Page 18 of Tasting Fire
She’d helped him, but he’d decided to go a different direction as a first responder. And like many first responders, Cash had a side hustle—mowing and landscaping. “Actually,” he said, “you were supposed to schedule it online.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I don’t need to do that. What’s wrong with good old-fashioned conversation?”
“It’s hard for me to remember without an appointment on my schedule.”
“How about Friday?” she asked, completely ignoring his business policy.
Although his first inclination was to reach in his pocket and check his Google calendar, he resisted. If he did that, she would continue to go around his scheduling system. Instead, he smiled and dug into his back pocket for a business card with the scheduling URL on it. Handing it to her, he said, “This site will tell you if I’m available.”
Her bright eyes dimmed and her mouth pulled down in an expression he’d often seen on her face in the months after high school. “Well, if that’s the way you want to be about it.”
While he and Mrs. Southerland had been talking, Emmy had edged her way over to the pre-chopped vegetables and was tucking a stir fry mix into her basket. If he didn’t get to her soon, she’d be at the register and out the door. And after the way he’d behaved, he needed to talk with her.
So he told Mrs. Southerland, “You schedule the service through the website, and I’ll till up that little section in your backyard for a garden.”
“No extra charge?”
“Nope.” She already got the friends and family discount, which meant Cash didn’t make a dime of profit from the time he spent at her place. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to grab a few things and—”
Mrs. Southerland gave a huff as she caught him staring across the zucchini at Emmy. “Really, Cash? She’s the reason you never—”
“—I’ve really gotta run.” And run he would if it kept Mrs. Southerland from marching over territory they’d been through too many times in the past about how Emmy McKay had been his downfall. “See you Friday,” he said, waving and weaving his way across the produce section toward Emmy.
“Hey,” he said to her.
Emmy turned her head just enough to look at him. “Please tell me she’s gone.”
“Heading toward the checkout as we speak.”
Puffing out a breath, she angled her basket toward the pre-chopped vegetables. “Then I’ll wait a few minutes.”
“She means well,” he said, following her. “It’s just that—”
“I ruined your life.”
That stung. Was that the way Emmy saw him? That he was living some second-rate existence because she’d rejected him?
“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.” But the way she avoided looking at him and studied packages of chopped carrots and onions instead hinted that she believed there was some truth to it. And that she was embarrassed for him.
“I think we should talk.” The words were out before Cash had a handle on what he planned to say. “For the sake of the team.”
“We are talking.”
“You know what I mean. How about we get a beer at the Triple B and clear the air?”
“I was planning to go home and—”
“You staying at your mama’s place?”
“No,” she said. “I’m upstairs at the Murchison building.”
“Grif’s apartment.”
“Such as it is.” She laughed. “It’s an interesting blend of leftover yard sale and LA high-rise.”
Sounded about like Grif. He’d taken over that space when he returned to Steele Ridge and became city manager. When he and Carlie Beth mended fences, he’d moved into her place. Last Cash heard, they were trying to figure out how to renovate and expand that little frame house to suit them both.
“Then we’ll swing by there and you can drop off your groceries before we walk down to Triple B.”
“You’re not frowning at me. Why not?”
“I’ve had a change of heart.” Cash wanted to wince at his use of a word charged with such meaning, but he soldiered on. “About the TMT.”
“No,” she said and whacked him in the chest. “You are not about to quit the team. I won’t accept it.”
That made him smile. Same old Emmy, always going full-on for what she wanted.
