Amie Denman - Meet Me On The Midway

And she was on his right now.

“You’re just the man I need to see,” she said, attempting to force a cheerful tone.

Although it seemed impossible, his scowl deepened. “Is there a fire or other emergency?”

He sounded strangely hopeful. These guys operate on adrenaline. She would have to remember that.

“My marina needs your approval to open. The boating season is limited. I’m losing money every minute the docks and restaurant are closed. So, yes,” she said. “It may not seem like an emergency to you, but it is to me.”

Scott crossed his arms and looked down at her. Although Evie was five foot ten, Scott had her by several inches. With his broad shoulders and massive forearms, he seemed even larger. Perhaps it was the scowl.

Evie was not going to be intimidated, but honey might be more convincing than vinegar. The man was in the business of helping people, after all. He isn’t the enemy, right? And he had given her a ride in the fire truck on a rainy day.

But only because she was violating the No Pedestrians rule. And she owned that fire truck anyway.

Sigh. Honey. Not vinegar.

“Thank you for the ride a few days ago. Had I known you were the new fire inspector for the city, I would have invited you to my office to talk about our apparent violations.”

“Real violations.”

Maybe honey isn’t strong enough.

“Enlighten me,” Evie suggested.

Scott didn’t move. Arms crossed, he stared her down as if willing her to get out of his fire station.

Evie expected to be arrested for trespassing at any minute. She imagined her mother, old dog in tow, showing up at the police station to bail her out.

“I have an office, too,” he said. “You can come in.”

Such a friendly invitation.

Evie stood her ground. She knew where his office was. He’d have to walk by her to get to it.

Scott carefully avoided touching her as he squeezed past to open his office door. Evie wanted to laugh out loud. She was making him uncomfortable. Of course she was.

He may think he had some pedantic fire codes on his side, but she had been operating under approval from the former inspector. And she was his employer—one of them—for the summer.

Scott flipped on a ceiling fluorescent light, and Evie glanced around the tiny space. Everything about the office said “former closet.” She’d been in there twice before, recognized the empty, dustless square on the desk where the nameplate for the former inspector used to sit. So Scott didn’t have his own nameplate declaring him the King of the Code. Perhaps she’d get him one if he ever made Employee of the Month at Starlight Point.

* * *

SCOTT LEFT THE OFFICE door open so he could listen for any calls that came in over the loudspeaker in the bay. He also felt better having an escape route in case Evie Hamilton was as ticked off as he guessed.

He gestured for her to sit in the orange plastic chair in front of his desk and retreated to take his own seat. And then he remembered the plastic chair was missing a leg. He’d discovered it by the trash bin out back and had intended to repair it in case he had visitors to his new office. There hadn’t been any visitors in the short time he’d been the owner of the office, but if anyone sat in the chair right now, it would flip and toss the person onto the concrete floor.

He pivoted, swooped and caught Evie just as the chair started to tip. She gasped, dropped her purse, and the chair clattered to the floor. Scott held her around the waist as if they had just finished a passionate dance and he was dipping her for a kiss. Her blond hair swung freely and he could see the pulse beating wildly in her neck.

Surprise. Fight or flight. A natural reaction.

His heart rate was at sprint level, too, even though emergencies were part of his daily life.

He pulled her up and let go, keeping only one hand on her arm to make sure she was steady. The last thing he needed was someone getting hurt at the fire station. In his office.

“Take my chair,” he said.

Before she could object, he reached over the desk and picked up his wooden chair. It was heavy, but he swung it up and planted it right behind his guest.

“Sit,” he said. “I, uh, hope you’re all right.”

He bent and scooped the contents of her purse back into the bag. Interesting. Cell phone. Wallet-type thing. Hand sanitizer. Sunglasses. Two name tags, both black. One with her name and one that said Ford.

Who—or what—is Ford?

He handed her the bag. Instead of going behind his desk, he leaned on the filing cabinet next to it.

“Maybe I should come back another time,” Evie said.

Her cheeks were flushed and she sat cautiously on the chair, probably afraid of another trap.

He had her off balance.

He was not going to admit he felt the same way. He took a long, slow breath, willing his heart to return to conversation mode. He shoved away from the cabinet and opened the top drawer.

“I have your file in here,” he said. “The paper part, anyway. The application is on the computer.” He gestured toward a dusty, black desktop computer that was probably old enough to buy them both a drink. Scott spread a construction diagram on the table. “Here’s your problem,” he said, pointing behind the shower house. “There’s a huge cottonwood tree blocking the fire lane.”

Evie spread long fingers over the drawing and leaned in to see it better in the dim lighting.

Her hair fell forward and Scott resisted the urge to touch it. When he’d picked her up in the fire truck, soaking wet, he’d guessed her hair would be this color if it were dry. He was right.

He had no idea why he cared about his boss’s hair.

Except it was brushing the desk in his office.

“If I do something about the fire lane behind the shower house and restaurant, would you allow us to open them both?”

How easy did he want to make this for her? It was clear that Evie Hamilton had only one priority: open her marina area.

He had only one priority, too.

“Almost,” he said. He tried to keep an even tone, but it was clear to him that Evie wanted to get past these obstacles the fastest way. Obviously the loss of revenue was a motivating factor, but it seemed like there was something more going on to make her anxious enough to drop in at the fire station way past business hours. “You need evacuation signage in the restaurant and a check valve on the fuel line. And you’re lacking clearance around the electrical panel that runs the whole building.”

“I had maintenance order the check valve. They’re installing it tomorrow.”

“And the restaurant evacuation plan?”

Evie blew out a breath and sat back in the chair. “I thought the neon exit signs made the emergency evacuation route pretty obvious.” She met his eyes and took a long, slow breath. “But I was wrong. Obviously. Maybe you could help me with the signs.”

“Of course,” he said. “That’s my job.”

Evie cocked her head and drilled him with a long stare. “How long have you had this job? I didn’t even know Marty had retired until the day before my marina was supposed to open.”

Scott shrugged. “He had some health problems and decided to hang it up. I was the only qualified guy here who wanted it.”

And he’d been darn lucky to be in the right place, right time. With a fire science degree in addition to all the required fire training, Scott was one of the few guys at the station who had the résumé for the job. Several of the older men had backed away slowly, hands up in defense when Marty tried to hand the position off to them. They hated paperwork and controversy.

Paperwork and a few terse words are nothing compared to the pain of burn scars from sloppily followed fire codes.