Page 13 of The Edge of Summer
LUKE
There should bea special place in hell for the person who invented budget reports.
Admittedly, I climbed the ranks rather quickly in my decade with the Kip Island Fire Department. I’m the youngest chief the department has had since its inception, and I was the only one up for the promotion a year ago.
Now I know why. Fucking budget reports.
The mayor and the town council have been on my ass about cutting costs this quarter. The only problem with that is the tourist season is creeping in, and with tourists come more fires, accidents and drunken false alarms. We already have to recruit more volunteers for the busy months. I don’t need to be wasting my time counting every staple used and pencil broken.
Just as I have decided to throw my computer out the window, a knock sounds on my open door. Jodi Booth, my deputy chief, sticks her head in. Her blonde hair is twisted into a bun at the back of her head, military style. Like the restof the crew, she is wearing a navy blue t-shirt with the KIFD’s logo printed on the left side of the chest.
Jodi has been part of the department since before I was even in high school. When I first joined as a probationary firefighter, she took me under her wing and called me out whenever I did something stupid. Which, as a probie, happened often. I owe a lot to her, and I’ve often wondered why she isn’t sitting in this chair instead of me. Her only response is that I’m far better at schmoozing than she is.
“Everything alright?” she asks, taking note of my scowl.
“Goddamn budget reports,” I mutter.
Jodi lets out a low whistle. “Better you than me.”
Shaking my head, I shove my computer mouse to the side. “I’d like to see Mayor Otis do this job for a day. Then maybe she wouldn’t be breathing down my neck.”
Jodi grins. “I would pay good money to see that. Preferably with a bucket of popcorn.”
I snort. “Don’t get your hopes up. That woman hasn’t set foot in this building once. She probably thinks she’ll catch a disease. Or a better work ethic.”
Saying that I dislike Kip Island’s current mayor would be a bit of an understatement. But I have to suck it up because I’m supposed to work under her for the rest of her term. It’s going to be a long three years.
“So…” Jodi trails off, rocking back on her heels. “Someone has to go to the store. We drew straws.” She then produces a shopping list from behind her back. “Congratulations, you’re the lucky winner!”
I raise a brow. “And they sent you to deliver the news?”
She shrugs. “They figured you wouldbe nice to me.”
“I’m nice,” I say. At the unconvinced look she gives me, I cross my arms. “What?”
“Have you ever heard the sayingkind but not nice? Yeah, that’s you, Bowman.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but I don’t think I can. I know I’m not always the most welcoming guy there ever was. With a sigh, I push away from my desk and stand. I snatch the list from Jodi’s hand, and then she follows as I leave my office.
“How’s Vera these days?” I ask, tucking the slip of paper into my pocket. “I haven’t seen her around town lately.”
Jodi and her partner, Vera, live on a small farm on the outskirts of town. Vera handles most of the day-to-day operations, so free time is in short supply. Still, she usually stops by the station to leave Jodi some food, often made with produce from their backyard garden when it’s in season. And because she loves the rest of us so much, she always brings extra.
“We think our foster cat might be ready to give birth soon, so she has been watching her like a hawk,” Jodi explains. “Any chance you would be interested in a kitten?”
I chuckle as I head for the door. “Sorry, Booth!” I call. “You know I’m a dog person.”
By the time the automatic doors of Kip Island’s only grocery store slide open for me, a crowd is gathered in the produce section. Curiosity gets the best of me, so I gently shove my way through the throng until I reach the centre.
Gordon, a balding man with a too-red face, looks evencloser to blowing a gasket than usual. Sunnyside Market’s store manager is infamous on the island for crying wolf. He seems to thrive on the attention. Most everyone does their best to steer clear of him, but it seems today that some unfortunate soul has been caught in the crossfire.
I don’t immediately recognize the woman with her back to me—the fall of long, dark hair that reaches halfway down her spine; the cutoff denim shorts that cup her ass; the floral tattoos that swirl her left shoulder blade and travel down her bicep.
Ido, however, recognize the little girl cowering at her side.
“This isridiculous,” Delilah argues, her free hand gesturing in the air. The other is curled around the little girl’s shoulder.
“What isridiculousis you thinking that you weren’t going to be caught!” Gordon counters.
