Текст книги "From the Wreckage"

Автор книги: Melissa Collins

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

With that piece of information, we open the door and find an empty floor before us. Everyone was fortunate enough to evacuate before we arrived. Making our way toward the flames, we try to clear the area of any debris. It’s nearly impossible in an office space, but we still do our best. Through the window, we see the hook and ladder crew readying themselves to enter the building. The bucket is extended all the way to the north windows. All we need to do now is to wait for the command from them for their plan of action.

Through my two-way receiver, I hear Gallagher’s words. “What’s it look like, Andrews?”

“Small, no need to crash through.” After assessing the scene, I let Gallagher know the hook and ladder crew can stand by. “There’s a hose out in the stairwell. That’ll be enough.”

“Let’s put this out,” I command to the rest of my small crew.

Since there were no civilians on the floor when we entered, our job is somewhat simple. Douse the somewhat large, yet still contained fire, mull through the debris, make sure there are no hot spots, and then retreat back to the ground floor. Ian and Gonzalez retrieve the hose and pull it to where it’s needed and within minutes, the blaze is extinguished. We watch the bucket descend from the side of the building.

When all of that is done, and the fire is out, we turn over the burnt rubble and search the rest of the floor just to be certain that everything is put out. “Looks like it was the kitchenette,” I announce, holding up a melted hotplate. “As usual,” I add as an afterthought, shaking my head at the pointlessness of some fires.

Shaking their heads, the other guys agree with me at the stupidity of it all. Things could have been so much worse. Thank God it wasn’t a small home. The place would have been in flames before anyone would have even realized what was going on.

That thought brings me back to Gracie.

Every fire. Every scent of smoke. Every parent frantically calling out for their child.

All those things bring me back to Gracie.

And knowing she’d been within my reach just days ago—fuck, she’d even been in my arms—brings everything full circle.

Descending the stairs, my desire to find her is rejuvenated. Even if she’s still with that asshole, I need to find her. I’d like to say it would be only to thank her for inspiring me to become a firefighter, but then I’d be lying.

The need to see her again is like the flames I just fought.

Ravenous.

“Hey, man, you in there somewhere?” Ian nudges me, prodding me along our descent back to the rig.

Shaking my head and thoughts of Gracie away, I move along. Mindlessly, I help load the gear back onto the truck and stare aimlessly out the window as we drive back to the station.

After jumping out of the truck to help keep pedestrians out of the way, I watch as the engine operator backs it into the garage. When the door clicks closed, I find myself staring up at the station in awe.

“Excuse me,” a soft, sweet voice calls out from my side. With my helmet still on, I have to turn around fully in order to see who is speaking to me, my peripheral vision cut off by my helmet.

“Can I help you?” I ask. As I lift my helmet off my head and wipe the soot from my face, I still can’t see who’s standing before me.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, my eyes start at the ground and travel up the pair of legs before me. Covered in a flowing pale, yellow skirt, they’re smooth and lean—a definite sight for sore eyes after a fire. The sun is shining between the two buildings behind her, casting her face in the shadows.

“I’m looking for David,” she says meekly. “I . . . um . . . we met the other night,” she stammers. Shaking her head wildly, she tries to correct herself. “No wait . . . not like that . . . we met at Smoke.” As she turns her head to the side, burying her face in her hands, I catch sight of her reddened cheeks.

“What are you trying to say?” My question is met with a blank stare. In my own nervousness, I run my hand through my hair. When my fingertips meet the fabric of my hood, I realize why she hasn’t recognized me yet.

“Nothing, forget it. Sorry for bothering you.” Her words are rushed as she turns to walk away from me.

“Gracie,” I call to her when she’s no more than two steps away from me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her get away that easily. Pulling the hood from my head, I watch as realization draws her face into a shocked expression.

“David?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand.

My lips curl into a smile as I nod at her. Before I can say yes, she covers her face again, pulling away from me. “You must think I’m some kind of blubbering idiot.”

Chuckling lightly, I shake my head. “Not really. I mean you sounded a little more like a groupie looking for a firefighter you met the other night, but I’ll let that slide.”

Smacking me playfully on the arm, we both freeze at the contact. Even through the layers of my gear, I can feel her touch. Odd how all that material protects me from the hottest fires, but the heat of her small hand penetrates it like nothing else.

With a quickness that stings more than a little, she pulls her hand away. “Wait a second.” My brows pull together into a playful gaze. “How did you know I worked here?” Amusement colors my words as her cheeks stain in pink.

“Your station number.” She tips her head to the side of the building that boasts our house information. “It was on your shirt,” she admits shyly, her eyes roaming over my chest.

Swiping a hand across my soot covered face, I’m momentarily concerned with what I must look like. But then Ian’s voice breaks me out of my worries.

“Get a move on, Andrews.” He pokes his head out from the garage doors. “This meal sure as hell isn’t going to cook itself.”

“Andrews?” Her voice is laced with disbelief.

I nod, swallowing back the slew of questions I want to ask her.

“No . . . I mean . . . you can’t. . . . That’s crazy.” Her cheeks turn pink again at her random stammering of disbelief. “When I saw you the other night . . . I mean I thought it was you. But even now . . . I still can’t believe it.” She steadies herself, smiling up at me, seemingly ecstatic with the highly unlikely, but extremely welcomed, chance reunion.

“Let’s go!” Ian yells out again. “Cap ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Torn between where I want to be and where I have to go, I literally feel like I’m being pulled in both directions. “Yes, definitely crazy,” I agree as a mixture of happiness and relief bloom in my chest. “Gracie, I have to go. Please tell me I can call you later. Maybe even see you? I’m on for the next two days, but I would love to catch up.”

Stunned, she doesn’t respond right away. Like a fish gasping for air, she opens and closes her mouth a few times, searching for the right words to say.

“Andrews!” Gallagher yells out, impatience and annoyance equally layering his tone. “Get your ass in here, now!”

“You got a pen in there?” I ask hopefully, tipping my head to the bag slung over her shoulder while my captain’s curses grow louder from behind.

Gracie fumbles through her bag and pulls out a pen and a scrap of paper. “Perfect. Now, I’d give you my number here, but I wouldn’t want to put you through the torture of one of the other guys picking up,” I explain. Her hands are shaking and she still hasn’t said anything. Though her cheeks have been shaded in pink pretty much the entire time she’s been standing in front of me, now she looks almost as if she’s seen a ghost.

Hearing Gallagher’s footsteps pounding on the pavement behind me, I hurry up and get to the point. “Can I have your number, please?” Before I can add my promise to call her, words that I know don’t need to be said, she’s quickly scribbling on the paper.

Gracie shoves the slip of paper to me just as Gallagher’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Let’s go, Andrews. Playtime is over,” he snaps and I know I’ll take a good ribbing for this one.

Walking backward, I watch Gracie wave goodbye. Gripping her number tightly in my hand, I can’t wait for the opportunity to talk to her again.

“He’s not going to call,” I admit with a touch of defeat. “Let’s face it, he asked for my number out of pity.”

Jade stares at me from across the small table at Pierre’s, a French bistro. They have an inexpensive wine and cheese lunch, which is perfect for us—it also explains why we meet here, a lot. “Will you calm down?” She swats the air in front of her as if it will brush away my concerns. Popping a grape in her mouth, she rolls her eyes at my less-than-appreciative stare.

“First of all, he must think I’m some kind of stalker. I mean how desperate was I to just show up at his station?” Impatience brews in my head as Jade just sits there, a smug look playing on her face. She takes a sip from her wine and tears off a chunk of bread, letting my words of self-doubt tumble from my mouth. “I mean, I saw him once. And I get this crazy idea that he’s the David I used to know. So I hunt him down? That’s all sorts of crazy.”

Carefully lacing her hands together, she rests her arms on the table, eyeing me cautiously. “What?” I snap at her rather cold glare.

“Nothing.” Her casual dismissal pisses me off. Huffing my annoyance at her garners nothing but a laugh. Finally, she cuts the crap and starts talking. “Are you done going on and on about how he’s not going to call? Because I don’t want to waste my breath calming you down if you’re just going to get all huffy and puffy again.” She scrunches up her face at me as she points a finger playfully in my face.

“I was not huffy and puffy,” I defend, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, even I can hear the rather teenage-like quality with which they were said. When she shoots me an ‘I caught you red-handed’ look, I flop back in my seat, exhausted with this line of conversation. Though, honestly, I’m just plain exhausted with the whole situation. I’ve never felt this wrung out over a guy.

“Am I free to talk now, Miss Huffy Pants?” We share a giggle and I calm myself down with a sip of wine.

Extending my hand across the table, I give her the floor. She’ll need it if the impending speech is anything like I deserve.

“First of all.” Jade holds a finger up at me, counting off her reasons just as I would. But knowing that my sarcasm won’t be appreciated, I keep my comment about her making a list to myself. “He said he was working for two days. Give the man some time to recover and figure out what he wants to say.”

Chewing on my lip helps me keep my mouth shut long enough for her to throw two fingers at me, calling off her second reason. “And secondly, what about Blake?”

“What does he matter?” Just the mere mention of his name ruffles my feathers. “We broke up. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t owe him anything. Besides, it’s not like you to be worried about him.”

“Oh, honey.” Her hand covers mine, squeezing it in understanding. “I couldn’t care less about that jerk. It’s you I care about. He’s just never struck me as someone who’s all that stable and I thought if he saw you with David, or knew you were even talking to him, he’d blow a gasket. That’s all.” Her deep brown eyes shimmer with honest concern. Though I know she’s right—at least about Blake lacking sensibility and rationality—I don’t want him to be any part of what I choose to do with my life.

“Thank you for that,” I say gently, patting our piled up hands with my other one. “If I have to, I’ll deal with him. But I doubt he’ll even bother with me. He was angry as hell when I broke things off with him, but I haven’t heard from him since. And it’s been two weeks, so I doubt he’ll be coming around my way again.”

“I know, but I still worry about you.”

The stilted silence is broken by the waiter coming to refill our glasses. When our wine is renewed, so is my need to know why David hasn’t called.

“Seriously, why hasn’t he called?” I whine, before taking a large sip of my drink.

“Do you really think he’s the same guy from when you were a kid?” she asks skeptically, but not with any derision. “I mean what are the chances?”

Shrugging, I choose to take a bite of food rather than admit the possible foolishness of this David being the same David I used to know. Even though I say, “I don’t know, maybe. Anything is possible, right.” I know in my gut that it was most definitely him. Holding back the information he’d called me “Gracie” when I hadn’t even introduced myself, I feel giddy at the possibility that he recognized me as more than just the girl from the bar. The logical part of my brain says it can’t be true; he must have simply remembered my name from when he stepped in between me and Blake.

But my heart can’t let go of the possibility that it just might be him. In the two and half days since I saw him last, I’ve convinced myself that my ears played a trick on me. There was no way on earth his captain said his last name was Andrews. We didn’t actually have the conversation that he was, in fact, David Andrews—the boy who saved my life all those years ago. So there’s a chance that by the time I told Jade about meeting David at his station, I may have been a little vague on the details.

The rest of our meal passes quickly and we lose ourselves in other conversation. When the waiter drops the check, Jade refuses to let me pay. “I got this,” she demands as she swiftly pulls the piece of paper from the table.

Her intent is not to make me feel guilty, but it does just that. She was lucky enough to land a position at a financial firm right out of grad school. It didn’t hurt that her father and her boss were in the same fraternity. And there are about a million and a half financial jobs here. Money and lower Manhattan go together like peas and carrots.

On the other hand, teaching jobs are few and far between. Unless you know someone or have some crazy connections, you have better luck winning the lottery than you do landing a decent job in education.

After she drops the money on the table, we both stand and walk down the street. “I need to be back in five minutes. I’ll see you later, okay?” With a tight grip, she shakes my shoulders gently and shoots me a firm look. “Stop obsessing over him. He’ll either call or not. And if he doesn’t, then it’s his loss.” Her words help bolster my wavering confidence slightly.

On my way back to the apartment, I stop at a secondhand book store. Inhaling the scent of old books and perusing the shelves helps calm my nerves. I might not have much money to spare, but I can always find a few dollars to drop on books. Having always been my guilty pleasure, I browse through the romance section, instantly finding something that catches my attention.

A hot fireman. Don’t mind if I do. Sometimes I really do amuse myself. At least this will keep me busy through the afternoon. Mrs. Harrison, the owner, has recently started stocking more firefighter romances after I told her they were my newest favorite. I have a feeling she doesn’t mind the new genre much at all.

After paying Mrs. Harrison, who smiles and winks at me as she hands me my change, I step back out onto the busy sidewalk and make my way back to my building—where an entirely different hot fireman is waiting for me. And this one isn’t of the fictional variety.

Clutching my book to my chest, I nearly lose all ability to speak as David approaches me. Wearing sneakers, a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a navy blue fire department t-shirt, he looks young and carefree—and freaking hot. His dark brown hair flops across his forehead so that he has to swipe it out of the way as he steps in front of me.

“Hi,” I croak, but it comes out more like a question.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocks on his heels. Nervousness pulsates in the small space between us, and crazily, I bask in the knowledge that it’s not just me who’s nervous. “Hey,” he mumbles the single word, somehow magically easing my nerves.

“I thought I gave you my phone number? Not my address.” Arching an eyebrow at him, I seem to get a grasp on my ability to speak.

Shyness washes over his face for a second and I catch a glimpse of the young boy I used to know. He’s there in the sparkling eyes and lopsided smile, but in so many ways, he’s not. This is clearly the older, more masculine, and self-assured version of the kid I once knew.

After pulling the piece of paper on which I wrote my number out of his pocket, he unfolds it and hands it to me. “You did, but”—he wraps his hand around mine, turning the paper over so I can see the backside—“you wrote it on the back of a library return receipt. They had your address printed on it, so I figured I’d take a chance and stop by.”

As my eyes scan over the receipt, my neck and cheeks heat, a furious river of red shading my skin. With as much quickness as I can muster without looking overly suspicious, I crumple the paper and shove it into my pocket.

“So how was it?” David asks, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s trying to stifle a laugh, but he’s failing miserably at it.

“What?” I play dumb, though I have a fairly good idea of what he’s getting at.

“I’ve never read Rescued from the Flames. You’ll have to give me the short version,” he jokes. Pulling my newest find closer to my body, I pray to God he doesn’t catch the title of this one.

“And I was going to invite you up?” I brush past him, attempting to make him feel at least a little guilty for making me blush like that. It’s really my own fault, but I want to dish out my fair share of kidding around, too.

Except, rather than simply laughing with me, or nicely asking me to wait, he gently reaches out for my arm. His voice, thick and rich like melted chocolate, washes over me as his warm fingers send a river of goose bumps across my skin. “Gracie, wait.”

Spinning back toward him too quickly nearly makes me topple over. Coordination has never been my strong suit—and that’s on a good day. Forget that there’s a sexy-as-sin man standing before me, begging for me to stay and talk to him—yeah, that was a battle with remaining upright I was bound to lose.

Silently, he pulls me over to the steps. We sit next to each other, the summer sun radiating off the blacktop in front of us, sounds of the city breaking what might be an awkward silence. Playfully, he nudges my knee with his. “So it’s really you then?” he asks. His tone has lost the guardedness with which he spoke the other day in front of the fire house. It takes me a second to figure out how he’s pieced me together for certain and then I realize how.

“The library receipt?”

He nods and we share a light laugh at what that silly slip of paper confessed to him.

Nudging me once again, an impish grin dances across his face. “You grew up nice, Gracie,” he admits, his voice thick with something I can’t exactly place.

Genuine male appreciation? That internal question has me rolling my eyes at myself.

He mistakes the eye roll for me not believing his words and he pulls his knee away from mine. Immediately regretting my self-deprecation, I’m at a loss for a recovery. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” he asks, treading carefully.

“No, it’s just that I’m not that girl.” The rest of what would be my explanation gets stuck in my throat. I want to say I’m not the girl who gets the compliments, who gets the attention of gorgeous men.

Since I don’t clarify what I mean, he shoots me a perplexed look. His shoulders sag and he says, “Then I guess I’ve got the wrong person.”

As he moves to leave, my nerves shoot my mouth into action. Well, a long rant-like string of nonsense that at least keeps him from leaving. “No, that’s not what I mean . . . Ugh, it’s just . . . never mind.”

The loud blare of a passing taxi honking at a bike messenger makes me jump in my seat, but luckily, it breaks the weird spell settling around us. Opting for goofiness, my usual cover for when things get uncomfortable, I stand before him. Extending my hand, I straighten my back and say, with as much formality as I can pull off without laughing my ass off, “I’m Grace McCann. It’s nice to meet you. And your name?” I ask, though I have to chew on my lip to keep the laughter at bay.

“David Andrews.” He pumps my hand, not holding back simply because I’m a girl. The firm grip of his fingers around mine sends tingles across my body. “Funny story,” he jokes, obviously picking up on my intent to make light of the unusual circumstances of our reintroduction. “I used to know a Grace McCann, but I used to call her Gracie. She lived next door to me when I was a kid.”

“You don’t say.” Covering my mouth with my free hand, dramatically, I gasp at the coincidence. This of course forces him to have to stifle his laughter.

“I even rescued her from a fire one night.” Sobered by the tone of his words, I drop my hand from my mouth, but he catches it mid-fall in his other hand. “And then she was gone. Moved away and I never saw her again. Been waiting eighteen years to tell her thank you.”

“Thank you?” The sincerity of his words makes my knees weak. He senses it and eases us both back down to the steps. “It seems like she should be the one doing the thanking.”

“Probably.” He smirks at me. “But without her, I never would have gone into this line of work, so really it’s her I’m grateful for.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage at his admission.

Abruptly, he stands before me. “But since you’re not my Gracie, I guess I’ll be on my way.” He turns his back on me and starts to walk away.

With a trembling in my voice that I wish wasn’t there, I call out, “I am your Gracie.”

When he spins back around, his lips are pulled into a full smile—a smug and beautiful smile. Hanging my head in my hands, I laugh at my little outburst. David laughs with me as he pries my hands away from my face.

“You know, I thought that was you,” he continues to joke and I smack him ruefully on the chest—his rock hard, slab-of-stone chest. As if they’re acting on their own volition, my fingers flex where they’ve settled on his right pec. A force of magnetism must be acting between us because I can’t pull it away—not that I try all that hard.

“Want to come up for some coffee?” I ask, hoping to spend just a little more time with him.

“Coffee?” he arches an eyebrow, as one side of his lips pulls up.

My eyes roll skyward. “Yes, coffee. And no that’s not code for sex.” He chokes on his own laughter as I call his bluff.

Not even bothering to wait for a response, I pull my keys out of my bag and walk in front of him. Walking up the small flight of stairs to the main entryway, I can feel his heat at my back.

When we step into the elevator, I press the button for my floor. His eyes scan the small enclosure, reaching into all four corners before settling on the fire inspection certificate behind the flimsy piece of plastic next to the buttons.

“Needs an inspection soon,” he says absentmindedly.

Clicking my heels together, I mock salute him. With an assured, “Yes, sir,” falling from my mouth, he laughs at me and my goofball reaction to him and his seriousness.

“Come on in.” Standing to his side, I extend my hand into the opened doorway. There’s not much to the apartment, but considering that it’s a two-bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan, it’s not too shabby. Jade and I decided to move here about a year ago. The six mile commute to the school was only a minor inconvenience and since Jade’s parents helped out considerably, I was pretty much along for the ride. Since it was a given that she’d have a job in the financial district, this was the best location for her career.

However, there’s a pile of laundry on one cushion of the couch. On top of which is of course my panties. “Sorry.” I toss everything into the basket on the floor in a rush. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you either.” His softly spoken words stop me in my tracks.

Not wanting any weirdness to halt the conversation, I offer to make the coffee I promised him. Realizing I’m still holding Burning Desire, my newest firefighter romance, in my hand, I hide it behind my back. Quickly, hoping he doesn’t see it, I tuck the book in my laundry basket before showing him into the small kitchen.

If anyone ever judged me on my laundry skills, or lack thereof, I’d fail—miserably. Thank God, it was there today, though. Having to explain that book would have made my cheeks flame for sure.

David’s large body devours the tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders literally taking up the entire doorframe. On the tips of my toes, I reach up into the highest cabinet ever made and struggle to get down two mugs. With empty hands, I turn around to see David grinning like a fool at me. Arms folded across his chest, he’s simply standing there watching me lose the battle with the too-tall cabinet.

“Something funny?” I pull a face at him over my shoulder. Turning around, I lean back against the counter. He’s in front of me in two short strides, eyes heated and bright with amusement.

“Nope, nothing at all.” Smiling down at me, I can feel his low chuckle vibrate between us. Without having to reach up an inch, he opens the cabinet door and effortlessly pulls down two mugs, bathing me in his heat as he does so. “Looking for these?” Quirking up a brow, he lightly mocks my vertical deficiency.

Reaching around me, he places them on the counter. “Coffee’s up there, too.” My voice is thin and wispy, barely audible. With hardly a stretch, he pulls down the can of coffee, setting it beside the mugs. Instead of stepping away from me, as I’d expect him to do now that I have everything I need, he puts his hands on the counter, one on each side of me. Locking me in place, he continues to smile down at me. If I thought he ate up the space before, I was sadly mistaken.

“Anything else?” he asks, a playful lilt in his voice.

“No,” I choke.

Looking up into his dark eyes is as if I’m staring into the night sky. His pupils are so wide, the black erases the brown. The little sparks of light look like stars dotting the sky. It’s a look so precisely mixed with desire and hunger, laughter and mirth it stops my brain from functioning.

Granting me the space my body and my brain so obviously needs, he sits at the table and watches me fumble my way through making a pot of coffee. Though he’s not right next to me, I can feel his eyes on me, tracking me with each scoop and pour.

The cool air of the refrigerator helps me shake myself out of his heat-induced stupor long enough to ask if he wants milk or cream. After topping off each mug with cream, I sit next to David and slide him his coffee.

“So how was–”

“Sorry, I didn’t call when I said I would.” His words cut off the beginning of my question.

Shaking away his concerns, I want to appear as if the single day delay in his call didn’t even cross my mind. “Stop, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“One of the guys’ wives had a baby,” he explains, even though I hadn’t asked anything further. “She was early, too. So even though he had his time planned already, this came as a surprise.”

“Are they okay?” I gasp, sitting up straight.

“Yeah.” He dismisses my concerns with a smile from around the rim of his mug. “He called the station last night to let us know. The baby is in the NICU, but is doing really well.”

“So you had to stay the extra day then?”

Shaking his head, David places his mug down on the table. “No, it’s just that I didn’t have much to rush home to. The other guys, who were on that day, all had families waiting at home,” he adds as he absentmindedly stares out the window. “There was nowhere else I was needed, so I volunteered to stay.”

Dropping a hand delicately over his, I draw his attention back to me. “That was really sweet of you.” Squeezing his hand forces a lopsided and shy smile to spread across his handsome face.

A loud bang from the living room makes both of us jump from our seats, nearly knocking our coffee over in the process. “What the?” I call out, clutching a hand to my chest where my heart is beating wildly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jade curses as she tumbles through the room. “Crap, ow!” she yells after what I assume was her toe smashing into the desk.

Craning her head into the kitchen, she stops in her tracks when she sees David. “Oh, hi,” she manages to calm herself enough for a normal greeting.

“Everything okay?” I ask, shooting her the ‘this better be good’ look.

“Uh, well . . . sure . . . it’s nothing . . .” she stammers and though she’s trying to take the attention off her less than graceful entrance, I can tell whatever’s going on is certainly more than nothing.

“It’s just a huge dinner meeting with a prospective client was thrown on me at the last minute and I have,”—looking down at her watch, her eyes widen in panic—“shit, like fifteen minutes to get ready.”

“So go.” I shoo her away, wondering why the hell she’s still standing there when she now has about thirteen minutes to be out the door.

“It’s just . . . well, I didn’t mention, but . . . uh . . .”

“Spit it out already,” I declare, growing more and more impatient with every pause in her broken words.

Her eyes travel over to David and then back to me. “I need you to come with me,” she says quietly, angling her head down the hall toward her bedroom.

My brows knot together in confusion as I glare at her. “Excuse me for a minute, please.”

After pulling Jade into the back of the apartment where our bedrooms are, I quietly close the door behind us and ask her exactly why I need to go with her.

“What is your problem?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I rest against the closed door at my back. “You’re acting a touch crazed.” Pinching my finger and thumb together, I emphasize how insane she’s behaving.

“I need you to come with me because it’s not really a business dinner,” she explains, scurrying around the room.

“Okay.” Dragging the word out, I wonder what the hell she’s getting at.

“You can’t possibly be that dense can you?” Through all of her racing around the room, she somehow still manages to preserve enough energy to be monumentally sarcastic.

“Apparently, I am.” Huffing, I flop onto her bed as she rifles through her closet, tossing dress after dress next to me. “So why don’t you slow down, and tell me what the hell is going on.”