Page 10 of Nobody Does it Better (Lucky in Love)
I puff out my chest. “Damn straight. No fireman worth his salt is un-handy.”
“And you’re worth your salt, I presume,” she says, a little flirty. “And you’re not too far away.” Her tone is the most inviting I’ve ever heard.
I smile, loving the direction this is heading. “I’m pretty damn close. Give me the address.”
She does, and I tell her I’ll be there in forty minutes.
Yup. There’s no time like the present to figure out my feelings, to sort lust from jealousy or from something more.
I drive straight toward the cabin, following Google Map’s route as the robotic lady’s voice tells me to take this winding turn up this hilly road then that steeper curve up an even steeper street. The whole time, the sky turns a hazy shade of orange around the edges, the clouds billowing, swelling with a hint of snow.
By the time I pull into the driveway, up here in Steepville on the corner of Steepington Avenue and Holy Shit That’s Steep Road, the ground is coated in the first flurries.
I hope they fall fast and furious.
We get foul weather in Lucky Falls now and again, but nothing that necessitates snow boots. Today, I say thank you to Old Man Winter when Vanessa greets me on the porch decked out in peel-me-off jeans, fluffy boots, a white knit cap, and a red-striped sweater that fits in an eye-popping kind of way. I know fuck all about fashion, but since Vanessa wears retro stuff pretty much all the time, I’m guessing that’s some fifties-style sweater.
And if the fifties were all about breast-hugging tops, God bless that decade. That sweater is doing things to her tits that might drive me insane with lust.
But I’m nearly already there.
“Hey, snow bunny.”
“Hey, snowman,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist, and her remark throws me. Snow bunnies are sexy; snowmen are definitely not. Has she just friend-zoned me in favor of Jamie?
Oh, hell no.
That is one zone I won’t go into without a fight.
I point to the house. “Get inside, woman.” A flicker of something—perhaps interest—flickers across her warm brown eyes. “I don’t want you to freeze.”
“I know, but I wanted to say hi and thank you. Also, hurry on in. It’s snowing. And yes, I know I just pointed out the obvious.” Then she adds with a sexy little pout, “But that’s because I’m a helpful snow bunny.”
Laughing, and liking that she’s using her nickname, I look up at the sky as it tosses flakes at us like confetti. “It is indeed snowing. As much as I’d like to trade more snow names with you, let me tend to the gutters first since, well, I don’t imagine you want to have it on your conscience if I have to climb up on the roof later in a blinding snowstorm, during which I trip, tumble to the ground, and am left to the coyotes as night falls.”
“But I bet you’d be a tasty icicle for coyotes,” she says, and I’ll hang my hat on that one adjective—tasty—as I claw my way out of snowman zone.
“I make a very good popsicle.”
Her eyes dance with mischief, and I’m ready to pump a fist. From snowman to something you suck on in twenty seconds flat. Go me.
“I’ll open the garage. Everything you’ll need is in there. Gramps said he had a chimney sweep come out at the end of the summer, so I don’t think you need to worry about the full works. But can you check and make sure there’s not a dead raccoon in there?”
I give a tip of the cap. “Raccoon inspection, at your service.”
“And while you’re inspecting the chimney, I’ll stock up on the items that shall not be named for Perri and Derek.” She drops her voice to an alluring whisper. “Seductive body wash. Tropical island-scented lotion. Sexy candles.”
I shudder, slamming my hands over my ears. Vanessa laughs, her smile wide and bright.
When I let go of my ears, she points to the house. “And after I do all the womanly stuff, how about I whip up a delicious hot chocolate? I picked up supplies at the market, and you’re definitely going to need warming up.”
I’d like to warm her up, all night long.
“Count me in.”
7
Shaw
An hour and a half later, I’m finished with the roof detail, and the sun is dropping in the sky.
Carefully, I climb down the ladder, set the tools neatly in the garage, and return to the porch. Beneath the fine dusting of flakes are pine needles and dried leaves, so I grab the broom I spotted in the garage and sweep those up, then I do the steps too.
Nothing wrong with going above and beyond.
Satisfied with my labors so far and hopeful about their ability to impress a woman—since that’s key in any manual labor—I stomp the snow off my work boots and rap on the door.
