Free Hot Mess by Anne Conley Page A

firefighter meant that there were a certain number of "regulars" on the job. Sam had already met a few, Mrs. Brigsby being one. Another regular was Mr. Norton, who had emphysema and COPD, coupled with panic attacks. Like Mrs. Brigsby, he donated regularly to the fire department's fund, and thought that that meant he'd "bought" their services. So he had them on speed dial.
    Apparently, Mr. Norton thought too much, and while thinking, he would get himself worked up into a panic attack, and lose his breath. Then he'd think he was having a heart attack or something and call the fire department. About once a week, Sam and Juan, along with Derrick and Cade suited up and drove to his house to attend to his panic attacks. All they had to do was administer some oxygen to the man, who swore that his personal oxygen bottles were diluted somehow because he couldn't catch his breath with them.
    After calming Mr. Norton down, the men returned to the station in time for shift change, and Sam rushed out the door to go to his date at Rachel's house for dinner.
    Brenda met him at the door to his house, as if she'd been waiting for him. He mentally slapped himself. He'd forgotten to text her to let her know not to make dinner. Not that it was in her job description, but she'd been cooking for him when he came home from his shift so that she could save him and Amanda from frozen pizzas and ramen noodles.
    "Geez, Brenda. I forgot to tell you, I've got dinner plans tonight." He felt bad when her face fell. "You know, you don't have to cook for us. That's not part of your job. I just need your supervisory skills. Pick Amanda up, drop her off, make sure she doesn't bleed out while I'm at work. Cooking for me isn't necessary." He tried to be gentle, but he didn't want her to get the wrong idea, either.
    "That's okay. I know. I'll just put it all in the fridge for tomorrow. You can heat it up." She turned, without meeting his eyes. "It's nothing that won't microwave." He noticed she was wearing extremely short shorts and a tank top that revealed more than it hid, but she seemed so disappointed about dinner, that he didn't have the heart to tell her what he thought about her clothing choices.
    "I'm glad. Thank you. I'm sure it's delicious." He walked down the hallway to Amanda's room and knocked. "Punkin? We're eating with Sophie tonight."
    A squeal greeted him, before the door flew open and his daughter darted past him and down the hall to the front door.
    "Wait for me!" He hollered, turning to find Brenda. "Lock up when you leave, 'kay?" Brenda nodded, keeping her back towards him, and Sam wondered how bad she had it. Shaking his head, he turned and went to go cross the street to Rachel's house.
    Sophia opened the door before they had a chance to knock, and Sam wondered how much oxygen these girls wasted with their shrieking squeals, as they ran back to Sophie's room to do whatever they did back there.
    He found Rachel in the kitchen cutting up vegetables, wearing an apron. The domesticity vibe she was giving off was making him want to sit her up on the countertop and have his way with her, but the shrieking that was still emanating from the princess room curtailed his thoughts.
    "I don't know anybody who wears an apron anymore, with the possible exception of my grandma." He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist, smelling her neck before planting a chaste kiss on her collar bone. He was immensely proud of his restraint.
    She stiffened in his arms and didn't turn.
    Not having a clue what she was thinking, he went on, "But you wear it well, I must say. It accentuates the curve of your hips." His hands moved to her hips, as if to illustrate, his fingers almost spanning her slim waist, turning her body around to face him.
    "Sam…" There was a warning in her voice.
    He tipped her chin up with a finger, so he could look at her eyes. They looked weary and wary. As much as he wanted to, and he thought she did, too, he didn't kiss her.