Page 44 of The Edge of Summer
He obliges, sliding onto the other side of her bed.
Relief sweeps through me. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” He turns away from me and stares up at the ceiling. “I’m doing it for Sophia.”
In the morning, I wake up to find Parker gone. His spot on Sophia’s bed is rumpled, so I know he must have stayed a while, but sometime while we both slept, he crept out of the room.
Despite the hours of rest I managed to get, my brain is still clouded in a fog of weariness as I get Sophia ready for the day. After she is picked up by her sitter, I slowly begin to make myself presentable for my day shift at Dockside. I canalready tell it’s going to be a long one based on the amount of times I’ve yawned.
With a travel mug of coffee—my very own liquid gold—in hand, I step out my front door. And then I immediately start to panic. My car, which was parked in the driveway just last night, is nowhere to be found.What the hell?
I spin in a circle, as if that will magically make the vehicle appear. Parker is still asleep in his room, so I know he hasn’t taken my car for a joyride. At a loss for what to do, I pull my phone from my bag and start typing.
I think someone stole my car?
Clara doesn’t waste time texting me back. Instead, she initiates a call. “What do you mean, someone stole your car?” she asks.
“I don’t know!” I reply. “It was in my driveway last night and now it’s not!”
“Text Luke. He might be a little pissy, but his feelings of moral obligation will soon kick in and he’ll be forced to help you.”
I snort. “I don’t really see what the fire chief could—” My words cut off when I spot a familiar vehicle parked up against the curb. “On second thought, I very much will be texting your brother. I’ll see you at work, Clara.”
“Um, okay, then…” She hesitantly hangs up, caught off guard by my change in tone.
And I pull up the contact I told myself I wouldn’t use again.
You stole my car!
Chief
Who is this?
Do you make a habit of stealing women's cars, Chief? Who do you think this is?
Chief
I didn't steal it.
Then why is your truck on the street in front of my house? And my car is nowhere to be found?
He doesn’t respond. I wait, tapping my foot anxiously on the front porch. At least I’m friends with my boss. Getting written up for being late to work is the last thing I need right now. A few moments later, I watch my car roll leisurely down the street and pull into my driveway. My car—sans the damage on the front bumper from when I rear-ended Luke’s truck.
The man in question emerges from my vehicle looking way too good for this early in the morning. It’s not even that early, but still. He’s sporting his fire department uniform, and the way his navy blue t-shirt clings to his chest almost has me distracted.
Almost.
I adjust my ponytail self-consciously as I wait for him to approach. He stops just in front of the steps, giving me the height advantage for once. I strangely feel a little drunk on the perceived power it gives me.
“You got my car fixed?” I ask. It comes off like an accusation.
He nods. “I did.”
He doesn’t offer any other explanation, and I’m simply left staring at this enigma of a man. This man that I’m still convinced only slightly tolerates me on a good day. Our kiss the other day was an anomaly, and the truce we brokered at the park seems like even more of one.
“Why?” I finally ask.
“So I don’t have to keep pretending not to see your busted headlight.” He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t be driving like that. It’s not safe.”
