I’m shaking my head before the proposal is fully out of his mouth. “That would be a bad idea.”
“Why?” Folding his arms over his chest, he lifts a dark eyebrow. “Ashamed of me?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Ashamed of her?”
“Hell yes.”
He chuckles and then drops a kiss to my forehead before pulling me into his arms. My body melts into his. The unease my mother’s presence always seems to fill me with begins to subside a little.
“I don’t judge you based on your mother, butterfly,” he says in my ear. He looks down at me, palming my face before dropping a kiss to my lips. When we separate, he touches my forehead with his own and adds, “And you’re the only woman I kiss on the lips before they’ve brushed their damn teeth in the morning.”
I push him away, giggling while lightly punching his arm.
“I’m serious.”
“My breath doesn’t smell bad.” I cover my mouth with my hand and blow into it, trying to smell my own breath.
“I was talking about breakfast. Take a shower at your place. I’ll shower here and change, and we can have breakfast here or go out. The three of us.”
“I think going out would be the safer choice.”
He gives a one shoulder shrug. “I’ll just save the eggs in my fridge for another time to cook you breakfast.” He drops one more kiss to my lips. “Go get dressed,” he orders just before smacking me on the backside.
I laugh, moving past him, but then stop and turn in his direction. “Are you sure about this? My mother can … uh, she can be a lot to handle.”
“You ask me one more time and I’m tossing you over my shoulder and taking you in the shower myself. I don’t give a care who’s waiting.”
When he begins stalking toward me as if he’s about to follow through on his threat, I jump and make a beeline for the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Emanuel
“I need to speak with you,” Don says in a low voice as he comes up from behind me while I’m at the stove in the kitchen.
I turn to face him, and by the expression on his face I can tell it’s something serious. “Hey, rookie?” I call to the rookie sitting at the table watching something on his phone. “Keep an eye on this beef stew. Make sure it doesn’t burn,” I order before moving away from the stove.
I follow Don into the garage, past the fire truck that’s parked inside the parking lot of the fire station. He obviously intends for this to be a private conversation.
“I’ve been looking into that fire. The one involving the little boy.”
I nod as my chest tightens. Those ugly feelings I often try to avoid whenever I think of that night arise.
“But I can’t find much information on it.”
“Like what?”
“Like, how it really started. What type of investigation was done around it. Nothing is on record at the department except for a report that was written up by your former captain. It was based on that and the accounts of your team that earned you that medal. But as far as anything from the investigator’s perspective, there’s nothing.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I fold my arms over my chest. That’s more than strange. Every fire—especially one involving a person that dies—is supposed to have an investigative report accompanying it.
“I’d like to speak to someone at your old station house about it.”
“And you thought having me along would help jog some memories or get them to open up more?” I question, already knowing where this was going.
He nods. “Makes sense, right?”
