Fireman Daddy (Crescent Cove 8.50)

One

The wind tossed my hair up and around my face, obscuring my vision. Too late—I’d already seen my future. Hiding behind my hair might be preferable, but it certainly wouldn’t make my sudden status as a proprietress any less daunting.

I scooped my wild dark hair back and wished for one of my hair ties. My sleek New York City blow-out wasn’t going to last through this. I could already feel my curls frizzing in the humidity. More accurately, I probably wouldn’t last through this.

I swore I’d never be back here again. Especially this spot on the broken pavement thanks to a particularly heinous winter. I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app.

Call paver.

Was that a hole in the neon glass of the sign? Madre de dios.

Research who fixes neon signs from 1987.

I shoved my phone back into my purse and picked my way across the uneven parking lot. I winced at the gravel dust on my crimson Jimmy Choo shoes. I should have stopped at my sister’s house to change, but that would lead to a whole Ramos family reunion thing I wasn’t quite ready for. Being the eldest daughter came with a lot of chaos and responsibilities. I had one older brother and three younger sisters. It was exhausting.

Maybe I’d take advantage of my not-so-new bar and have a shot or two to gird my loins.

I climbed the rickety stairs and sighed as I pulled my phone out again. I should probably just hold onto it.

Find reputable contractor.

I knew I should have just let the lawyer take care of it. I’d gotten an offer from Maitland Enterprises to buy it sight unseen, but I couldn’t quite get Sharkey’s voice out of my head. More like a belligerent growl, but I could be misremembering. It had been ten years since I’d worked here.

And he’d always been sweet to me. Always given me a safe spot to hide from my family. Not because I didn’t love them. That was never my problem, quite the opposite really. Nope, Richard “Sharkey” Thompson had given me space to be just Erica.

My first adult job that hadn’t been babysitting.

The first time I’d made actual money myself.

And that was why I would be handling the sale of the bar on my own. I owed him that much at least.

I stepped up to the door and punched in the code the lawyer had given me for the realtor lock.

The heel of my shoe wobbled, then cracked through the wooden board before I could step away. I landed hard on my ass. “No. No, please, no.” I turned my ankle to see the damage. Luckily, there was none to my actual ankle.

I rolled onto my knees and gently picked up my shoe—half of my shoe, that is. The other half was wedged into the splintered wood. All five inches of the stiletto heel I’d bought with my first bonus.

My favorite shoes.

My perfect red Jimmy Choos that actually made me look like I had nice long legs. I was well aware I did not, but a woman needed a little smoke and mirrors sometimes.

I twisted the heel and wanted to weep as the satin was scraped with each turn, but it wouldn’t budge. “Shit.”

“I’ve been told there’s a perfectly serviceable bathroom inside. At least I hope so. I don’t want to have to shut you down. It’s my favorite place to have a beer.”

The wind chose right then to whip through and my hair flew forward to dance around my face. I knew that voice. I landed on my hip and heard a tear.

Seriously? Could this day get any better?

The squeak of the boards behind me had me flipping my hair out of my eyes. “No, wait the boards are—”

Too late.

His large booted feet killed the rest of the board. However, he was far more agile. Instead of crashing through, he simply plucked me up and hopped back down onto the much safer pavement.

I yelped and grabbed onto his shoulders, my hair still curtaining my face.

He had very nice shoulders.

Dios. Get a grip.

Where was my usual city stranger danger panic?

I finally got my hair back out of my eyes and stared up at a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“Well, well. If it’s isn’t little Erica Ramos.” He glanced down at the red silky cami that peeked from my very proper business suit. Well, it had been until the porch of the bar attacked me. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“Jacob?”

“It’s been a long time, Freckles.”

Instinctively, I brushed my finger over my nose. I knew for a fact there were no freckles showing. I was careful to cover them up so people took me seriously at the office. I lifted my chin. “Would you please put me down?”

He nodded to my bare foot. “Sure about that? When did you get your last tetanus?”

I lifted my foot to point my bare red-tipped toes. I hadn’t bothered with stockings or hose since spring was in full

bloom. “Fair point. What are you doing here?” And why could he carry me so easily? I might’ve been petite height-wise, but I had the Ramos hips and butt.

His huge hand gripped my thigh while his other firmly spanned my middle, a little too close to the side of my breast. Thank God for the lapels of my suit coat since my breasts hadn’t gotten the memo that while I might not be in stranger danger territory, I was definitely not supposed to have tingly nipple thoughts about this man.

“Saving your very shapely ass evidently.”

“I had it handled.”

A dimple dented his bearded cheek, and a slash of white teeth flashed. “Of course you did, Freckles.”

My damn nipples went on high alert again. God, he smelled good. Like the post-football game bonfires we used to have in high school with the new addition of sandalwood instead of the typical Calvin Klein scent all the guys used to wear. This scent was far more distracting. “Stop calling me that.”

“You used to like when I called you that.”