Page 71 of Book and Ladder
Her eyes go wide and she sets down the platter she’s about to rinse on the counter.
“He’s not from around here … I don’t think.”
“You don’t think?” Her brow scrunches in confusion.
“He runs a podcast—about books.”
To her credit, Carli remains silent, waiting for me to divulge everything. And I do. I tell her about my first email with the host ofBurning Through the Pagesand all our messages since.
When I finish, she says, “No wonder you haven’t been excited when we’ve fixed you up on dates.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“I know.” Her eyes soften with unspoken compassion.
“What about you?” I ask Carli. “Why isn’t everyone fixing you up? Do I have an invisible sign on my back that says,Matchmake me, please?”
“No. And I don’t know. I think my standards are impossibly high.” She sighs. “I’m stuck.”
“I know what you mean.”
She has no idea. The last man on earth I’d ever kiss is invading my dreams. I’ve gone on two dates that only served to highlight my hopelessness of ever finding someone in the local dating pool. And my online idol is messaging me, but we’ll never meet in person.
Stuck doesn’t even come close to describing my love life.
Chapter 21
Patrick
Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.
It's about learning how to dance in the rain.
~ Vivian Greene
This storm’sone of the worst we’ve had in a while—straight-line winds over sixty miles an hour, trees down, power out, streets flooding.
We’re called to a downed tree, branches splayed across power lines near Moss and Maple.
“Emberleigh just texted,” Dustin says into his headset.
He’s riding in the back seat with Cody, all of us in wildland gear. I’m driving. Greyson’s up front riding officer.
“She and a few friends were at Moss and Maple for an author signing. They’re huddled in the basement, waiting it out. Says they’re fine.”
We maneuver through zero visibility at a crawl. The wind shoves at the truck, threatening to veer us off course. The wipers thrash against sheets of rain, tires plowingthrough foot-deep water. I nose the rig to a stop near the downed tree, its roots torn up, branches straddling the sagging lines between two poles. With every gust, the tangle of limbs and wires writhes like an ominous monster in the dark.
Our first task: block the road. The lines could be live, so safety is our first priority. The utility crew rolls in, bucket truck headlights cutting through the storm. Jerry Simms rides the lift skyward, the wind tossing him like he’s on some rigged carnival ride. He works the switch while Dustin calls Emberleigh, warning her to expect the blackout.
“Everyone stand back!” Greyson shouts. “That line’ll kill you if it’s live.”
A blink later, the block goes dark. Jerry signals the all-clear, and we fire up the saws, cutting branch after branch until the last of the tree thuds to the pavement.
By the time we’re finished, we’re soaked and aching. Across the street, faint flickers from battery candles glow in Daisy’s shop windows. I glance at Dustin. He nods, and we head across to check on the civilians sheltering inside.
“We’re still on scene,” Greyson calls after us.
“Copy that,” I shout back. “Just checking on the group inside the shop.”
