“Can’t complain,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I said, smiling. “Gettin’ married.”
“No kidding? Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How about you? Got any grandkids yet?”
“Three,” he said.
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“As much as I love hearin’ your voice, I’m sure you didn’t call to shoot the shit,” I deduced.
“Always to the point,” he said. “Like that about you, bud.”
I chuckled.
“Southern Cali’s not doin’ so great,” he continued.
That was an understatement. Most of LA and the surrounding area was on fire and it was spreading.
“Yeah, I’ve been watchin’ the news.”
“He’s put a call out for pilots, and you’re the first person I thought of,” he said. “Are you still flying?”
“I am,” I confirmed.
“Can I give him your contact information?” he asked. “It’ll be more of an emergency backup.”
“Absolutely.”
His sigh came over the phone. “Thanks, brother. Appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“Right, I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Take care,” I said, and hung up, heading into the kitchen where Tate was standing in one of my T-shirts, frying bacon on the stove.
She turned her head and grinned. “Hi, honey.”
“Hey, baby,” I said, closing the distance between us and wrapping my arms around her waist. “Where’d you get that shirt?”
She leaned back into me. “I pulled it out of the dryer after I did twelve loads of your laundry,” she said sweetly, but the fact she’d done a week’s worth of my dirty shit wasn’t lost on me. “Finders keepers.”
I chuckled, sliding my hands under her shirt, and running my fingers over her belly. “Looks better on you anyway.”
“Iknow,” she squealed in a girly, sarcastic voice.
“Thanks for doing all that shit.” I kissed her quickly, then pulled a couple of mugs out of the cabinet.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Who was on the phone?”
I dumped sugar into my cup and Splenda into hers as I watched her cook. “You remember me telling you about the captain I trained under when I was early in my flight stuff?”
“The fire captain?”
