She may have a point, but it’s not one I’m willing to entertain. “After the day I had? There will be no discussion of going out on a limb. Now, enough talk of firefighters. He’ll probably be too tied up with his date tonight to get back to me about Dumpling anyway. At least, she’s safe and medicated.”
“True, and at least you get to see that handsome young man again tonight. I’m telling you, Cat. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”
I’m so annoyed by my heated cheeks at this point that I snap back, “It doesn’t matter, Gran. I’m from a different generation. We don’t need men to provide for us or any of that. I’m far too happy with you and Dumpling to mess things up with dating drama.”
“True. But you’re really talking about my mother’s generation. Not mine. We were independent in the sixties and seventies, too, you know. But for women like my mother? There were no options, completely at the mercy of my father.Trou du cul!”
Asshole. Gran never minces words about her father, a violent man she still spits French curses at.
“Thankfully, Ferdinand whisked me out of that abuse. My savior. I miss him so much.” Her words repeat the lesson I learned long ago. Love is dangerous, painful to lose, and only rarely worth the risk.
She looks down sadly at her plate, and I instantly regret the turn in the conversation. I’d much rather focus on silliness like auctions and firemen than see her sad.
“They don’t make men like grandpa anymore. It’s that simple.”
“Oh, but they do,” she says, dropping her fork and grabbing a newspaper on the chair next to her and holding it up.
Plastered on the front page is Ambrose Dutch in a sexy pose, wearing a cowboy hat.
My stomach does a little flip, heat curling low in my belly.
The headline reads:
“SoCal Celebrity-Turned-Firefighter Will Go to Highest Bidder”
My eyes wash over the black and white copy of my rescuer, wishing I could see him again. And mortified any other woman will get dibs on him tonight.
“We should bid on him,” she says with a mirthful grin.
“Gran!” I exclaim. “What in the world are you thinking?”But the idea lands like a spark in dry tinder, one I can’t stamp out no matter how hard I try.
“Seriously, Cat. We should.”
“Oh, my goodness. I can’t even.” I shake my head, working hard to play Devil’s Advocate. “I’m sure he’s got lots of gorgeous women lining up for him. Me winning him would probably be a disappointment.”
Though I try to be a body positive gal in love with my own curves, I’m well aware of how society still treats women my size … and more specifically, Hollywood.
“How can you say something like that? With the way he was eyeing you earlier? And flirting with you?”
I shake my head. “He was probably just trying to keep me from panicking?”
“At the bottom of the ladder, too, when it looked like he was about to kiss you?”
“Gran, were you spying on us?”
She shrugs, a smile tinging her lips. “Not spying, making sure my granddaughter was okay. You have no idea how much you terrified me out there. And then, I couldn’t find Ferdinand, and …” She stops, pushing her rice around on her plate as my heart breaks.
Maybe it’s wrong of me. But I don’t have the heart to explain that the love of her life is dead. It never sticks anyway.
“According to the newspaper, Avery?—”
“You mean, Ambrose?”
“Yes, Ambrose is all the buzz in Gold County since moving here a month ago. He’s single, and he only had eyes for you in the tree.”
“Only had eyes for my underwear,” I lament, still embarrassed by what happened.
“At least, you were wearing pretty ones. It could have been worse.”
