Page 42 of Playing With Fire

She nodded. “I get that.” The thrill of being at the center of the action. The frantic few hours before print deadline, when someone called in with a hot tip for a breaking story, when the hardware store pulled their half-page ad and a regular columnist called in to say she had twisted her ankle falling over her dog and couldn’t possibly write a single word.

Jodi, at the helm, was the conductor of this mad symphony that played its way ponderously through the last movement and then the fast and furious finale.

Okay. Nothing like being a firefighter.

She cut the remaining chunk of bagel in half, wishing it were larger.

“I miss the team.” Ricky sliced the last potato and placed a large piece on Jodi’s plate. “The feeling of working together, running like clockwork, of doing something that really matters. Pushing yourself until you think you can’t climb any higher but you can. Running into the burning building when everyone else is running out.”

He shrugged. His face grew guarded. “Maybe I’m a thrill junkie. Superhero complex.”

Jodi glanced down as the waiter refilled her coffee. “But you came back. And now you talk about fire blankets and hand out fridge magnets. Isn’t there some less important person at the town council who could handle that?”

A curious expression flitted across his face and was gone before she could read it. He shrugged again and looked around the café as though checking out the fire exits and the emergency signs.

“Less important than me? Now there’s a good question,” he said mockingly. He ate his potato and Jodi followed suit. “Maybe the guy at the coffee van? No, scratch that, he’s the most important guy on the premises.”

Ricky’s eyes met hers, half-challenging. “Maybe I simply like working with families with young kids. Change of pace, worrying about stepping on a toddler instead of putting my foot through a burned-out ceiling.”

She watched his eyes carefully. Nope, she wasn’t buying it.

“What happened to Chrissie Caitens?” The words popped out before Jodi could stop them.

His face turned blank. He shrugged. “She died.”

A shudder of horror, followed by remorse, ran through Jodi. “God. Sorry. I hadn’t heard.”

She frowned. There was something lingering in her memory bank.

Ricky broke into her chain of thought. His voice was light, as though he had already forgotten the last topic.

“Enough about me. Now why are you still here in Temple Mountain, Jodi Ruskin? Truth time.”

Jodi wriggled uneasily. “Hey, I’m the ace girl reporter here. I ask the questions.”

He placed his cutlery neatly on his empty plate, leaned back and folded his arms. He looked at her through thick dark lashes. Jodi clamped down hard on the signals her treacherous body was sending.

“I reject that gender and professional stereotyping,” Ricky said gravely. “Besides, my new role gives me carte blanche—that means ‘full discretionary power’—”

“I know,” said Jodi sweetly.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Full power to ask citizens of the county any question I choose related to their safety and wellbeing.”

Jodi snorted.

He leaned forward. “Such as, why didn’t you take the job in Manhattan that your sister told my mom’s hairdresser about? Are you in a relationship at the moment? And do you prefer New York bagels to the Montreal style?”

Jodi spluttered. Social media had nothing on good old-fashioned gossip, not in Temple Mountain. She settled for a shrug and a throwaway line.

“You’ll have to fine me then, officer, because I plead the Fifth. I’m just not ready to commit to either bagel.”

His smile was lazy and slow, and Jodi experienced the terrible and exhilarating conviction that he was going to kiss her, right then. And now she knew exactly how she felt about that.

Her lips parted softly, and she felt more than saw his chin tilt towards her.

A harsh buzz shattered the moment.

His eyes flared. He took a deep breath and pulled his cell from his shirt pocket.

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