I smile as I turn to her. “Can I show you something?”
She gives me a sexy grin. “You can show meanything, Mr. April.”
I laugh and turn onto the next road. “It’s just a quick detour.”
I take her to the firehouse and park outside.
Her eyes light up as she gets out and looks up at it. “Am I going to get a tour of the firehouse?”
I put my arm around her shoulder and guide her in. “A VIP tour.”
She claps excitedly.
Mason and James are washing the truck and June thanks them for their help last night. I feel so proud as I walk beside her. They keep darting their eyes at me, probably wondering if we’re a thing now. If we aren’t, we will be soon. I guarantee it.
“Oh my god,” Ethan says when the short guy from last night walks in. He has three bright red scratches across his forehead. “Dude, you have to get that checked. You probably need a shot or something.”
“He came clean this morning,” Mason says, chuckling as he comes over with his soapy hands dripping on the floor.
“Shut up, Mason,” Doug says.
“What?” I ask, looking from one to the other.
“The raccoon didn’t do that?” I ask, pointing at the scratches.
“Ronnie?” June says. “Yeah, that guy is a jerk. He’s always getting into my garbage.”
Doug exhales long and hard. “No, he just lunged at me and I got scared and ran into a tree. The branches scratched me.”
Mason chuckles.
“Why did you say he attacked you?” I ask, laughing.
Doug just goes red.
“He thought it would make him sound tougher,” Mason says, cracking up.
“Shut up, Mason,” Doug says louder.
I move June along as they start to go at it. If we get sucked into their drama, we’ll never get out of it.
We head upstairs and I bring her onto the roof to show her my garden. Bubba is sound asleep by my arugula, but he wakes up when we close the door. He runs over, snorting and panting as he heads right for my girl.
June kneels down and lets him collide into her, shaking his butt and covering her jeans in fur.
“You grew all this?” she asks, looking amazed as she looks around at my garden. It’s only spring, but it’s still impressive since I’ve been growing the seedlings all winter. Plus, it’s well organized and well loved.
I smile when she gets up—Bubba following on her heels—and walks around, slowly inspecting each planter box.
“You’re an artist too,” she says.
“I don’t know if I’d call this art,” I say.
She just nods as she gently touches a tomato plant. “I would.”
I want her.
Badly.
