“Well, when it comes to me, I’ll pretty much pair sweets with anything.”
She laughed as she turned back to look out at the sunset, unable to stop herself from marveling at the moment. She was enjoying a drink and conversation—good conversation nonetheless—with her horrible neighbor Tripp Black.
The thing was, he wasn’t remotely horrible. Not even in the slightest.
Chapter Six
Pick-Me-Up Pie
Mirabelle, Florida, was about six hundred square miles. About three hundred miles of that was water, two hundred and forty was the Bartlett Forest, and the remaining sixty(ish) made up everything else…seventy-five percent of which was farms and pastures.
For the most part everyone lived just a few miles away from the main part of town. The people who didn’t live on farms were about a fifteen-minute drive away from the firehouse. Well, they were fifteen minutes away going the speed limit. Sirens blaring and cars moving out of the way? It was more like nine.
The department was a combination career and volunteer house. There were ten guys working on salary: Tripp, the assistant chief, two captains, and six firefighters. As for volunteers, there were twenty-five of them scattered around Mirabelle.
Tripp hadn’t worked in a combination house before he’d gotten this job, which had made him slightly worried. Sometimes there could be a little conflict between the career guys and the volunteers, but it wasn’t a problem at this house. The community factor in Mirabelle was off the charts.
At any given time there could be as many as twenty people hanging out at the house…not even counting the guys on duty. Active volunteers, retired volunteers, and guys who just lived in Mirabelle. A lot would come over for a card game or a little food, or a lot of food, as it was never in short supply.
Whether it be a casserole from any of the church ladies, four dozen eggs and a bag of vegetables from a local farmer, or pounds and pounds of seafood from the wharf, there was always something to eat. It was a good thing, too, as a number of the older bachelors or widowers would stop in for a little conversation and a hot meal. The homeless population wasn’t all that high, but there were a couple of Mirabelle residents who could use some help with a meal or two, and they knew exactly where to come.
Another problem they didn’t have here was volunteers leaving their day jobs when more manpower was needed. With so many locally owned businesses there was never really an issue when there was an emergency.
Tripp took a lot of pride in the men who worked for him, and the house that his men worked out of. Mirabelle had become home for a multitude of reasons beyond his job, especially now that he had a group of really good friends, a dog, a house…
Are you ever going to settle down? The conversation from that morning’s phone call with his mother echoed in his head. Your father and I aren’t getting any younger and we want grandchildren.
His mother had called him to confirm the dates of his father’s sixtieth birthday party, coming up in May. She’d wanted to make sure Tripp had gotten off for the date. Once she’d confirmed that, she’d asked if there was any possibility he’d be bringing a date.
She hadn’t been pleased at all when he’d told her no.
Tripp loved his mother dearly. Alexis Black was the absolute best person he knew. The woman would walk into fire for those that she loved. She also wasn’t one to let things go, and this grandbaby thing wasn’t going anywhere, especially as Tripp was their only child.
The “settling down” conversation was one that Tripp had been having with his mother for the last ten years now. It had started right after his best friend Landon had gotten married. Over the last four years she’d upped the ante and mentioned it at least monthly, if not more. That had begun right after he and his girlfriend Autumn had broken up. Autumn just so happened to be his last serious relationship.
He’d often joked that it was the bachelor life for him, and really what was wrong with that? He hadn’t found the woman that made him think about changing his life.
It wasn’t that he’d written marriage off, because he hadn’t. He’d be a liar if he said that he hadn’t thought about a family of his own living in the house he’d just bought…or that he hadn’t had the image of people gathered around that dining room table of his…a wife and kids.
The thing was, he had too many examples of good marriages around him. And he was by no means delusional that his family’s or friends’ marriages were perfect…but they were something special.
And he wanted something special.
Besides, he was settled down…it just wasn’t with a family like his mother and father wanted…or like ninety percent of his friends had done.
And sometimes there was some merit in staying single, the prime example being the man who was currently in the driver’s seat of the department’s pick-up truck: Beaumont Giovanni Culpepper, the assistant fire chief.
Beau was a Mirabellian by birth, but he’d only just moved back the year before. He was forty-five and raising his eleven-year-old son Ethan on his own. He and his wife had divorced three years ago when she’d left him for a Baptist pastor.
A Baptist pastor who’d also been married.
If that wasn’t an advertisement for singledom, Tripp didn’t know what was, though maybe his current negative outlook had a little bit to do with the pounding headache he was sporting. He’d had another week of incredibly long days and very little sleep. The most recent calls hadn’t been weather related or acts of God, either, so much as acts of stupidity.
Terrance Spurlock had had the half-brained idea that he was going to drink half a bottle of Jim Beam and climb onto the roof of the tallest of the six lighthouses in Mirabelle. It was only after he’d made it to the top that he remembered he was terrified of heights. It had taken five guys to get him off the roof, at three o’clock in the morning.
There’d been a couple of illegal beach fires, something that was only going to become more and more frequent as Spring Breaks were starting and people were vacationing in Mirabelle.
But a beach fire wasn’t the reason he’d been pulled from bed at two o’clock in the morning the night before. Nope. That had been because of the Wigginses. Shelby had gotten sick and tired of her husband Herald and his constant infidelity. She’d set his belongings on fire on the front lawn…which had included his truck and a propane tank that had been sitting in the back. Yeah, more than Shelby’s temper had exploded.
The two of them made another incredibly strong case for marriage.
The only thing Tripp had going for him was that when the day had been done he had a blessed three days off.
As the two head officers, Tripp and Beau worked on a rotating schedule: five days on, three days off. They always overlapped a day at the beginning and end. If there wasn’t too much going on at the house on those days, they went around town to make sure businesses and such were up to fire code.
Those inspections were reason number fifty-two that Tripp’s head was killing him.
There were some days where this particular task was a breeze. In and out of the establishments that were on their list with no problems. Today had not been that day. Out of the six businesses they’d inspected there’d been about fifteen violations, ranging from expired extinguishers, faulty alarm systems, and a broken emergency exit door. Which had meant disgruntled owners, paperwork, and the promise of another visit in thirty days.
His headache had only magnified as the day had gone on, a new jab of pain blossoming behind his temples as they’d left the last place. They had three more stops before they were done: LauraAnne’s Liquors, the Gas-N-Go, and Farmer’s Drugs.
“You want a coffee or something?” Beau asked.
Tripp looked at the clock on the radio. It was half past one, so he probably had about four more hours until he was done for the day. “Yeah, maybe that will help.”
“Something is better than nothing. You’ve been a regular old ray of sunshine all day.”
“Is that sarcasm I’m sen
sing from you, Romeo?”
The nickname—which Beau actually preferred to being called Beaumont—was because ever since he’d moved back, pretty much all of the single ladies in Mirabelle liked to hit on him. But the guy never acted on it. He hadn’t dated since his divorce, and Tripp was pretty sure that wasn’t going to change.
“Sure as hell is, Chief.” Beau nodded as he made a left onto Whiskey River Lane.
“Remind me to write you up when we get back to the station for an inability at being funny,” Tripp said as he looked down at his clipboard and finished with his notes on the inspection they’d just finished.
“I’ll be sure to get right on that.”
The best coffee in all of Mirabelle was hands down from Café Lula, but as the café was all the way down on the beach, they were going to have to go to the second best place.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the Stardust Diner, there were still a number of cars scattered around the parking lot. It didn’t matter what time of day it was; someone was in the place and most likely enjoying a plate of pancakes and the crispiest bacon on the Gulf Coast.
But Tripp’s favorite part was the pie—strawberry rhubarb, to be exact. Since he was there, he might as well get a piece to go with his coffee. The sugar and caffeine could do double team on his headache and foul mood.
As they headed inside, Beau’s phone started to ring and he pulled it from his pocket and looked down. “I’ll be right in. Get me a coffee, too.”
“Sure thing.” Tripp nodded before making his way to the building. The blast of cold from the air conditioner hit him in the face when he opened the door. Mabel Seamore was working the register and she was just finishing up with another customer when Tripp walked up.
“Hey sugar.” She smiled. “What can I get you?”
“Two of your largest to-go cups filled with coffee doctored only that way you can, a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie, and a bag of Homer’s Homemade Kettle chips.”
Where Tripp had a sweet tooth, Beau was a fan of all things salty.
“I can get you the coffee and the chips, but we’re all out of strawberry rhubarb.”
Well, wasn’t that just great.
“I’m afraid we just served the last slice.” Mabel nodded behind him and Tripp turned to look at the booths lined up against the wall.
Beth was sitting on one side, her head bent over a book as she brought a fork full of his pie to her mouth. She was wearing bright red scrubs, her hair braided and hanging over her shoulder, showing off her slender neck.
Well, well, well, what do we have here?
“You want another flavor?” Mabel asked, forcing Tripp to pull his gaze from Beth.
“No thanks,” he said as he pulled out a ten. Mabel went to make change but Tripp shook his head. “Keep it.”
“Thanks, sugar. You wait five minutes and you can get some coffee from a fresh pot.”
“Will do,” he nodded.
Mabel smiled before she went off to help a customer who was sitting at the opposite end of the counter, and she wasn’t the only one moving. It was an automatic reaction that Tripp turned around and walked across the diner to Beth.
He was like a moth to a flame.
“Just when I thought we could be friends.”
Beth pulled her gaze from the book in her hands and looked up. “Tripp.”
“You took my pie.”
“What?” she asked on a confused laugh as she flipped the book onto the table to hold its place.
“My pie.” He nodded to the plate as he slid into the seat across from her.
“Did you write your name on it?” She lifted the plate and looked underneath it. “No, no I don’t see your name.” Her eyes returned to him and a grin spread across her face as she lowered the plate back to the table.
And just like that the pain in Tripp’s head disappeared, wiped away by Beth Boone’s smile.
“It’s a constant dibs on the last piece of that particular pie,” he pointed at it. “It’s always mine.”
“I wasn’t aware of this rule.” She shook her head, scooping up another bite as she brought the fork to her mouth and wrapped her lips around it.
That little act had to be one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen in his life.
Now Tripp had always been a sucker for sweets…whether they were baked goods or beautiful women. When he’d opened his door last week to find this particular woman standing on the doorstep, he hadn’t been sure which had been more tempting: her or the cookies.
Turned out, Beth smelled like a fucking cookie, too. The whole time she’d been over enjoying a beer with him, he’d had the strangest urge to lean down and press his nose to her neck. Or maybe it wasn’t so strange at all.
It stood to reason that if the woman smelled like cookies she might taste like cookies…and that was all Tripp had been able to think about: what Beth Boone tasted like. And it was a thought that had plagued him since. And now? Well, now he was pretty sure she would taste like pie. His favorite pie.
Yeah, there was no hope for him. None.
It was a problem, to be sure. A massive one. He wasn’t allowed to like her as anything other than a friend…or want her, either. She was off limits per his rules.
Rules…
Weren’t they just talking about rules?
“You’ve been gone from Mirabelle too long, Beth. You’re going to need to relearn all those rules.” He was going to need to relearn a few rules himself…like which women were off limits.
“Apparently. There a book?”
“I’ll put one together.”
“How nice of you. Also, you do know that there are about a dozen other pies to choose from over there?” She pointed to the display case with her fork.
“I’m aware. But none of them are the pie I wanted. I needed a pick-me-up and you stole the last slice of it.”
“You have pick-me-up pie?”
He sure did. And it turned out he was still getting that pick-me-up. It was just in the form of her as opposed to pie. Hell, she was almost like a dessert anyway. A waaaay better one.
“And that’s strange to you?” he asked. “Don’t you make thank you cookies?”
“Fair point,” she said as she took another bite, and just like that he was distracted by her mouth again and the way it wrapped around the fork.
Well, she was just taunting him now…and flirting with him, too. That was new and he liked it. Liked it a lot.
Yeah, he had a thing for his neighbor…had had a thing for her since she’d shown up on his doorstep covered in mud and started screaming at him about Duke. He wasn’t sure what it was about that moment that was sticking out to him now. Maybe those hot pink shorts and the outline of her breasts underneath her shirt.
But was that what it had taken for him to really notice her? No, it hadn’t been.
Hell, he’d probably had a thing for her even before then…he just was too blind to see it.
He normally wasn’t a man who needed to be hit over the head repeatedly…except, apparently, in the case of Beth Boone.
Fuck his stupid set of rules.
* * *
Oh Lord, Tripp Black looked good. How was it that this man was downright edible in his navy blue uniform pants and gray T-shirt? While he was sitting there looking like most women’s fireman fantasy come to life, she was wearing scrubs that weren’t exciting or lust-inducing in the slightest.
A little over a week ago he’d agitated her in every possible way. She wouldn’t have cared what the hell she looked like when bumping into him randomly.
This was not the case today.
“Speaking of your thank you cookies,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ll have you know that there aren’t even crumbs left.”
“You ate all two dozen of them?” she asked, trying to recall if she’d even washed her hair that morning…or put on mascara?
She couldn’t remember, especially not at the moment. His eyes were focused so inten
tly on hers, holding her gaze as something that she swore was desire flashed through them. It was hot and…and it made her a little sweaty.
Granted, she’d been making a production of eating her pie—pie that he thought was his pie—but that had all been about messing with him. And she was pretty sure that he no longer cared about the pie in the slightest. She was also pretty sure she was about three-point-five seconds from spontaneously combusting.
“Beth, I think you underestimate my love of baked goods. Or what I’m willing to do for them.”
And before she knew it, the fork was lifted out of her hand, and the plate was gone from in front of her. He leaned back in the seat, grinning as he put a forkful of pie into his mouth.
“You did not just steal that.”
A few seconds passed as he chewed and swallowed. “Oh but I did. Sweets are my weakness. Couldn’t stop myself,” he said before he took another bite.
“I wouldn’t think a man like you would have a lot of weaknesses.”
“I don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s a very short list.” And with that he took the last bite of pie.
It was right there on the tip of her tongue to ask what that list consisted of when Mabel walked up to the booth, two cups of coffee and a bag of chips in hand. “You’re good to go, Chief.”
“Thanks, Mabel.” He grinned up at her, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Looks like you got your pie anyway.” Mabel grabbed the empty plate in front of Tripp.
“Beth shared with me.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Mabel said to Beth.
Tripp turned to look at Beth, too. “Just the sweetest.”
“Let me know if you need anything else, Chief,” Mabel tapped the table with her free hand before she walked off.
“I shared with you?” Beth asked, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. “Is that what we’re calling your stealing now?”
“I thought we clarified that you stole first.”
“I don’t think we clarified anything.”
“Huh. I guess we didn’t.” He shrugged. “I should go, though. I’m on the clock, and we can’t all play hooky from work.”
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