As I sat, Finn chuckled. “Fall is definitely in the air.”
“You had pink cheeks when you were out with the dogs.” Heat rushed to my face. Not exactly subtle.
“Will that show up in the pictures, do you think? The fresh-faced firefighter with the pink cheeks?” He plopped onto the plastic chair and unwrapped his sandwich.
“Don’t you wash your hands?” I eyed him.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” He got up and headed to the washroom.
Maybe that was out of line. He’s an adult. If he wants dog guck on his food, that’s his issue, not mine.Except…I didn’t want to watch him and think about dog guck. I’d never had a pet growing up. That said, I didn’t mind dogs. Tiffany, Healing Horses’ therapy dog visited the newspaper office once or twice a month when Rainbow Dixon visited her sister Spring.
I tried to remember where in the pecking order Rainbow fell, but I couldn’t. A middle child? As an only child, I couldn’t fathom seven siblings—let alone seven brothers or seven sisters.
“Happy now?” Finn sat back down.
At that moment, the sun angled in such a way as to hit his head. His red hair turned a burnished auburn with gold highlights while his dark-blue eyes appeared even more vivid. Objectively, the man was gorgeous. With the body to match the good looks.
I’d never been a guy who picked his partners based on looks. Well, perhaps in the early days. As time went on, though? More and more I wanted someone with personality. Intellect or street smarts were a bonus. Someone to carry on a conversation with.
Finn was all those things.
“So…the shelter—”
He waved me off. “Food first.”
I let out a sigh of frustration as he dug into his wrap. With more force than necessary, I used my wooden fork to dig into my bowl. I didn’tlovewooden cutlery or paper straws. I also didn’t want to leavea legacy of plastic everywhere. Hell, even the bowl that my food was in was a strong paper-fiber product instead of plastic. Only the lid was plastic. So hey, I’d done my part for the environment today.
“When do you go back to work?” I took a forkful of food and delicately put it in my mouth.
My dinner companion, on the other hand, was eating like he was starved, and food was dropping from the wrap onto the paper. He swallowed. “Tomorrow night. Then I work for three nights.”
“Then you’re off, right? Must be tough—switching from days to nights and back.”
“When I get the full three days off, it’s not so bad. I just stay up all day after my last night shift—that pretty much resets my internal clock.”
“Don’t shift workers have a higher rate of cardiovascular disease? Of cancer?”
“Yeah. Same with firefighters. I still wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. So, why journalism?” He took a huge bite. Unlike me, he hadn’t opted for onions.
Maybe he just doesn’t like them. So maybe I shouldn’t have picked them either.
Right.
Except this isn’t a date.
Or is it?He’d said the price of information was a meal and he considered meals as dates.
I was so confused.
He gestured for me to answer his question.
“That’s both complicated and simple. I believe in truth, and I believe the expression that sunlight is the best disinfectant. The more people know the truth, the less likely others are able to get away with crimes.”
“You’ve broken some big stories.” He grinned.
“You searched me.”
“Well, you knew that was going to happen eventually. So, did you do that shit they accused you of?”” Another bite. Accompanied by an arched eyebrow.
