Page 2 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Firefighter

“Excuse me?”

“Please don’t be offended. I’m actually happy you’re thirty-four. I prefer a more mature woman.”

I lied on my dating profile, of course. Said I was twenty-nine because I hoped that would expand my options. Silly me thinking the dating pool in my mid-thirties would be anything other than a cesspool. I shudder to think how Jonathan found out my actual age.

Ah, there’s the name I want to text:Penny.

Me: SOS. At Jake’s Steak House with Jeffrey Dahmer. HELP!

“Everything okay?” Jonathan asks, eyebrows drawn in concern.

“Just looking for a breath mint,” I lie, shooting off the text and shoving my phone back to the bottom of my purse.

“But you haven’t touched your salad.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

Jonathan seems to relax as he sits back, a knowing smile on his face. “Ah, I get it. You’re nervous. That’s cute.”

Fuck this guy.

It takes every ounce of restraintnotto throw my untouched wine in his face and march out of the restaurant. But I’m not convinced he doesn’t have my home address programmed into his map app.

Penny, please hurry!

I’m tempted to send a second text. Beg Penny to bring her police officer brother as backup. Hell, I’m tempted to ask her to bring both of her linebacker-sized brothers. But because I stupidly kissed the other one this past Christmas and made things super awkward between us, I don’t send the message.

To be fair, I’d helped myself to a little too much homemade eggnog that night. Nana makes hers extra potent, and I washaving a rough patch. So naturally, I kissed my childhood crush as if that was a wise decision. Dean and I have avoided each other ever since, which is hard to do in a town this small with families who constantly find reasons to get together.

“What are you thinking about?” Jonathan asks, his gaze dropping to the edge of the table, as though he can see the purse in my lap.

“Christmas,” I say, forcing a smile.

“My favorite holiday,” my date says, his slimy smile returning. “We’ll host my mother, of course. She’ll teach you how to properly prepare a Christmas dinner.”

“What about my family?” It’s a stupid question meant to stall time, but I’m also morbidly curious how this asshat factoredmylife into his chauvinistic Leave it to Beaver plan.

“We can go to your Nana’s for Christmas Eve if that’ll make you happy.”

My blood runs cold.

I know for a fact I haven’t mentioned Nana or any other family member for that matter, because Jonathan hasn’t let me get in ten words the whole fucking date.

“How do you know I call her that?”

“Lucky guess.” He lifts his wine glass, winking at me before taking a sip.

“There you are,” a deep, baritone voice announces, as though exasperated. I freeze. Iknowthat voice. “Babe, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Dean?” I don’t know whether to feel relieved or mortified. Did Penny send him? Of course she did because she’s out of town this weekend at her writing retreat. Fuck, how did I forget about that?

But why did she send the wrong brother?

Then again, my bestie doesn’t know about that Christmas mistake, so of course she’d send whichever brother could gethere fastest. To Dean’s credit, it was an impressively quick response time. Something that makes me feel better should Jonathan decide to set fire to my house in retaliation since Dean would be the one showing up to put it out.

“Who are you exactly?” Jonathan asks through gritted teeth.

Dean ignores him, and that makes my date seethe. I bite back a grin.