She beams at me. “We’re all working on getting over our last break ups. We have an eight-step plan. We’re on the second step.”
Which implies that they are…serial break up artists? Well-organized? Fuck if I know, but the fire’s out. I can drop by the fire station and let someone know to check the motel out on a regular basis while this Lola Miller is in town.
“Do any of the other steps involve unsafe fire practices?”
“Nope.” She winks at me. Or maybe she gets ash in her eye from her ill-advised fire because there’s a bit of a wind picking up. I don’t want to think about what might have happened with those flames shooting out of the trashcan if I had driven by ten minutes later or not at all.
“Good,” I grunt. “Then lemme give you a brief rundown of the local safe burn laws.”
Sexy? No.
But neither is ending up dead.
She may not thank me, but I know my stuff. You’ll see.