Beth Andrews - Charming the Firefighter

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “But you really don’t have to do this.”

“That’s what neighbors do. They help each other. Good neighbors, anyway.”

Which let Penelope know, in a quiet yet still scolding way, that she was not being a good neighbor. Or, at least, a polite one. Shame filled her. See? She was horrible at this, this whole...social interaction thing. “I prefer to handle things on my own.”

It was safer that way. No one could let you down if you didn’t depend on them. And you couldn’t disappoint them, either.

“Today,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to.”

A lump formed in her throat and she dropped her gaze. She was being rude. Rude and inconsiderate and, worse, ungrateful, while he treated her with nothing but kindness.

She shouldn’t want his sympathy. Surely she shouldn’t be soaking it in, but it wasn’t so horrible, letting someone else take the lead. Especially when she was so far out of her element. At work, she was fine dealing with people. She had her position and behaved accordingly. There were clear rules and guidelines of what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior.

Personal relationships—whether casual or intimate—were different. It was too difficult to discern her role.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, beyond the good neighbor reason. This—” she gestured toward the food “—seems to go beyond the boundaries of your job description.” She didn’t consider herself a suspicious person, but she was old enough, and wise enough, to realize good deeds often came with strings attached.

“Because I’m a nice guy. And because it really is my job to make sure you’re okay.”

Of course. What did she think? That he wanted to spend more time with her? That he was flirting with her?

She was way too pragmatic for such nonsense. While she didn’t underestimate her physical charms, she wasn’t a great beauty by any means. Nor did she possess the type of overt sexuality that inspired flirtatious banter, longing looks or heated seduction. Especially from a man several years younger and at least three steps above her on anyone’s looks scale.

Not that it bothered her. Much.

“Go on,” he continued with a nod toward her plate. “Take a few bites for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. She could do without that condescending tone, but if the only way to get rid of him was to eat, she’d gladly lick the plate clean.

“Would you care to join me?” she muttered, sounding about as ungracious and inhospitable as one could get. Sounding, she realized with an inner sigh, like Andrew.

Leo sent her a lethal grin and she couldn’t help but think he was laughing at her. “Thanks, but I ate earlier at my folks’ place.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the slight bruise at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, my jaw’s still sore. I’m not sure I’m up to chewing at the moment.”

“Were you injured in the line of duty?”

“Nothing that dangerous. Or exciting. My sister punched me.”

In the act of slicing a neat piece of tomato, Penelope froze. “Excuse me? Did you say your sister hit you?”

“Punched me,” he said, as if that made a difference. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t the first time, and knowing Maddie’s temper, it won’t be the last.”

She couldn’t wrap her head around his words—or how nonchalant he was about the whole thing. What sort of woman physically attacked her own brother?

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked.

“A brother. Patrick.” She couldn’t imagine ever resorting to violence against him. She and Patrick respected each other, gave each other their space. Easy enough to do when they hadn’t seen each other in two years...or was it three? She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken. Knew she hadn’t talked with her parents since Christmas.

Did they ever miss her? Did they regret not having her in their lives?

She stabbed a chunk of potato, any appetite gone.

“Hey,” Leo said, frowning at her in concern. “You okay?”

She couldn’t even muster up a decent lie. Just shook her head. “I had all these plans for today,” she heard herself admit, and blamed her uncharacteristic desire to confess on the wine. “And they’re ruined.” She swallowed, but it still felt as if she had a pebble stuck in her throat. “Everything’s ruined.”

Leo touched the back of her hand, a gentle, reassuring brush of his fingers. “I’m sorry your day didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

The sincerity in his tone undid her. Her throat closed as tears threatened. Tears . She hadn’t cried in years and had welled up several times today. But tears were useless. They didn’t solve anything, only left her blotchy, red-faced, and feeling silly and pathetic. Giving in to them, in front of a stranger no less, was a weakness she couldn’t afford. She had to stay strong. Control, of her life and her emotions, of her actions and reactions, was all she had.

She couldn’t give it up. Not even for a moment.

Her lower lip quivered and she stood quickly, pushing back her chair with such force it wobbled precariously before settling on four legs again. “Excuse me, please,” she murmured, already hurrying toward the small bathroom around the corner.

She’d just flipped on the light when the first tear escaped. Locking the door, she sniffed, tried to hold on to her composure, but it was no use. So she slid to the floor, hugged her knees to her chest, lowered her head and gave in.

CHAPTER FIVE

LEO STARED AT Penelope’s empty seat, then craned his neck to look around the corner where she’d disappeared. Scrubbed a hand through his hair. Hell. What had he gotten himself into? He had a habit—a bad one other people liked to point out—of jumping in with both feet, trying to do what was needed to fix any situation. It made him a damned good firefighter and EMT, but sometimes, his tendency to leap first got him into trouble.

Or into a weird, uncomfortable predicament. Like now.

Nothing he couldn’t handle, though.

His phone buzzed. He checked the text from Forrest.

ETA?

Rubbing the bruise on his mouth, Leo considered his current circumstances, then typed in ten min knowing he could drag that estimate out another five minutes before Forrest got on his case about them needing to head to the station. But as long as they didn’t get any emergency calls, Leo wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Not until he’d made sure Penelope was okay.

Call it a personal defect, but when a woman ran from the room in tears, he had to find out what was wrong. Had to help her.

Telling himself he was just doing his firefighterly duty, and that his desire to somehow comfort her had nothing to do with the way his gut had tightened at the sight of her tears, he walked into the living room. No sign of her. He frowned. He doubted she’d gone outside. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to let others see her in a vulnerable state—let alone someone who’d step out her front door looking anything less than completely put together.

Then again, he had only met her. For all he knew, she ran down the streets of Shady Grove barefoot and disheveled on a nightly basis.

But he doubted it. She was too self-contained. Too uptight.

And he was rarely wrong when it came to reading people. Especially women.

The sound of running water made him turn. He approached the closed door tucked under the stairs and tapped on the wood. “Ms. Denning? Are you all right?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. “Ms. Denning?”

The water shut off. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He pursed his lips. Not exactly a confirmation that her physical and mental states were A-okay, but at least he now knew she was conscious and capable of communication. He’d give her two more minutes. If she didn’t come out on her own, he’d go in after her.