Page 118 of Smoke and Fire
Certainly not answering fan mail.
That plume would likely be the next assignment for my hotshot crew. The fire had been named the Pinegulch fire. It was probably ten miles west of the highway between Pineville and Jackson City and originated from a lightning strike start, I’d wager. Might have smoldered for a few days before conflagrating, because the only lightning storm in this area passed last week. Aside from a sprinkle here and there, weather reports had been dry all summer.
A beep drew me out of my thoughts. I glanced over to the counter where it originated, then quickly back to my computer.
For whatever reason, the saucy little barista had rattled me. First, I’d wanted to wrap my hand around her wavy black hair and feel it between my fingers. Something about her sparky, dark brown eyes caught my attention, and I had a feeling it was her wit. Second, I wanted to lay a kiss on those full lips. It had been a while.
Alongwhile.
In the same breath, she also spurred an idea of a totally different nature. A far more acceptable nature, anyway, than how soft she’d be in my arms. Spurred by the idea, I turned back to my email.
Computer keys finally rattled under my fingertips after I navigated onto a fresh email.
Pri,
Sorry about the delayed reply. What will happen if we continue to do no PR work? Or what if I hired someone to pretend to be Jess and do the appearances?
Those are my two preferred options.
—Bastian
Damn, but I sounded like a total ass.
Still, that’s where reality lay. I never misrepresented myself to Priyanka, and I wouldn’t start now. No work—which is what I’d been doing for the last couple of months—or someoneelsedoes the work. It’s all I could offer.
After I sent the email into the void, I leaned back against the seat with a sigh. So, there went that, the worst idea ever. Someone else be Jess? Probably too stupid to follow up on. Privacy issues abounded, not to mention who would do it? What would happen if we were found out?
I toyed with those questions all the time anyway.
With any luck, Pri would be at her computer, probably frustrated that I hadn’t responded in two weeks. My lack of a decision would compound her emotions over the topic and she’d probably advocate harder for me to reveal myself as Jess. Then I’d push back and . . .
A truck roared by outside and the sound drew me out of my deepening spiral. I sucked in a sharp breath and looked up as a plate clinked in front of me.
The girl behind the counter—her name tag said Dahlia—avoided my gaze as she set a coffee mug down. A long lock of hair, almost to her elbow, slipped off her shoulder. She began to retreat, but I didn’t want her to go. Not yet.
I grabbed her wrist.
My movement happened so suddenly, it startled me also. She stilled immediately. I released her, feeling like a total weirdo. Nothing saiddangerousoridiotic malequite like grabbing a complete stranger.
“Sorry.” I folded my arms against my chest. The response came out gruffer than I intended. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to grab you. I was going to ask you—sorry. Never mind.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits where I saw more curiosity than fear. She didn’t step back or send me a dirty look or curl away. Maybe I wasn’t too scary. Or maybe she was about to punch me in the face. The look in her eye said she’d only be moments away from protecting herself, given the opportunity.
“Thank you for the food and the coffee,” I said.
“Anything else?”
Her voice had an edge, but not too much. If anything, she sounded kind.
“Can I get the coffee to go?”
“Sure.”
She grabbed the mug, spun on her heels, and walked away, her hair swaying around her back. A sweet scent remained in her wake. Nothing pungent, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. For some reason, I thought of sunshine. With a growl, I grabbed the sandwich and tore into it.
Time to get out of here.
DAD’S HOMElay under a thick blanket of guilt and shadow.
