A flush climbs her neck in real time, and it’s so satisfying I almost laugh.
She points at me. “You absolute?—”
“Store closed?” I ask innocently.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“It was,” she snaps. “And I… I had to improvise.”
“Oh?” I lean in a fraction. “What’d you do, Firefly? Eat your Cheerios dry like a criminal?”
Her eyes go wide. “You knew it would be closed.”
“I knew.” My mouth twitches. “I also knew it would make you blush.”
She huffs so hard it fogs in the cold air. “Why are you here being all cute and annoying on my doorstep first thing in the morning?”
Cute.
That word lands in my chest like a punch.
I step closer until she’s forced to tilt her head to keep eye contact. Not because I’m trying to intimidate her.
Because I like the way she looks when she has to look up at me.
“Captain ordered me,” I say.
Her brows knit. “Captain… Saxon?”
I nod once. “Inspection yesterday turned up dangerous wiring in your renovation.”
Her face falls. “What? No. I— I haven’t even?—”
“You haven’t even,” I repeat, dry. “Which is exactly why it’s dangerous.”
She bristles immediately. “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of renovating a studio.”
“Sure,” I say. “If the goal is to set it on fire.”
She glares at me like she wants to throw something, which makes me want to smile, which makes me want to kiss her, which makes me want to slam my own head into the nearest wall and end the internal problem permanently.
“So Saxon sent you,” she says, crossing her arms. “Why you?”
“Because I’m the mechanic. And the arson investigator.” I lift my tool bag. “And because apparently my suffering builds character.”
She bites back a smile. Fails. “So you’re here to save me from myself.”
“I’m here because your wiring is a liability,” I say. “And the department doesn’t want to scrape your city-girl ashes off the floor when you decide to plug in forty thousand twinkle lights and a snow machine.”
“I don’t have a snow machine,” she says quickly.
I stare at her.
She blinks.
“…Yet,” she adds, quieter.
I exhale through my nose. “Jesus.”
