Page 72 of Playing With Fire

“How about you?” she ventured politely. “Still staying with your parents? You must all get on pretty well.”

“Yeah, we do,” he said lightly. “Bit of a squeeze, but it will do for now.”

More silence. The faint glow of the shops and restaurants in the main street was visible up ahead. They slowed, somehow reluctant to go their separate ways.

Most regular folks were at home now, winding down from the working week and thinking about groceries and basketball games and whether it was still too cool to invite the neighbors over on Sunday afternoon for a grill. Searching Netflix or catching up on reality television.

They both spoke at once.

“I should have replied—”

“I can’t believe Dougie—”

They laughed, suddenly self-conscious. Ricky stepped close. He tucked his arm into Jodi’s casually, as though they were old school buddies, and steered her in the direction of the shops and cafés.

Jodi’s heart skittered around in her chest, just like the unreliable organ it was turning out to be. She had to dig deep for her woman-of-the-world smile.

“I didn’t get any of that cottage pie—well, maybe a taste,” he admitted. “And forgive me for noticing, but you spent almost the entire time chopping lettuce and topping up ketchup bottles. May I buy you a late supper?”

Jodi smiled. Enjoy the moment, she told herself briskly. And it felt more than good, the warm, solid weight of his arm against her soft breast, and the scent which she was now privately labelling as Hot Fireman. Damp wool, wood smoke, coffee, soap, and a hint of Old Spice.

“You may,” she said gravely. “I was sorry to miss the cottage pie. I’ve never seen one with grilled parmesan and green mashed potato.”

He laughed. “That’s what my mom said. But the volunteers said nobody complained.”

They sauntered along the sidewalk, both aware that they were the focus of interested eyes and whispered conversations and that social media would be buzzing even before they reached Bean & Co.

By unspoken agreement, Jodi and Ricky didn’t tackle the elephant in the room until they were seated in a corner table and had ordered grilled cheese and ham sandwiches and coffee.

Ricky opened his mouth, but Jodi jumped in first.

“What happened was my fault,” she said crisply. “I’m the Acting Editor. Dougie is a bit of a loose cannon, but I should have allowed for that.”

She looked deep into his eyes and met the same intensity. A sudden heat sparked between them, a deep desire that was both frightening and exhilarating, and they both looked away. Jodi knew she was flushing.

The moment passed. Ricky took a breath. Cleared his throat.

“You don’t need to apologize for doing your job, just like I’m doing mine. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you though.”

“Fair point.”

Their food arrived, sizzling with flavor, and Jodi spent a second wondering how it was that plain cheese and ham under the griller could make strong men (and women) moan with delight.

Maybe it wasn’t just the sandwich.

Silence fell, a companiable lull as the food was consumed with the respect it deserved. A few minutes later Ricky sipped his coffee and then relaxed against his chair with a sigh of contentment.

“I don’t know what’s possessed Leroy Browning, but all of a sudden he won’t let this thing go. I know the election is coming up, but picking up a couple of foster kids and accusing them of arson seems risky without some solid evidence.”

“What did Bonnie have to say?”

He paused while the waiter topped up the mugs.

“Bonnie was already primed. She says she was compelled as a good citizen to approach the boys when she saw them teasing a cat. And after that, well she thought she ought to keep an eye out.”

Jodi sniffed disdainfully. She let out a long breath. “Though the boys did light those other fires, so Silas says. And that’s more evidence against them.”

Ricky nodded. They stared at each other for a few seconds until Jodi broke the silence.

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