Page 117 of Book and Ladder
Mrs. Hellman strolls past with her dog. “Aren’t you going to let him in?”
Daisy shoves the door nearly shut.
“Morning, Mrs. Hellman!” I call.
“I’d have let you in ages ago if I were younger!” she shouts back.
Daisy snorts. “You and your admirers.”
We stand there on opposite sides of her door until Mrs. Hellman is out of earshot—which is farther than one might think.
“I can’t shower,” Daisy grumbles. “The water is like ice. It won’t get hot—or even warm.”
“Let me see what I can do,” I offer.
“You’re not coming in here!”
“Just to check the water heater. Go upstairs.”
Her head bobs and she disappears. I count to ten, nudge the door open with my foot, setting the coffee and croissant on her entry table. I head into the kitchen. Her duplex has the same layout as mine. The water heater should be in the utility closet. Sure enough.
Bending, I check the flame. Yep. Pilot’s out.
“Where do you keep matches—or a lighter?” I call upstairs.
“Last drawer by the back door!”
I grab the lighter, turn off the gas, and wait a beat.
I’m about to turn toward the kitchen doorway so I can shout up that it should be on in a few minutes when Daisy barrels into me, wearing a fuzzy pink robe that matches the flush in her cheeks. Drops of latte splatter on my shirt. She steps back, tightening the belt.
“Sorry …” we say in unison.
“I was just checking if you figured it out.” She takes a sip, eyeing me. “And also if you poisoned this.” She holds out the cup in my direction.
“Nope. Once again, too busy to rustle up iocane powder.”
She squints atThe Princess Bridereference.
“Well, thank you. It’s delicious. What’s your angle?”
“Angle?”
“You brought me baked goods and caffeine."
If her hands were free, I’m certain she’d cross her arms—but her gaze isn’t as sharp as usual. I’m in her kitchen fixing her water heater. That has to mean something.
“It should light now,” I say.
She sets down her cup and crouches beside me, tucking her hair behind her ear and smoothing the rest over her shoulder.
“Teach me.”
“Teach you how to light a pilot?”
“No, how to maneuver a Black Hawk helicopter. Yes, O’Connell—I want to know how to light my own pilot.”
A flirty answer sits on the tip of my tongue, but I like my tongue and my dignity, so I keep my thoughts to myself and point to the lever that controls the pilot. “Turn that lever topilot.”
