The pause in the thin nighttime air was only punctuated by a feline meowing somewhere up the street.
“He was just being nice,” she clarified. “Ethan, I mean.” She pushed her toe at the asphalt before glancing back to Ethan. “He was being nice to me, and covering for me, and he didn’t know. Nobody actually cooks with these things. I’m pretty sure.”
Honest to all bloody hell, Ethan thought his life was complicated, but he had nothing on Emmaline.
This was the bit where he should be the knight in shining pajama trousers. He understood this, embraced it—but he couldn’t seem to spit the bloody words out. Not with the green slab o’ silicone still fresh in his mind.
Also, because Emmaline was absolutely adorable, with her brown hair ruffled up into a mess of a wreck on top of her head, her pink pig pajamas, and massive rubber clogs.
And again, because under all that adorable she was a real looker with an underlying strength, and the thought of her and the green wand o’ wonders conjured all sorts of illicit images to his brain cells that had no business being there.
That was a non-starter that could get sticky quick. Ethan didn’t do sticky. Not when he had a daughter to raise, a television empire to rebuild, and a whole life to untangle.
Also, he’d learned early in his life that a woman with a penchant for flames was best left to her own devices. Wisdom best not forgotten.
“Righto.” Well. Ethan went for the charm he’d been known for once upon a time in Nosh-Land. “The culprit’s nabbed. No harm done. Onward.”
They all stared at him like he was a mortadella sandwich short of a picnic.
That look on all their mugs? The precise expression his business manager had when Ethan pitched his plan for opening his chain of restaurants in Denver, Colorado Springs, and Fort Collins while he waited for an opportunity to get back in good graces with the Nosh Network.
“The dumpster is scorched,” James said, his voice pitching higher. “There’s harm done.”
“Well, could’ve been worse. Amiright?” Ethan asked, even though he knew he was bang on the money.
“Is this going to happen often?” Ethan asked Em, all cheeky like to lighten the mood. “I should stay in the know so I can notify the HOA board if we’ll need to redo the budget.”
“The HOA board?” Emmaline’s eyes got big. “The HOA board does not need to be involved in this.”
“I was pulling your leg. We’ll definitely keep it on the down low.” He winked. “Our secret. Right, James?”
He could fully understand her desire not to involve others. She would probably prefer they keep this little nugget of intel among themselves.
Emmaline’s bloke of a brother harrumphed and glanced away from them, back to the residual burnt out rubbish bin, the wheels spinning in his head.
“Right, James? Our secret?” Ethan asked.
James frowned, thinking way too hard. “Secret, huh?”
“Because it’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” Ethan nodded along with his train of thought. “Could happen to anyone.”
Emmaline quirked an adorable eyebrow. “You’re sayingthiscould happen to you?”
“Never.” He was confident in that answer, and perhaps he said it a touch too quickly. But he’d never lit a fire via unmentionables and didn’t plan on starting.
“How do you normally light your fires?” James asked, unimpressed. Hands on his hips.
That was a tricky one.
“Some things are best left to the imagination,” Ethan dodged.
“You said you also don’t generally light them on purpose.” Emmaline turned to him and assaulted him with the gorgeousness of her brown eyes.
“I’m also curious about this,” James said, readjusting his stance like he was ready to dig in and hang out at the end of the cul-de-sac all night.
Well, Ethan’s fires were a tad more contained and a touch more straightforward.
“Grease fires, mostly.” He shoved his hands into his pockets instead of commenting on how her eyes had a hint of the same shade as her bedside wand— “Or the occasional flambé gone wonky every now and again.”
