Page 115 of Smoke and Fire
And that was just fine.
I pointed to the smoke with a firm growl.“You stay over there.” I jabbed a thumb to the espresso machine, where I stood behind the coffee shop bar. “I’ll stay here. We’re square. Got it?”
The plume ignored me, but the book stared while I bustled around. I absolutely didnotthink about Amalia and Rodrigo. Or whether Rodrigo would return home from the war an altered man, but one willing to understand the real depths of Amalia’s love for him. I mean, how could he not?
“By heavens, Rodrigo!” I cried, unable to help myself. “She bloody loves you, man. Get over your own pride!”
Unable to avoid another moment without knowing their fate, I snatched the book off the counter. Within moments, swirls of unrealistic romance captured me. Reluctant reader or not, I couldn’t peel myself away from the pages. To make matters worse, no one wandered in for a coffee, so I sipped my own and devoured each and every word.
Twenty minutes later, a green bus-like truck parked near the edge of the lot. The words PINEVILLE HOTSHOTS were painted across the top in blocky black letters. The fire department lived next door, and with it, a building that held the crew of fire workers in the summer and their office in the winter.
“Ominous,” I sang as I peered at the truck over the top of my book, thoroughly distracted from the hunky men in the book for the potential in real life.
Thought relationships had no part of our world right now?Inner Me chimed in.
“Looking,” I murmured, “does not a relationship make.”
Outside, grungy men spilled out of the bus in matching yellow jackets, green pants, and haggard expressions. They huddled together in a meeting while the bus hissed and turned off. With a sigh, I shoved a napkin into the pages and set the book aside. Rodrigo and his fiery kisses would have to wait. Now, I could play my favorite game.
Match the drink with the drinker.
“Cappuccino for thatguy.” I eyed a tall, lanky figure with a scraggly beard. Had it been set aflame on one side? “Espresso for Mr. Scruffy next to you, sir. Black, no creamer, and one sugar for Mr. Short-and-Scrumptious.”
The concoction game amused me until one guy stumped me. I frowned, straightening. Broad-shouldered and tall. He had messy blonde hair and a thick beard, with piercing eyes and skin tanned to a golden hue around his neck and face. Hints of chest hair peeked out of the neckline of a sooty yellow shirt.
Plain black coffee?
Meh.
He seemed like he’d have a sweet tooth. Definitely nothing too sweet, like a frap. Maybe a macchiato, but that didn’t fit either. Before I could peg him down, the hotshots grabbed heavy bags and headed toward the fire department.
Bemused, I forced myself away fromLove is a Terrible Nightmareto do the maintenance log on the fridge and a few checks. I would notbe caught derelict on duties while reading a romance novel.
I had my pride.
An hour later, the crack of the door brought me out of my reverie. With a squeak, I whirled around and shoved the book to the side.
“Welcome to—”
The words died on my lips.
A pair of stormy eyes peered at me from an angular face. One of the hotshots—the one I couldn’t quite peg.
A rough beard streaked with brown and hints of blonde drew my gaze to his strong neck and shoulders. The smell of smoke entered the room with him. None of that startled me. Not even the obnoxiously yellow shirt, muted by layers of grime and filth, or the dark green pants.
The expression of panic in his eyes, despite his haggard mein, stopped me. That strange, glazed terrorwasn’t normal, certainly not in such a strapping face. What could possibly have a man like him look terrified like that?
“—the Frolicking Moose,” I finished lamely.
He shifted, revealing a computer under his left arm. A backpack strap rested lazily on the other shoulder. When he spoke, it rumbled in his chest.
“Internet.”
I tilted my head to the side. Wait . . . what? What was that? A caveman request? It wasn’t even a question.See?I told my inner self.Men are the same everywhere.
Not true. In direct contradiction to your point, Jakob never caveman-requested.
Peeved now, I countered. “Coffee shop.”
