Page 45 of Book and Ladder
I almost reached across to grab that man’s phone, but then his mom told him to put it down. I bet Daisy thinks I’m going to rib her about what she lived through tonight. I might when it’s in the distant past—if she’s really over it then. Otherwise, I have my limits when it comes to banter. A topic that feels vulnerable to her is not an option.
I’ll keep that bare minimum in mind if I go on another date.
- M&M
I can’t help but ask. Maybe it will make her laugh at what sounds like an otherwise difficult night.
With him?
She responds:
Ha! Definitely not him.
I smile. We change the subject from dating and start discussing our current reads. When she tells me she’s getting tired, I send her one last email.
Goodnight, M&M. Sweet dreams.
I shut the laptop, but the grin she put on my face stays with me the rest of the night.
Chapter 13
Patrick
This is not a drill.
~ Unknown
Whose idea was this anyway?
Oh, yeah. Captain’s.
I’m standing next to someone’s dog—a Dalmatian puppy, as if that’s the only breed we’re fond of—wearing nothing but my station pants and boots.
September’s the month we host our chili cook-off, and I’m “Mr. September,” according to the photographer in charge of taking our pictures for this fundraising calendar. They’ve got props, apparently. I’m praying mine don’t include a frilly apron.
Dustin sidles up to me. “At least you didn’t call February.”
He snickers and I glance at Greyson, his face an impenetrable mask, wearing a pair of red station pants—from wherever they found those—and a strap-on pair of feathery wings.
“Shut it, Dustin,” Greyson grits out through his clenched jaw.
Dustin and I break into full hysterics.
“Hey, man,” Dustin says between bursts of laughter. “You were the one who demanded to be Mr. February.”
“Could you smile softly for a few of the photos?” the photographer’s assistant asks Greyson.
“Doubt it,” Cody ribs. “You get what you get with Cupid.”
Another round of laughter fills the bay.
A makeup artist approaches Greyson. “I just need to put some of this …” She stands about three feet away from Greyson and points at his chest while holding up a bottle of baby oil.
Greyson spears David a look and grumbles something about how he’d better appreciate the lengths we go to in order to support our community.
“Give me that,” Greyson growls at the makeup artist.
She steps back a good foot at least, but extends the bottle to him.
