Page 45 of Flare Up
“No, these are my favorite dates with you. But it’s nice to go out sometimes.”
“These are my favorite dates, too.” He slid his hand into her hair and closed his fingers, tilting her head back so he could kiss her.
He was about to haul her into his lap when she pulled her head back. “You’re watching this whole movie, Grant.”
“If I can stay awake,” he muttered, letting go of her hair.
“If I miss any of the movie because I can’t hear it over you snoring, I’m leaving you here on the couch.”
He laughed, but then she shushed him because apparently the movie had come to a good part. It seemed like it was still a bunch of people just talking, but Wren laughed, so he tried to pay attention.
All he had to do to stay awake was think of all the things he was going to do to her when that sweatshirt finally came off.
* * *
Wren didn’t mind driving in snow, but she hated freezing rain. Especially the light mist that didn’t look like much, but turned the city into a skating rink.
Mrs. Belostotsky had called her shortly before she left the salon to tell her that business would be slow in the bad weather and they didn’t want to worry about her being outside or on a bus in the ice.
With unexpected time off that, sadly, didn’t coincide with Grant having the day off, she was heading home to relax for a while and maybe surf the job listings online. Now that Grant was back in her life again and their lives were full of friends, she’d been thinking it might be time to revisit her employment situation. Not only because of the travel annoyances with the market, but because she’d rather work one full-time job with regular hours than two part-time ones that barely added up to enough.
Maybe she’d even get lucky and find a Monday through Friday day job, so she would only have two nights of sleeping alone and an otherwise normal schedule.
You’re getting ahead of yourself, she thought. Changing jobs for practical reasons was one thing. But changing jobs to suit a life she wasn’t living yet was putting the cart before the horse.
She was almost to the fire station, which she passed on her way home, when a light ahead turned red and the car in front of her started sliding. One second everything was fine, and the next, she was looking at the side of the compact car as it went sideways under a red light and into the intersection.
The impact of the pickup driving into it was so jarring, Wren hit her brake too hard and her car started to slide. She let off, letting it correct itself, and then gently brought it to a stop. Luckily, she didn’t get rear-ended and, after turning her four-way flashers on because there was nowhere to pull out of the way, she got out of her car.
Another woman was already running toward the wreck and Wren could hear her yelling into her phone. Since 9-1-1 had already been called, she went to the car, which had been shoved into a pole and was sandwiched between it and the crumpled grille of the pickup.
The driver was awake, his eyes wide as he raised his hand to the gash on his forehead. “What happened?”
“You were in an accident. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Not that she could do anything about it, but maybe if she had answers by the time the ambulance showed up, it would save time if he was hurt.
“I don’t think so.”
Other people were talking to the driver of the pickup, so Wren craned her neck to see into the backseat. It looked as if he was alone in the car, which meant it wasn’t as bad as it could have been if there were kids in the backseat.
She heard sirens and looked over the hood of the sedan to watch cars trying to get over enough to let the firetrucks through. She’d been expecting an ambulance, but her heart jumped when she recognized E-59 and L-37 fighting their way to the intersection. It was probably overkill, she thought, but they responded to accidents and they always responded together.
“Help’s here,” she told the driver. “Just be still and they’ll get you out in a few minutes, okay?”
“I should call my wife.” He looked around and he seemed a little confused still. “My phone. It was on the passenger seat.”
“They’ll get it for you.” As much as she knew he probably wanted to hear his wife’s voice, she wasn’t about to go fishing around in broken glass for his cell phone. If he’d been more severely injured, she would, but he was going to be okay.
“Wren!”
She heard Grant shout her name and looked to where the firetrucks had stopped. He was running toward her and she was so afraid he was going to slip on the ice, she gave him a thumbs up, hoping he’d slow down. He didn’t stop until he reached her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her upper arms and looking her over.
“I wasn’t in the accident,” she said, left a little breathless by how fierce he looked. “My car was behind his. See?”
He looked over her shoulder and then back at her. “You’re not hurt?”
“I only got out to see if he was okay.”
