Her becoming part of this.
Her making it harder to keep my distance.
I cut in, “We should take those measurements. I have to get on the road.” And not a minute too soon.
Her smile dims slightly. “Right. Yes. Work.”
The guys exchange looks I ignore.
Vincenza and I spend the next twenty minutes measuring doorways, discussing ramp angles, and marking spots for handrails. She’s thorough, professional, and asks smart questions about traffic flow and winter conditions.
When we’re done, she tucks her clipboard under her arm. “I’ll have the permit drafted by the end of the day. Should be approved by next week.”
“Thanks.”
“And Monday morning, we really do need to finalize the Fireman’s Ball timeline.”
“I’ll be there.”
“On time?”
“I’mnever late.”
“We’ll see.” There’s a challenge in her voice. A spark I recognize from trivia night and it disarms me.
The guys tucked back into their prairie dog holes or wherever they’d appeared from.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Me too. Big day of permit reviewing ahead.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“It’s riveting. You should try it sometime.”
“I’d rather—” But I’m not sure what, because I realize that we’re standing close.
When did that happen? I can smell her perfume again and the little beauty mark above her lip teases me.
“See you Monday,” she says.
“Monday.”
She heads for the door, then pauses. “Patton?”
“What?”
“This place is going to be great. Captain Kendrick would be proud.”
The words unexpectedly hit the dense part of my chest. Not trusting my voice, I nod.
She leaves, and I stand in the empty firehouse, surrounded by sawdust and memories and the ghost of her presence.
My phone buzzes.
Austin: She’s nice.
Me: She’s nosy.
