Caught in the Flames (30 page)

“Don’t call me Sweet Cheeks.”

He just chuckles and shuts the door again. I reach for my keys and purse, slam back the rest of my coffee, and brace myself for a car ride with Ash. I step back outside between him and Kiki and their conversation halts. Kiki’s lips snap shut and he studies the sky. Great. They were talking about me.

“We going or what?” I say.

“Come on. Let’s take my car.” Ash turns and starts walking. I try to gain Kiki’s attention but she won’t meet my eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Kiki Callahan, but I’m on to you,” I whisper shout.

“Oh, Callie, dear, you worry so much. Just have a nice time with Ashley and pick out a good color. Something fresh. Different. And he’s a nice man. It’s okay to ask for help.”

I respond with a sound that’s not a word, and jog down the deck steps, across the lawn, and to the front yard to catch up with Ash. He stands a few yards from the street, in worn jeans and a shirt that grips every muscle of his arms and chest. The ink of his tattoos scrolls out from the hem of his shirt, down his arms, and peeks out of his collar. It’s not fair. He looks way too attractive for someone who spent all morning doing manual labor, while I know my curls are a mess from where they pop out of my bandana. His ball cap, forever on his head, is pulled low so I can’t read his eyes. I’d guess they’re still laughing, though.

I stop short when he clicks his key fob to unlock the doors to his vehicle and the most pathetic little honk fills the air.
Honk?
More like toot. His car
toots
. “Ash. What the fuck is this?”

“My car?” he raises his brows as if he doesn’t understand the travesty at hand.

“If you can even call it that,” I scoff. “Dude, you drive a fucking Prius? No wonder your parents named you after a girl.” I shake my head and close my eyes. It’s a catastrophe, really. How could
this
man drive
this
vehicle? It’s one of life’s unsolved mysteries. It’s not right. The world truly is a fucked up place.

Ash laughs and opens my door. “Get in the fucking car, Callie. It won’t hurt.”

“I beg to differ. I don’t even know if I can be seen with you anymore. A Prius? I expected so much more.” I’m still confused as he walks around the miniature front hood and slides into his seat.

“Oh, yeah? What did you expect?” He pulls onto the street without a rumble, roar, or even a sputter. Only silence. What the fuck is this?
Sorcery
.

“Not this!”

“Jesus, you’re really worked up about this.” He chuckles and turns us toward the hardware store.

“I am.” I shake my head. I really am, which is sort of stupid because why should I even care. It’s not as though Ash is anything to me. I laugh. “It’s just when you have such a hot guy voluntarily driving such a bitch car it throws every stereotype and expectation I’ve ever had out the window! I don’t even know what to think about you now.” I chuckle again and finally glance over at Ash.

He tilts his head to the side. “You think I’m hot, huh?”

“That’s your take away?” I raise my brows.

He laughs, a loud deep sound that threatens to pull my own lips into a smile. I try to fight it. I think he saw them move, though.

“We need a do over. I think we could become good friends if we hadn’t met while I was working.”

“Why? Because you’re a jerk on the job?”

“Kind of.” He grins and pulls the car to a stop and puts the gear in park. Seriously, this car is a joke. But I’ve got bigger worries on my mind. I don’t move to get out of the car, and he doesn’t either.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because I want to.”

“No, why me?”

He twists his hands over the brim of his cap, bending it a little before he answers. “I don’t really know. I just do.”

“No ulterior motives?”

“Not every action needs a reason. Sometimes you just see something and want to do it, ya know?”

“So, you’re just helping because you feel like it?” It’s difficult to believe.

“Yeah.” His gaze holds no teasing. He’s sincere.

“And you don’t expect anything?”

“No. I don’t. Well, I should say, I didn’t. But the more I’m around you, the more I think we should be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. That’s when two people spend time together because they enjoy the company . . .”

“Ha ha, dumbass.” I roll my eyes.

“Come on, let’s go argue about paint.” He nods and opens his door. I mirror his action and we meet, side by side, to walk inside the store.

“What makes you think we’ll argue about paint?”

He just laughs, that deep sound, and shakes his head while I try to match his long, purposeful strides. I don’t even try to fight the grin this time. And he’s correct. We fight about the paint, but I leave the store with the satisfaction that the paint is red and not the chocolatey shit brown Ash suggested.

I love insecurities.

And how all it takes is one phone call for everything I doubt about myself to come flaring back to the surface. When my phone rings on this beautiful Sunday afternoon I assume it’s my dad so I set down my brush and smile at Ash while he continues to paint Kiki’s shed only a few feet away. A glance at my phone wipes the smile from my face.

Why is he calling? Do I answer? Do I send to voicemail? Is he checking on me? Damn it, why do I still care? Oh, hell, I want to hear his voice.

“Hello.” I answer as casually as possible.

“Callie?”

“Chase? How are you?” I say and Ash’s gaze snaps up to meet my face. I swallow hard. My stomach bubbles with nerves—both from speaking to Chase and from the tight line Ash’s lips form beneath the shadow of his ball cap.

“I’m fine. Callie, I need to ask you a few questions,” Chase barks into the line.

“O—okay.” I turn around and step away. Deep inhale. My heart pounds in my chest and I can feel it all the way up to my throat. It’s strange to hear him on the phone after all this time.
Be cool, Callie, don’t hyperventilate. He’s still an asshole.

“What were you doing Thursday morning before the fire?”

Of course. This is why he’s calling. The fire. Not to check up on me. The most words he’s said to me since the night we stopped being “us” and they’re work related—typical.

“Working.” I say.

“Where?”

“My kitchen table.” I huff and allow frustration to seep into my tone.

“And did you go outside at all that morning? For any reason?”

“No.”

“Notice anything suspicious? Out of order? Different?”
What the heck?

“No. It was a regular day for me. Well, until my house went up in flames. Chase, what is this about?”

The silence stretches and I glance over to find Ash still watching me closely. What for, I have no clue. I bug my eyes at him and make a painting motion, then point at the house. The paint will dry on the brush if he doesn’t get back to work. Besides, his gaze is unnerving. Intense. I’m trying to talk to Chase and that alone has me all discombobulated.

“Chase, do you know when I can get back inside my house or when I might have a report to turn in to my insurance company? I drove by this morning and they still had it all roped off with tape like it’s some crime scene.”

“I don’t know, maybe a few days,” he says all short as if I’m the one being difficult. Really? He called to talk business but apparently he’s the only one allowed to ask questions.

“If that’s all you need then I need to get back to my—”

“Callie, why did you go back into the building after
you
called nine-one-one? Why didn’t you stay put like the operator asked?” He’s almost shouting now. “Goddamn it, we were on our fucking way! You could’ve died, you know that?”

A shiver runs down my spine with the memory. I was stupid. I don’t need the reminder, especially from him. “I get it, okay. I know. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“What was so fucking important?”

“Huh?”

“What did you go back inside for?”

Oh. That. There’s no way in hell I’m admitting to a bra. Besides, we aren’t together. He hasn’t called me once since our breakup. And now he’s acting all concerned and protective. “Why are you asking me this? Are you now adding fire investigator to your job title?”

Chase blows out a breath that carries through the line in a loud whoosh. “Look, I’m concerned. And no, I’m not the fire investigator. He’ll probably be calling you soon, but I have to ask for myself . . .” his voice trails off.

“What?”

“Callie, did you start the fire?” His voice is hard.

“No! What the hell, Chase?”

“Then, were you trying to hurt yourself when you went back inside?”

“I’m hanging up now.” I end the call before I say anything I might regret. I shove the phone in my back pocket with more force than necessary. “Mother fucker!” I scream to the sky simply because it feels good.

“My feeling exactly,” Ash mutters as he smacks the paint brush against the wood.

“Sorry.” I pick up my paint brush. “That was . . .” Inappropriate? Honest? I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.

“Chase Matthews.” His mouth pulls in a tight line.

Crap. I’ve made things uncomfortable, and just when we were starting to get along. Maybe I can explain. “Yes. We used to date. But my guess is that you already know that.”

“Your name has come up a few times,” he mutters. Then he scoffs from the back of his throat.

What the fuck? Is he judging me?

Oh, right. The firehouse brotherhood. I’m sure they’ve had nothing but nice things to say about me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Now Ash will go back and tell everyone at the station what a loser I am. If he hasn’t already. Fuck. I let my guard down for one second . . . “Sorry. He’s your boss, I assume? I’m sure you get along just fine. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology. Your ex is a douchebag.”

I stop painting to study his expression for signs of teasing, sarcasm, or cruelty but find none. “Tell me how you really feel.” I smirk.

“He’s a fuckboy who thinks the world owes him one because he’s had adversity in his life.” Ash rolls his eyes and meets my stare. “News flash, he’s not the only one with problems. And he wouldn’t have made captain if it weren’t for his daddy’s position. He needs to grow the fuck up and own his shit. And stop being a womanizer.” Ash focuses on the wall and his brush strokes against the weathered grain. “A grown man proud of being nicknamed after Hugh Hefner? Complete fuckboy.”

I can’t help but smile at Ash’s rant. I hate that I ever dated Chase, and how much of myself I gave to him, but it’s nice to hear from a man’s perspective that Chase isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. Ash glances over and grins back. His green eyes sparkle from where the light sneaks beneath the brim of his hat.

He nods to the open paint can. “I think we may need to go back and get another gallon. This is the last one.” Ash drags the ladder over from one side of the shed and climbs up.

I step back and appraise our work. He’s right, I think. We still have the eaves and one short side to paint. The structure looks tiny compared to the house, but painting stroke by stroke has proved it to be much larger than it seems. I’m glad to have Ash’s help, though I was wary at first, because this project would have taken me a good month on my own. Maybe longer with weather, and here we have the thing almost complete in one weekend. I’m determined to clean up this yard before the first frost hits. That way, when spring comes, the garden will be beautiful.

“You know, I’ve never seen you without a hat.” I glance over and try not to stare as Ash balances on the third step of the ladder and reaches under the eaves of the small structure. His muscles strain and bulge with each stroke of the brush. The black ink dances against his tan skin in the sunlight and his tattoos almost look alive. I glance away.

Ash ignores my comment. But it’s true. I’ve never seen the man without a ball cap or fire helmet and now I really want to. “It’s always the fire station or the Padres and I can’t stand either,” I say aloud. Today he has on the county issued logo, the word
fire
stitched in white threads against the navy blue.

“I like my teams.”

“I’m sure you do, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? Why don’t you go hatless, Ash?” I grin up at him. “Hiding something?” I step closer and dip my brush into the can of thick gooey red and trail it over the shed. The paint covers the worn boards so they appear new again.

“Maybe my self-respect.”

“Is that where you keep it?” I laugh. “I was thinking more along the line of a bald spot or receding hairline.”

“Jesus, Callie? You think I’m ancient, don’t you?” He laughs, then climbs down to scoot the ladder over another yard.

“You
are
thirty. Same difference,” I quip. Yesterday we swapped ages and I’ve been giving him shit since. He only just turned thirty, which would have been my guess, but he was surprised to learn I’m only twenty-two. He said I seemed mature for my age, which I hope isn’t code for lame and uncool.

“Take it back, Gordon,” he demands with a smile.

“Not a chance, Black,” I sass.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ash whispers in my ear as wetness covers my left arm.