Page 17 of Merry Mayhem
“Danger? That’s a little hyperbolic.”
He just chuckles.
“Are you here to kick my ass for the stop sign situation?” I ask from beside my car.
“Of course not.”
“You want an apology?”
“You gave me theoops, sorrywave,” he says.“Though I did think it also meantgo ahead, I’ll wait.”
I roll my eyes. “So, can I help you with something else?”
“I don’t need any help.”
I decide to go ahead and get closer. “So why did you follow me here?” I ask. Then I move so that I can see him more clearly in the shadow of the tree, and I stop. “JD?”
He straightens. “Thea?”
“Uh…hey.”
I know this guy. He was one of the paramedics who showed up when my grandfather had his strokeas we were driving homein June.
He gives me a big grin. “Hey! It’s nice to see you again.”
“Yeah, you too.”
It is. Itreallyis. He’s a very charming, sweet, heroic, good-looking firefighter and paramedic whom I’ve thought about more than a few times since that horrible day back in June. He’d been calm and competent and had taken care of my grandfather and my daughter, who’d hit her head when the car had come to a jerking stop as Harley had realized something was wrong and had pulled over and slammed on the brakes.
And he had taken care of me. He’d been comforting even while he’d been totally honest about what was going on and what could happen to Harley before they got him to New Orleans. He’d seemed to know exactly the words and tone to use with each of us. When to be gentle, when to be firm, when to be funny, and when to just acknowledge our fear.
I’ll admit I’d asked about him afterward.
My cousin Ami’s husband, Michael, had been the other paramedic to show up, and so I’d asked her about him three days later, when I’d found out he’d been up to visit Harley in the hospital.
But she’d told me he was hung up on some woman he’d followed to Louisiana from Nebraska.
I’d let it go.
Sort of.
I hadn’t tried to get his number or run into him. But I had sent brownies to him at the fire station in Autre. They had beenthank you for saving my grandfather’s lifebrownies, notit would be okay if you called mebrownies. Who sets up a date with a stroke patient’s granddaughter, right? That would have been weird.
But when I’d found out that he’d been up to visit Harley twice more and had played checkers with Harley and taken him on walks and smuggled in some of Harley’s sister's bread pudding, I developed a little crush despite myself. I mean, I’m thirty-one.Can I have acrushon someone? Maybe not. I just don’t know what else to call it.
“Why are you following me?” I ask, trying to sound flippant, when, in reality, I’m shocked to see him, yet very pleased.
“Uh,youfollowedme.” He tips his head. “Areyouhere to kickmyass?”
I smile at him. “No. And I’m running late, so I wouldn’t have time even if I wanted to.”
“That’s a relief.”
I feel my smile grow. “So, whose house are you looking for?”
Why is he here? If he knows one of Harley and Bruce’s neighbors, I’m going to be so annoyed that I’ve missed all of his other visits.
“Bruce’s,” he says, glancing at the big red front door with the enormous wreath on it. “This is it, right?”
