Fireman Daddy (Crescent Cove 8.50)

“It’s not paint. It’s one-hundred-dollar concealer.” My fingers went to my nose automatically. Sure enough, my makeup wasn’t holding up to the heat in the bar.

He snorted. “You paid too much. Besides, you look better all natural.” He picked up his clipboard. “I’ll be back with the boys soon to start working on this list.”

“What list? Don’t I get a copy of the citations or whatever?”

“Citations?” He barked out a laugh. “I’m not a cop. But yes, you’ll get a written report of your violations in twenty-four to seventy-two hours.” He tucked the sheets in his inside jacket pocket.

“What? I can’t wait that long.” I chased after him. “Jake, you have to give me the preliminary findings.”

“You gotta stop watching cop shows, darlin’.”

“Erica. My name is Erica!” And okay, maybe I watched way too many true crime documentaries. But what else should I call the results of this farce of a meeting?

He slid on his aviators before he opened the bar’s door. “Go see your mom and sisters. I’ll be in touch.”

“That is not how this is supposed to work, Jake Mills,” I called after him.

He turned around and walked backward toward his truck. “How did you think it was going to work? You’re back in the Cove, Freckles. Things here aren’t like how they are in the big city.”

I stomped on the porch and heard another crack. I quickly stepped to a more secure board.

“Careful there or I’m going to wonder if you like me scooping you up in my arms.” He opened his truck door. “I know I enjoyed it.” He gave me a salute and shut the door before I could reply.

I ran down the stairs, but he just waved as he drove off, spitting gravel in his wake.

This was supposed to be a quick trip. In and out, with maybe some of my mother’s empanadas as a treat.

Not a project, dammit. And definitely not one involving Jake Mills.

Four

The overcast skies on Sunday morning in the Cove left me feeling lazy.

I stared at my childhood bedroom ceiling. It had been turned into a craft room for my mother, leaving only a lumpy futon for guests.

Better to make sure company didn’t overstay their welcome.

I knew my mother well. Since she’d ejected all her kids, she had restructured our house into a showcase for exactly what she’d always wanted. Add in the fact that her sole son was a master carpenter who didn’t know how to tell his mother no, and she definitely got her way.

She always had a plan. Probably where I’d gotten it from, even if we’d both chew off a finger before we owned up to being anything alike.

Unlike her, however, I was hiding out.

The last two days had been a lesson in patience and strategy. I had about a dozen new notes in my phone about what I’d need to do to offload the bar. That was in between fielding calls from my boss who had been blowing up my phone with texts and emails inquiring when I would be back. I’d worked my way up from junior marketing specialist—aka paid intern—after five grueling years at the midtown office for one of the largest financial firms in New York City.

I was one of the leads on a major marketing campaign. The singular goal I’d had in my five-year plan.

A far cry from my life in Crescent Cove.

Here, I’d played mom to my sisters while my parents worked. Or I’d babysat for kids in the neighborhood while waiting tables to save every penny I could for college. On a lark, I’d tried for a scholarship while helping Danny with his forms. I hadn’t really thought I had a chance in hell, but when we were both accepted, it had seemed as if the universe was giving me a sign.

Instead of growing apart in college, we’d stayed together. Back then, I took comfort in having a boyfriend so I could concentrate on school. It was easier to hold on to the familiar even if we never quite fit. Marriage had been the next logical step. We’d even started working for the same company.

Logical shouldn’t have been the word used when he actually asked me. I should have run the minute he treated it like a business transaction. Being stable and married had been a leg up to advance in Thompson Financial. And Danny had become the king of shortcuts—the right friends, the right woman. Until I hadn’t satisfied that slot anymore.

My phone buzzed on my chest, dragging me out of the past.

What now? Another fire to put out? My sister badgering me to meet her at the diner?