Chief keeps complaining that it’s slowing response times.”
Harkin clears his throat. “And Blaze could get hurt.”
“Blaze?” I ask. “Is he one of the firefighters?”
I picture some uncoordinated giant tripping over the poor animal.
“No.” Jett snorts. “The chipmunk. Harkin named it.”
“Awwww,” Amber says.
I really want to help Blaze. Almost enough to make a fool of myself in front of the entire fire station. Just not enough to risk rumors about me getting spread all around town. Not when I’m cursed and I’ll never be able to leave.
I’m about to deliver the bad news when the upstairs door bursts open. Natty’s giggles and the pounding of booted feet echo down the stairwell and then Wes comes into view, the three-year-old perched on his shoulders.
“Firetruck!” Natty shouts.
I glance at Amber, and spot the phone in her hand. “You set me up.”
She shrugs. “Blaze needs your help.”
Which is how I find myself snapping pictures of Natty in the firetruck and then leaving him in Wes’s care—and making sure my phone’s ringer is set to max, just in case—while I head to the fire station with Harkin and Jett.
Luca, the fire chief, is waiting outside when we arrive. He’s a handsome man, too, and I’ve seen him with his son enough to know he’s a great dad… I just don’t feel the least bit drawn to him. Clearly, I have terrible taste in men.
I am only drawn to rock stars who are full of themselves, scientists who torture animals, and a man who’s currently in prison—not that I’m holding that part against Zachariah. Just the part where he’s going to take Natty away from me. Why else would I be fated to hate him?
“Thank you so much for coming to help us get rid of Blaze—I mean, the chipmunk,” Luca corrects.
He leads me into a large, open space with high ceilings. There are three fire trucks parked inside, and two chairs set up against the wall. One is empty, and the other is occupied by Grayson, Luca’s son.
The boy looks a lot older than his eight years, though I’m pretty sure he’s actually average-sized for a third-grader, just like the teens in town don’t get younger-looking as I get older.
I just mentally compare all kids to Natty, and Grayson’s black sneakers are so much bigger than Natty’s blue ones.
The boy’s sweatpants and hoodie would literally swallow Natty right up.
“Grayson’s been keeping track of the chipmunk,” Luca says as I start picturing Grayson’s sweatpants running around the firehouse trying to gobble us up. “It runs through here at least once an hour.”
The boy holds up an old-fashioned pocket watch and grins.
“The pocket watch was a birthday gift. I’ve been showing Grayson how to manually track response times to calls.”
Grayson taps his tablet and a robotic voice reads out the word ‘chipmunk.’
Luca nods. “Grayson’s been manually tracking chipmunk entrances and exits.”
The boy gestures at the chair next to his, and I take a seat. While Luca heads off to check on a few things, Grayson shows me the spreadsheet on his tablet. It’s got columns listing yesterday’s and today’s date, as well as arrival and departure times for Blaze.
He highlights a row from two hours ago, then switches to an app with pictures and taps an illustration of a red-haired man. “Harkin,” the tablet reads out.
He switches back to the spreadsheet, and I hazard a guess. “Harkin tracked for you while you went to Jewels Cafe?”
Grayson nods and taps the last row in his spreadsheet. Then, he turns back to the door, stopwatch at the ready.
“Any time now, huh?” I ask, turning to the door, too.
The firefighters slowly start shuffling into the room and stand on the perimeter, all spectators to the Chipmunk Run. They’re dressed in polo shirts with the fire station’s insignia, trousers, and work boots. They’re calendar-worthy, but I’m not into any of them. How unfair is that?
Luca moves to stand behind his son’s chair, silently waiting until—like clockwork—the chipmunk darts inside.
Grayson bounces up from his chair as joyful sounds dance from his lips. I feel excited, too, until the poor chipmunk starts running zigzag.
“Help!” she shouts.
Judging by Grayson’s log, I know that I have thirty seconds to figure out what’s wrong before Blaze races outside. But how do I do that without dropping on all fours and making a complete and utter fool of myself in front of the entire fire station?