“That Poop thing?” He grins at me.
“Poupon, yeah.”
“Those small dogs are a handful. Give me a big hound any day. Something that can keep up with me on the side of a mountain. Not get lost in the snow.” Flint sips his coffee. He deals with the mountain rescue, along with Grizz, and he’s builtlike a truck. An image of him holding my aunt’s tiny white dog flashes into my brain and I have to stifle a laugh.
I pour some coffee. I need to have a strategy for tomorrow. Goldie might have her guard up, but she has to see I’ve changed.
Tomorrow will be different.
I’ll make sure of it.
Chapter Three
MARIGOLD
The day dawns even hotter than the one before. The leaking tap in the bathroom drips repeatedly. Every time I try to get back to sleep it doesn’t work. The night sky shifts from a bluish-black, to violet, and then to orange and pink.
The colors spark something in my overtired brain. Grabbing the sketch pad by my bed, I work on some character sketches as the sun comes up. But my thoughts keep returning to Dean’s visit yesterday. It’s not just his huge body and irritatingly gorgeous face. It’s the way he settled his hands on his hips and gazed down at me without an ounce of remorse. His unshakeable, infuriating confidence.
And, just like in high school, he’s the one who has the upper hand. I’m the invalid stuck on the couch in a boot, while he calls the shots. Cool, calm, and collected is the only way to deal with this. To deal withhim. For jocks like Dean Montag, everything’s a game. He doesn’t take anyone - or anything - seriously.
Making my way carefully to the bathroom, I nudge Moose who’s lying in the hall like an oversized log. It takes me a long time to decide what to wear. I settle on a slip dress. Reaching for my makeup bag, I sit on the bed holding it for a while, and thenput it away. No way am I going to give Mr. Cocky the satisfaction of thinking I’ve put makeup on for his benefit.
By the time he arrives, my heart is thrumming in my chest. I keep telling myself it’s the caffeine from that cup of coffee I had hours ago.
Dean walks in with a tiny, white, fluffy dog under one arm and a huge bunch of red, and orange flowers in the other. He puts the little dog on the floor, who takes one look at Moose and runs over to bark repeatedly at him. The back door’s open and Moose dashes outside with his tail between his legs. The little dog chases after him, still barking.
Dean shakes his head and stares after the dogs. “That didn’t work like I expected. I thought Moose might be lonely.”
“That’s your dog?” I try not to smile. I hadn’t imagined that a big, macho firefighter would have a little white pooch.
“My aunt’s dog. Poupon. She’s obsessed with France.” He hands me the flowers and the latest edition ofComic Lovers Monthly.
“What are these?”
“They’re for you. To say sorry for being a jerk in high school.”
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Dean, but flowers and a magazine aren’t going to cut it.”
“I’ll put them in some water. You can look at the magazine while you ignore me. Believe it or not, I got into reading comics after teasing you about it in high school. You were always sketching and I wanted to find out what you were so interested in. Is there anything you need doin’ around here?” He walks over to the kitchen and puts the flowers on the counter.
A flush rises in my cheeks as a completely unexpected image of his head between my thighs pops into my head. I squeeze my legs together.
“Doing?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a mile away. Dean’s into comics too? Because of me?
“Like fixing the fan, yesterday? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. Have they got you on those super-strong meds for your ankle?” He cocks an eyebrow. Somehow, he’s located a vase, poured some water, and is already arranging the flowers.
“Uh, the tap in the bathroom keeps dripping. It kept me up last night.”
“I was up too last night. Late shift. Let me check if those dogs are okay and then I’ll fix the tap. Then I’ll make us both some coffee.” He strides out the back door. He’s left his phone on the counter and it lights up with message notifications every minute or so.
Ten minutes later, Dean walks back inside, the light behind him, and I stifle a gasp. There’s something so masculine about the set of his shoulders and his effortless, long-legged stride. Maybe I’m just man-starved from all my recovery time up here, but I can’t stop staring at him.
“Would you believe the dogs are playing together now? Cutest thing. Point me in the direction of the tap, Goldie. Or would you like coffee first?” He sounds amused.
“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. I think you have about a million messages on your phone. Juggling girlfriends?”
He mimes being punched in the stomach and then puts his phone in his jeans pocket. “Low blow, lady. No girlfriends. I’m on call a lot, we have a firehouse group chat, and my aunt is always bugging me.”
