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“He wants to get us off the town and into the county, but I can’t make him understand that the county doesn’t want the expenses that come with our current building.”
He nods. “I see your dilemma. And what about you, young man? Does the fire station have everything it needs?”
“Basically,” I say, feeling a little guilty. “But I’d like to expand our space so we have a better dorm area for my men,” I add quickly, not wanting him to think I don’t have a good reason for wanting the Addison. “The fires around here are getting worse, and we need to be able to recruit more guys.”
The Mayor nods. “A worthy goal. Two worthy goals,” he says, including Blaze in his glance. “I wish you both the best, and I’m not going to take sides against either of you, but I will look more closely at Scarlett Rice’s plans for day-spa domination. Send me everything you have. Now, I need my dinner, and I imagine you good-looking young people would like to get on with your weekend.”
“Thanks, Mayor. Will do,” Blaze replies.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, sir—Mayor,” I add.
He waves me off. “We keep the condoms on aisle five if you need ‘em,” he says.
“Not appropriate, Mayor,” Blaze says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.
The Mayor just chuckles.
17
JEREMY
We’ve walked halfway home in silence before I get up the nerve to ask. “So… I was just about to grill some burgers. How about having dinner with me?”
She glances up at me. “Dinner?”
I force myself to give her a lazy smile, one that hopefully says I’d like her to say yes but won’t be too cut up if she doesn’t and that covers up the thrill of nerves that jangle through my stomach.
It’s a lot to ask of a single smile, but it’s been years since I asked a woman out on a date.
Of course, it’s not really a date, I tell myself. Grilling up a few burgers for my next-door neighbor is a friendly gesture, nothing more.
But the nerves jangle all the same.
“Unless you have plans, of course,” I add. And why wouldn’t she? It’s Saturday night. She’s young, attractive, and single. Just because I’m a hermit these days doesn’t mean she is.
“Oh, no plans,” she says. “Yeah. Dinner would be nice. We, uh, we can talk about how we’ll approach the council.”
“Sure,” I agree. I don’t really want to talk about the council or the Addison or the spa, but one thing at a time. “I have to warn you, though,” I add, “I make really good burgers. Once you had them, you might just be spoiled for anyone else’s.”
“That good, huh?”
“That good,” I assure her.
A slow smile spreads across her face, like she’s accepting a challenge. “You know I just happen to be close personal friends with Nikko Cassavetti, the world-renowned chef?”
A sliver of jealousy that has nothing to do with cooking darts through my chest. “The guy who runs that bistro above the art gallery?” I shrug. “He probably cooks very adequate burgers.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Yes, he’s a very adequate Michelin-starred chef.”
“How do you know Nikko Cassavetti, anyway?” I brace myself just in case “close personal friends” means something I don’t want it to.
“He’s getting married to my friend Bailey in a few weeks,” she replies.
Suddenly, this Nikko fellow is one of my favorite people, and I don’t give a hoot if he makes the best burgers in the world. “No kidding? Well, congratulations to him and your friend Bailey.”
“Thanks.” Her expression softens. “They make a really great couple.” We reach the steps of our building. “Hey, how about I bring over a salad?”
“That’d be great,” I agree. “I’ll light up the grill. Meet me on the patio whenever you’re ready.”
