That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(43)

I chuckle. “Well, clearly I can’t.” I motion to all the pieces scattered everywhere.

“Hey, I had good intentions. Is it my fault I couldn’t find the directions at first? Who tapes them to the inside of the box anyway?”

“I feel like a lot of companies do.”

“It’s stupid. What if I threw out the box without even knowing? I would be that person searching on the internet, hoping and praying there is some kind of building manual online.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

She pops open a cider and hands it to me. I pause my work to take it, happy with the sorting I did. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she says sincerely. “For some reason, I feel like that moose knew what it was doing by jumping in front of me on that country road. He gave me a friend in a new town.”

Friend. For some reason that title doesn’t leave me all too thrilled, and I kind of regret even using the term with her out loud. Is it strange to want more? To desire more when I know deep down inside that no matter what I want, I’ll never get it?

“You’re lucky I was the one who rescued you that day.”

“Yeah?” She opens the pizza box and brings a gooey slice to her mouth. “Why’s that?”

I avert my eyes from her luscious lips. “If Tracker was on call, he would be at your doorstep every day.”

“Well, aren’t you?” she asks with a smile. When I give her a look, she chuckles to herself. “Who’s Tracker?”

“The town man whore. He’s a damn good firefighter, but he’s been known to make his way through hordes of unsuspecting tourists.”

“Oh, really?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and leans forward. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like town gossip, you sure do partake in it a lot.”

I shrug. “It’s in my blood. I can’t help it.”

“That’s understandable. Now, tell me more about this Tracker. Does he lure girls in with his firefighter stories and then take them back to his bunk in the firehouse?”

I cock my head to the side. “Why does that sound like a bad porn?”

She pauses midchew, thinking. “You know, it really does sound like a bad porn.” She leans forward even more. “But that’s what he does, right?”

“You’re scary accurate. He hangs out at the Har-Bahr, picks up women with war stories from the fire department, and then takes them back to his house, which is right next to the firehouse.”

“Classic move. Good for him.” She eyes me over her pizza slice. “Do you ever borrow any moves from Tracker’s book?”

“To pick up women?” I shake my head. “Yeah, no. Don’t really have any interest in that stuff.”

“Oh,” and then, “Ohhhh, I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“No idea what?”

“That you’re gay. I totally stereotyped you as a macho-man firefighter who dated all the ladies. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“What? I’m not gay, Ren.”

“Oh.” Her face turns a shade of red I’ve never seen before. She takes a giant bite of her pizza and dodges my gaze, chewing frantically. Once she swallows, she says, “I’m so embarrassed right now.”

“You should be embarrassed.”

Her eyes shoot up to mine, where they find a huge smile on my face. The embarrassment quickly washes away and is replaced with disbelief and humor. Eyes wide, her expression one of pure revenge, she chucks her napkin at me. “You ass!”

I swat her napkin away and laugh. “The look on your face was great.”

Now she’s pointing her finger, a threatening bounce in her fingertip. “Oh, you better watch your back, Knightly. I have no qualms about payback. I’m vicious.”

“Vicious? Is that right?”

“Oh yeah, relentless, actually. You could be screaming for mercy, and I’d still get revenge.”

The way her eyes light up with excitement, her features coming alive—it does something to me, something I haven’t felt in a while. It’s as if for the first time in two years, my body is waking up from a deep slumber, lighting up inside.

She’s playful.

She’s fun.

She’s beautiful.

She’s everything I would look for in a woman . . .

And everything I should stay away from.

But I can’t seem to stay away. Every day I wake up wondering if I’ll run into her, if I should bring her some fudge on my way home to restock her secret stash of sweets. When I’m at Snow Roast, I’m constantly looking around, wondering if she’s there. At the Lobster Landing, I’m gazing at every face in the crowd, hoping she’ll pay me a visit.

And when I do see her, butterflies take flight in my stomach, excitement consuming me. It’s the type of feeling I never could have anticipated when I was pulling her from her car, and yet here I am, on a Tuesday night, bringing her pizza and building her furniture.

“You aren’t acting very scared.”

I lean back on one hand, pizza in the other. “Not to be a dick, but you’re what, five foot three? There is not much to be scared of.”

“Hey!” She jabs her finger into her thigh as she speaks to add emphasis to her fury. “Small packages pack a big punch. Don’t underestimate me.”