Page 4 of From Nowhere

“Are you serious?” She laughs when I set it on her desk in exchange for the pad.

“Is it not enough?”

“Ozzy, take your money. Don’t make this awkward.” Hillary tosses her purse beneath her desk.

Too late. Everything about this is awkward.

“Thanks.” I shut the door and jog to the men’s room. “Sorry, the machine is broken or empty. I found a pad.” I tear off a paper towel, set the pad on it, and slide it under the stall with my boot.

“Does everyone in the building know I was unprepared to start my period?” she asks.

“No.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Thanks.”

“Sure,” I reply, already halfway out the door before bolting to the hangar, donning my coveralls, and praying the woman on her period is not a Cielo Aviation employee.

Just as I get into a groove, Taylor says my name. “Have you met Ozzy?”

I fumble my wrench and smack my head on the hunk of metal above me.

“Yo, Ozzy?” Taylor calls.

I rub my head and step around the engine. “Yeah?”

“This is Maren Bernabe. She’s been flying with us for seven fire seasons. A real talent. Montana’s lucky to have her.”

Maren casually slides her long, wavy blond ponytail through one hand while sipping her mug of coffee with the other. A blush fills her cheeks as she rolls her blue eyes at how Taylor’s gushing about her.

“Maren, this is Ozzy. He’s been here four, five months?”

“Almost five,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag.

Her eyes widen, lips pressed together until they start to turn white.

“Maren, this guy is saving the earth. He rides his bicycle to work, even in the snow. And—” Taylor glances at his phone. “Oh, excuse me for a second. I have to answer this.” He takes a few steps away from us, holding his phone to his ear.

She’s an impressive tanker pilot, and I ride a bicycle. I feel two feet tall as I inhale to pull back my shoulders and fake more confidence than Taylor has bestowed upon me this morning.

Too late.

Maren smells like flowers while I emit the appealing scents of kerosene, oil, and solvents—just a few of the daily odors that permeate my clothes and skin.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

She cringes while whispering “You’re the guy who got me toilet paper and a pad.”

I try not to smile, but only half-succeed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Maren’s smile is confident, with just the right amount of vulnerability, like she knows how to laugh at herself. “You do. But thank you for playing it so cool. My day’s not off to a great start. I just stopped by to update some paperwork before my first shift next week, and it’s gone downhill from there.”

A few seconds later, I lift my gaze to hers, realizing she hasn’t missed me eyeing her long legs in tight jeans or that coffee stain by her boob. I swear I was only looking at the stain.

Her eyes narrow a fraction. Yeah, she thinks I’m a perv. Now I have to shit on her day to save myself.

“Maybe you should head home, get in bed, and climb out on the opposite side.” I nod to her shirt.

Glancing down, she runs her hand over the stain and mumbles, “Are you kidding me? God, I make the worst first impressions.”

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