by Avery Flynn
“Well, Mr. Detective, using the information you provided as well as my own keen observational skills, I noticed that you couldn’t stop looking at your”—he made air quotes—“‘just friend’ as she gave you the hey-good-lookin’ eyes during family lunch. Then, you defended her honor to the point that you broke police rule nine hundred and forty-six and tried to clean the clock of a guy who happens to outrank you. So, by putting on my Sherlock hat, I was able to deduce that you have a major hard-on for one Gina Luca.” Frankie’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down. “Felicia agrees, and since she’s the only one of us in a committed relationship, I’m gonna declare that means I’m one hundred percent correct.”
Ford glared out at the pristine backyard. “You’re an idiot.”
“Not when it comes to women.”
Okay, Frankie may have made the rounds a few dozen times among Waterbury’s single women, but that didn’t make him a relationship sage. “If that’s the case, then why is Felicia the only one of us in a committed relationship?”
“Are you kidding?” Frankie waved his hands over his body like a gameshow hostess showing off a prize. “You want me to limit the ladies of Waterbury’s access to all this ginger firefighter hotness? I’m not that cruel.”
Ford laughed. He couldn’t help it. Even when he was in a shitty enough mood to eat nails, Frankie’s good-natured lack of humility always cracked him up. The man really was a menace to the women of Waterbury. How in the hell he managed to stay friends with 99 percent of the women he dated was a mystery to Ford.
He couldn’t even get Gina to call him. Not that he’d called her.
He couldn’t initiate contact. But if she’d called, that would have been a different story. Too bad she hadn’t called. And the fact that she hadn’t told him just about everything he needed to know about her thoughts about things after their night together. And now he was stuck twiddling his thumbs for a week.
“What am I going to do?”
Frankie looked at him like he had two heads and neither of them had a brain. “Go tell her you’re into her.”
“Not about Gina.” Because there was nothing he could do about her, they’d both known that going into the other night. That’s probably what made it seem like more than it was and why he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. “What am I going to do about the suspension?”
“Dude.” Frankie shrugged. “I have no clue on that one. I’m a man who loves two things in this world and they both start with F—fighting fires and fucking.”
Ford snorted. “You’re so classy.”
“No, but I am honest about who I am and what I want.” His brother turned a very un-Frankie-like serious gaze on him. “Maybe you should try that.”
No detective work was necessary to figure the meaning behind that piece of advice out. Ford took another drink of his beer and tried to think of a way around the obvious, but there wasn’t one. There were good guys and bad guys. Cops and robbers. The two didn’t mix.
“Her grandfather was Big Nose Tommy Luca. Her brothers are Rocco and Paul Luca.”
“So?”
“I’m a detective.” He had no clue how to be more plain about the impossibility of it all than that.
“Are you trying to say that the wedding planner who blushes every time you even glanced in her direction at family lunch is actually a member of a dark crime family and does wet work as her side hustle?” Frankie didn’t even try to hide how funny he thought the idea was. By the time he got the words side hustle out, he was working so hard to hold back his laugh that his shoulders were shaking.
“No, you oversized smart-ass. She doesn’t have anything to do with them.”
“I see,” Frankie said and then took a long, slow drink of his beer. “So, what does your job have to do with a damn thing when it comes to you having a good time with a woman who wants you?”
It sounded ridiculously simple when his brother put it that way, but Frankie didn’t understand. “There are standards we’re expected to keep as detectives and regulations we have to meet in regards to who we associate with.”
“And wedding planners are on the list of those to be shunned, huh? I think I understand now why cops’ divorce rates are so high.”
That wasn’t it at all, and his brother knew that. “Go screw yourself, Frankie.”
Frankie let out a loud laugh. “I love you too, man.”
After that, the conversation turned to the Ice Knights and what a total shit trade the team had made when they’d made a play for Zach Blackburn. The defenseman nicknamed the Harbor City Hooligan had made so many boneheaded plays during the season—contributing to the Ice Knights missing the playoffs—that the Post had just named him the most hated man in Harbor City.
By the time Ford finished his single beer and gotten into his car for the short drive home, he wasn’t even thinking about Gina anymore. Which was what made it even more of a mystery as to how in the world he’d ended up parked outside of her house wondering if she’d answer if he rang the doorbell.
…
Gina had to stop staring at the couch in the front room that had the Ice Knights blanket folded perfectly and resting underneath the pillow Ford had used. Really, it was getting creepy.
She needed to go in there, pick them up, and stuff both back in the storage closet. That’s really what she should do.
Instead, she did a one-eighty and walked to the front door and picked up the watering can so she could water the plants out on the porch. She swung the door open and stopped dead in her tracks. Ford was standing at the bottom of the porch stairs, looking damn good for a man whose facial expression said he couldn’t decide if he should turn back or go forward. She knew how he felt. Her heart was going a million miles an hour, but her feet weren’t moving an inch.
“Hey,” she finally managed to get out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Why oh why couldn’t she have found the extra time to wash her hair today? The frizzy mess was contained in a bun on the top of her head, but strands kept escaping and sticking to her lip gloss. Add to that the well-worn jeans and a shirt that declared to all she didn’t do mornings, and she was definitely not looking her best.
He did that slow, half-smile thing that made her lungs go tight. It wasn’t fair. “I wasn’t expecting to be here.”
Okay, that took some of the tingly excitement out of her metaphorical sails. “Then why are you?”
He shoved his fingers through his hair but, because it was him, it all just fell back into perfect place instead of looking a mess. “I wanted to see you.”
And BAM she was back up to teetering on the edge of something fantastic. Why did he do this to her? He made her feel excited and scared and nervous and sparkly—yes, it sounded dumb, but it was true—and at home all at the same time. She didn’t understand it, just like she couldn’t quite grasp why after everything they’d agreed to he’d shown up on her porch saying he wanted to see her.
He climbed the first two steps, his hand on the recently sanded banister and all of his intense focus on her. “Can I ask you a question?”
If there was a time in her life when she’d ever wished she was a Rizzo from Grease, this was it. To have that confidence and bravado and chick balls. Instead, she was a Frenchie, forever the goofy sidekick. She knew this. Still, she dug deep to find her badass inner Rizzo. “Depends on what you want to know.”
“Are you involved in anything illegal?”
And that was pretty much the last thing she’d expected him to ask. The preposterousness of it made her laugh out loud. “Well, I have a lead foot. Does that count?”
Ford didn’t laugh. In fact, his jaw seemed to tense even more. “So, no running numbers or delivering messages or wet work?”
“I don’t even know what that last one means.” She shook her head. She was a wedding planner, and the only kind of wet work she dealt with was being sure to keep extra tissues on hand for the mother of the bride. “Why are you asking me this,
Ford?”
The stubborn man didn’t answer. Instead, he vaulted up the last three steps to the porch and strode toward her, right across the spot on the porch marked with a big red X so Juan would know which boards needed to be replaced.
“Wait, Ford, watch out for the—”
She spoke too late. The wonky board that always felt like it was about to give way when she stepped on it finally did. The crack sounded, then a snap, and then a crash as Ford fell through the porch up to his hips.
“Oh my God,” she yelled, dropping the watering can in her shock. It bounced once and fell over onto its side, all of the water inside spilling out and rushing right to Ford, soaking him. “Are you okay?”
He looked down at the boards surrounding him, a few of which had broken off into sharp points but none of which were close enough to pierce him. “I’m a little scraped up, but I’ll live. It looks like for the most part it was a clean break,” he said. “But don’t come any closer. I don’t want you to go down, too.”
He braced his hands on the boards closest to him, but they started to creak as soon as he put his weight on them. Oh, this was not going to go well. The more he tried to get himself out, the worse it seemed to get. It was like her house was trying to eat him.
“I need to get help,” she said, pulling out her cell phone from her back pocket with shaky hands.
Ford continued to survey his situation. “Who are you going to call?”
“The fire department,” she said, already scrolling for their non-emergency number. “They got one of my cousin’s kids’ head free after he’d gotten it stuck between two banisters at my grandma’s house.”
“Do not dial that number,” Ford said, each word coming out as a staccato punch. “I’d rather live the rest of my life in this hole than have you call the fire department.”
“That makes no sense.” That wasn’t rhetorical. It really made no sense at all. If she hadn’t seen him fall through the porch herself, she would have figured he’d banged his head hard to be talking such bologna.
The vein in his temple pulsed, and he squared his jaw with enough force that it made the muscles on the side of his face bulge out. Ignoring her question, he tested out the boards within reach, each of which wobbled under the pressure. Finally, he let out a frustrated huff.
“My brothers and my dad are firefighters. I would never hear the end of it if they had to come pull my ass out of a hole in a porch. They’d stop and take pictures before they did it. They’d probably call my mom and FaceTime her during the process. I could save the entire family from a deranged serial killer, and they’d all still be telling the story of the time I got stuck in a hole on your front porch.”
After having lunch with his family, she had to admit he wasn’t wrong. They wouldn’t do it out of meanness, but they’d totally give him a hard time for a good long while. And she could understand why. Ford was always so damn sure of himself that seeing him in this situation was something to savor for a little bit.
“I don’t know,” she said, letting her finger hover over her phone. “Calling the fire department seems like the standard operating procedure here. I know how much you love following protocol. Remember when you refused to start painting the hallway until you’d stirred the paint for exactly thirty-five seconds?”
“That’s what the guy at the paint counter recommended to achieve the best sheen,” he declared as he crossed his arms across his chest as if the truth of the statement was obvious.
Which it was. Just not in the way he was thinking. “Like I said, you always follow recommended protocol.”
“Not in this case,” he shot back.
“Ford Hartigan, are you breaking the rules?”
“I seem to be making a habit of it whenever I’m around you,” he groused.
Now this was something worth exploring, and since he didn’t seem to actually be hurt apart from his pride, she put her phone away in her back pocket. “Well, since I have you trapped, you’ve got to tell me everything.” She was being an ass. She knew it, but how often did a woman like her have the hot guy she lusted after trapped in her porch? This was a situation that needed to be savored like a fine wine or a greasy cheeseburger when she had a hangover from savoring too much of that fine wine. “Why are you here instead of at work?”
“I punched a fellow detective who happens to outrank me.”
Whoa. It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
His face darkened, and for a second she didn’t think he’d answer. Finally, he grumbled, “I had my reasons.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me?” Because she was dying to know what in the world could push someone like By The Book Hartigan to punch a superior.
He just held her gaze.
Wow. Throwing punches at another detective. She would have to follow up with Fallon about that, because Mr. Tight Lips wasn’t going to give up any of the goods, which was really too bad. Of course, it wasn’t enough of a reason to let her house eat him, no matter how nice it was to have him around again.
“Then I guess I’ve got no choice but to free you.” Sticking close to the outside wall of the house like Juan had warned her to do, she went to the end of the porch where there was a ladder she’d used to put up the hanging plant baskets.
She carried it back and laid it down so that it spanned not only the hole Ford was stuck in but also several feet past it in both directions, giving him something to brace his arms on that wasn’t dried-out wood from the last century. Was it bad that she totally scoped out his forearms when he pressed his palms onto the ladder and lifted himself out of the hole? Well, if it was, too bad, because she had to get her thrills where she could.
By the time he was standing next to where she stood close to the door, his T-shirt plastered to his chest because of the water from the watering can, she was having to stuff her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching out and running her hands over him to make sure he was really okay. He looked okay. Correction, he was Ford Hartigan—he looked way better than okay.
Regina, this is not the time to go there.
But she couldn’t help it. Being so close to him that she could smell the warm cedar of his cologne and feel the sizzle of the air around them discombobulated her.
“If I take you out to eat, will you agree not to sue me?” She regretted the words as soon as they were out. Why did she always make dumb jokes when she got nervous?
He gave her that cocky half grin. “Is there cannoli involved?”
Of course, the mention of her favorite pastry sent her brain right back to that night in her kitchen. Did he mean… He couldn’t… She looked up into his face. There was no missing the heat in his eyes as he watched her. Oh God. He did.
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Most definitely there will be cannoli.”
Chapter Thirteen
They walked into the bakery. Scratch that. Ford did his best I’m-not-shoving-you-but-I’m-totally-shoving-you move to get into the tiny storefront of Vacilli’s Bakery so Gina wouldn’t have to be elbows-to-asses with a bunch of sugar-crazed Waterbury citizens desperate to get their pastry on.
“What is with these people,” he muttered under his breath—but not enough under his breath, going by Gina’s giggle and the dirty looks he got from the other people crowded into the bakery.
“You haven’t had their cannoli yet.”
“But I’ve had cannoli. Remember?”
Pink splotches appeared on her cheeks. “You got distracted.”
“I can’t imagine why. Maybe it was when you took your dress and—”
She cut him off, “Ford!”
He was almost as disappointed as the old man in line ahead of them whose face fell when Gina interrupted and then grumbled something about young people not being any fun.
“You know, in some places it’s illegal to be as sexy as you are. I’m a police officer. I know these things.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know very well that
that’s not true.”
“You know every law in every state in the U.S.?”
Her gaze faltered, dipping down to the floor. “No, I know for a fact that I’m not that sexy.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Her smile lost that joking quality and went stiff. He couldn’t help but think that she was recalling whatever it was that someone had done to her to break her trust so completely that she wouldn’t tell him about that day at the Wooden Barber. But he knew better than to push. She’d tell him eventually. He could be patient—for her.
“What’s so special about this place? Cannoli is cannoli.”
“No. There is cannoli and then there is Vacilli’s cannoli. The main bakery is in Harbor City and has been there for decades. I would love to get to go to the Harbor City one someday and spy on them making the cannoli. They opened this one a few years ago.”
“Wait, this isn’t grand-opening crowded?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed and patted him on the arm like he’d just asked if the Ice Knights were a hockey team. “This is barely a Saturday morning crowd. You should be here the day before Easter. I’ve seen old ladies shove little kids out of the way to move ahead in the line.”
Once they finally made it through the twisting line and got their cannoli, he had to admit it was pretty amazing. Just not as amazing as watching the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about practically have an orgasm in front of him after taking her first bite.
Up until that moment, he hadn’t realized he could be jealous of a pastry—but he was.
…
Going to the grocery store with a guy was weird. Gina had to walk slower, listening to her latest audiobook was verboten, and going through the tampon aisle was…awkward. Still, she’d never had a better time tapping melons—not a euphemism.
“Have you really never bought a cantaloupe?” she asked.
Ford shook his head and knocked on the melons as if he was executing a search warrant. “Never.”
She took the fruit from him before he busted it in the middle of the produce section. “Then what’s in your fruit bowl?”