To Catch A Player

I stared at her a long moment. “What, no song?”

“You don’t deserve one, smart ass.” Ginger stuck her tongue out and quickly ducked to dodge a flying kitchen towel. “Trust that he’s a grown man who knows his mind and his heart.”

“Who knows his heart?” Rafe’s deep voice startled a scream out of both of us. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, ladies.”

“We’re having girl talk,” Ginger told him with a smile. “But you can join if you give me a scoop on the next hometown hero love story.” She stared at Rafe and he stared back, an adult staring contest that would rival even the brattiest of siblings.

Rafe, always the gentleman, tossed his hands up in defeat. “No, thanks. Reese will just tell me later.”

“No, she won’t,” I shot back with a grin.

Rafe leaned against the wall right beside the door and grinned that charming grin that I’d seen rope even the most high-maintenance woman into his arms. “Then I guess my lips are sealed.” He made a big show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key, a move that put me on edge.

“What do you know?” When he didn’t answer, I picked up the first utensil my hand landed on and pointed in his direction. “What. Do. You. Know?”

“I know plenty, Reese. I am the fire chief, you know.”

My gaze narrowed. “Smart ass.”

“Agreed.”

“Tell me.”

“I saw your boyfriend.”

I sucked in a breath at his words. “And?”

“And,” Rafe said as he pushed off the wall with another of his playful and charming smiles, “and I think I’ll just sit back and see how things play out.” He brushed past me and grabbed Ginger’s arm before he whispered, “I think you’ll enjoy this, too. Maybe. Hopefully.”

Before I could threaten Rafe into telling me what he knew, the swinging doors flew open once again. “We’re not… Jackson? What are you doing here?” We didn’t have plans today, and as far as I knew, he had to work today. Though he wasn’t dressed for work.

“I, uh, wanted to see you.” He raked a hand nervously through his thick hair and let out a shaky breath. “Are you busy?”

“Nope, she just put the biscuits in the oven,” Ginger called out. “I’ll set the timer,” she added, more subdued when I glared at her.

“No busier than usual. What’s wrong?” I took a moment to drink Jackson in as he stood towering over me in worn jeans and a dark green shirt that highlighted the marble swirl of his hazel yes.

“Nothing is wrong. I have a surprise for you.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin and he took a step back, disappearing through the swinging doors and reappearing a few seconds later. “It’s more like a few surprises that equal one big surprise so… bear with me. Please.”

Jackson set down the three boxes in his arms, pressed a short but hot kiss to my lips, and disappeared again.

“I was promised interesting,” Ginger groused in the corner.

“Seeing the detective all flustered is plenty entertaining,” Rafe insisted in a poor imitation of a whisper.

“Shut it,” I called out to them and shook my hands, hoping to cool the heat and nerves that made them damp. I didn’t know what Jackson was up to, but he was nervous. And that made me nervous.

They snickered, but it died as soon as Jackson re-entered the kitchen with a visitor.

“Aunt Bette? What are you doing here?” I turned to Jackson, now beyond worried. “What is she doing here? She can’t leave without—”

“Without written permission from a guardian,” Aunt Bette finished for me and I gasped. Took a step back and gasped again. “Or if I sign myself out using the proper paperwork. Which I did.” She flashed a familiar smile that brought tears to my eyes.

I opened my arms and went to her right away. “Aunt Bette, it is so great to see you. To talk to you.”

She laughed and I let the sound wash over me as I held her, probably too tight but she didn’t complain. And she held me back just as tight. “I’ve missed talking to you too, honey.”

“But… how?” None of it made sense.

Bette laughed again and looked up at Jackson’s adoring eyes as she placed a hand on his cotton-covered bicep. “This handsome boy came and picked me up. Told me I looked pretty, too,” she said, fluffing her hair.

“You do,” both Jackson and I said at the same time.

“Thank you. Both of you,” she smiled again, and I felt a tear slip from my eye. “You two talk, I’ll be over there with”—her eyes went wide—“Rafe Montgomery, you handsome devil, you. Aren’t you married yet?”

Rafe coughed and I knew if I’d looked back, I would have seen him wearing a nervous grin and rubbing the back of his neck, the way he did when older women flirted with him. “No, ma’am. No woman makes a better lasagna than you, so how could I risk it?”