Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency 1)

He stayed silent while an orderly wheeled him back to the ER. The wheelchair irked, but Beau understood hospital policy, and frankly, he figured it advanced his cause to look as harmless as possible. Especially after a simple touch in the radiology waiting room had charged the air around them with unstable chemistry.

He needed to review that whole conversation he’d had with himself about acknowledging lust versus acting on it. Acknowledging said, “It’s there. I see it,” much like a driver acknowledging a hazard in the road ahead. Acting on it amounted to steering straight for the hazard. Unfortunately, without meaning to, that’s exactly what he’d done. Touching her had definitely been a mistake. A potentially fatal one, now that she’d had a few minutes to think about the dangers. He hoped not, but the moment called for patience, not pressure.

His patience paid off. As soon as the exam room door whooshed closed behind the departing orderly, she propped herself against the table and stared down at him. “Okay, Montgomery, exactly how do you envision us executing this brilliant scheme of yours?”

“We keep things simple. Stick to the truth as much as possible.”

“With the notable exception of the whole ‘we’re in love and getting married’ bit.”

He dipped his head in concession. “Except for that.”

She folded her arms and gripped her elbows as if holding herself together. “How’d we meet?”

He stood and approached her, slow and casual to counterbalance the tension coming off her. “You moved in next door.” He braced a hand on the table by her hip. “And immediately caught my eye.”

“Did I?” She scanned his face, and he noticed the thin black striations in her horizon-blue irises.

“Hell, yes. We got to talking, and quickly realized we knew each other from back in the day.” He leaned in a little closer, drawn to the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. He remembered those freckles. “Maybe that explains why we felt such an instant—”

“Connection?” The tip of her tongue swept over the small vee notched into the center of her upper lip.

“Attraction.”

The tongue detoured to her plush lower lip, and then retreated. “Attraction’s easy. Happens all the time. How did we get from attraction to love?”

“For me, it was the little things. The way you sing in the shower. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying to make an important decision. The home-baked apple pie might have been a factor.”

Those naked lips quirked into her tilted smile, and he silently added that to his list.

“You’re good at this. But you should fall in love with my talent, too. I’m an artist. My professional name is S.E. Smith, and without her in the mix, I’m just another pretty face.”

Untrue, but now wasn’t a wise moment to point out all the other talents he’d noticed every time she’d gone up or down the stairs at Camden Gardens. Never would be the better time for that conversation. He straightened. “I have to confess I don’t know shit about art. Give me a couple catchphrases so I don’t sound like an asshat talking about how your work captures the complex, shifting essence of what it means to be human.”

Her laugh eased some of the tension in the room. “Lucky for you, I went through my ‘complex, shifting essence’ phase years ago. I’m a glass artist.”

“Right. Glass artist. I’m not sure what that means.”

“I blow glass. You should come down to Glassworks Studios—that’s where I rent furnace time—and see for yourself. But in the meantime, just use words like ‘colorful,’ ‘vibrant,’ and ‘extremely breakable.’ If you really want to impress my family, you can say my work looks like Dale Chihuly had a tempestuous affair with Queen Elsa from Frozen.”

“You’re way better than Dale Chihuahua.”

His ignorance earned him another throaty laugh. “And that’s why I fell for you.”

“Because of my art appreciation?”

“Because you make me laugh.” She fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and her smile turned sly. “Plus I like how you fill out your paramedic’s uniform.”

The comment surprised him. Not the flirtatiousness—he’d never mistaken her for shy—but based on her boyfriend choice, he’d pegged her for the suit-and-tie type. “I didn’t realize you’d noticed.”

“Are you kidding? We all noticed.”

“We all?”

“Mrs. Washington in one-twenty-two—”

“Shut up. She’s ninety years old.”

“Nothing wrong with her eyesight. She fans her face and says, ‘Oooh mercy, dat ass,’ every time you walk by. And Steven in one-oh-two says next time the temperature hits triple digits, he’s going to fake a swoon and hope for mouth-to-mouth.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and added, “Don’t tell him I divulged his plan.”