Page 12
Story: One Boiling Summer
“Right.” Her gaze drifted across the street to the hardware store. “I noticed some things that need fixing at the house. Not knocking what Carson did while I was gone, but the porch paint’s peeling something fierce. Figured I’d start there.”
I lifted a brow. “Porch paint, huh? That’s an ambitious first project.”
“How hard could it be?” She shrugged. “Loose towel bar, leak under the sink, flower beds overgrown, a few busted window screens. There are a lot of things that should keep me busy for a bit.”
I folded my arms and gave her a slow once-over. “You’re not planning to paint in those fancy linen pants, are you?”
She glanced down at herself. “Not ideal for home repairs?”
“Nope.” I grinned. “But you’re in luck. I’ve got a couple sets of painting overalls. I’ll swing by here in the morning. We can make a list, see what I can help with.”
Her eyes widened a little. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to be a bother?—”
“You’re not.” I said it flatly, cutting her off. “You’d never be a bother to me.”
She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “I can pay you. Not much, but?—”
“You think I want your money?” I gave her the grumpiest look I had in my arsenal.
“Do you even know how to fix things?”
“Who do you think Mama called when something broke after Dad passed?”
That wiped the teasing out of her eyes. My voice softened. “Speaking of, Sunday’s the anniversary of the fire. You thinking about going out to the cemetery?”
She shifted. “Eventually.”
“If you wait until Sunday, Mama’s having us all go after church. Come with us.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“Lace, come on. You’re practically family. Mama would love to see you.”
The clock on the square chimed, reminding me I needed to haul it or Cap would have my hide for being late.
“Pick up whatever supplies you need at the hardware store. Tell them I said you can charge it to my account. We’ll work on the house together,” I instructed.
“Okay. I could use all the help I can get.”
I tipped my head. “Then I’ll see you in the morning, Lace.”
I raced to the station and found our small crew gathered in the kitchen. I dropped my gear and handed my untouched coffee to Presley, who had a sweet tooth and a caffeine addiction to match—and a crush on Hailey.
“You’re not gonna drink it?” he asked, already popping the lid and reaching for the sugar on the counter.
“Nah. Ordered it by mistake while I was meeting someone for coffee.”
He smirked, and knew me all too well as one of my best friends. “Someone being a certain pretty brunette back in town?”
I didn’t answer, just grabbed a mug and poured a cup of strong black firehouse roast. I didn’t bother with cream or sugar.
“She’s lookin’ good,” Presley said casually. “The whole town’s buzzing about you taking her home last night.”
“So I’ve heard. No comment.”
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