Saving Savannah

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Oh definitely,” said Erik. He plucked a large bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. “At least you have this, though. You were thinking ahead.”

“Actually,” I admitted, “that was left here for me. A little gift, from the previous tenants.”

Erik lifted the tiny card next to the bottle read it. “Wow,” he said. “You mean there are still nice people left in this world?”

“A few,” I laughed. “Probably not many.”

“That’s an awful lot of wine,” Zane noted, scratching at his shaggy blond mane.

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “Too bad you guys won’t be here later to help me finish it.”

The words were fun, flirty. They’d just slipped out. But the way the guys were suddenly eyeing each other, it made my stomach erupt in butterflies.

“I think you’re just angling for someone to put your furniture together,” Erik insinuated with a wry grin.

“That too.”

He looked again at the others, then raised an eyebrow. “Would there be pizza involved?”

My heart was pounding now, hammering a steady rhythm in my chest. “Could be, yeah.”

The guys looked at each other again. All three of them gave up a mutual shrug.

“Then we’re in,” said Zane.

Roman folded his arms and nodded.

“Let’s say eight o’clock?” suggested Erik. “Gives us time to run home and shower. Come back without the stupid uniforms.”

“And what if I like you in the stupid uniforms?” I flirted, for no particular reason.

Erik’s smoldering blue eyes bored into mine. I knew right then I was in trouble. Big trouble.

“Trust me,” he winked. “You’ll like us better without em’.”

Two

SAVANNAH

It took them just ten minutes to put my kitchen table together, and another twenty to assemble the chairs. I’d bought a cheap set. Nothing fancy. But it seemed more than adequate, as the four of us sat huddled around it in my brightly-lit kitchen.

“Wanna pass me the salt, bro?”

Zane slid it across the table, toward his friend’s waiting hand. He went too hard though. Halfway there, it tipped on its side and spilled out in a cool-looking fan pattern.

“C’mon man,” said Erik. “Have some respect. She hasn’t even set up yet and you’re wrecking the place already.”

Zane righted the shaker apologetically and began the cleanup process. Before he did though, Roman took a pinch of the spilled salt and tossed it over his opposite shoulder.

“What’s that for?” asked Zane.

“Good luck,” I answered for him.

Roman turned his attention my way and gave me a very approving look. “So… you’re Italian?”

I pulled at my deep red curls and laughed. “Do I look Italian?”