Page 8 of Deck the Fire Halls

I laughed, my good mood unshaken. “Just doing a good deed for the new doctor in town, sir.”

“Hm-mm.” He was doing his stoic, unimpressed-dad thing. “Your next good deed for the day is washing the truck. Get to it.”

Yeah.

Not even that could ruin my mood.

In fact, pulling the fire engine out the front and spending a few hours in the sunshine sounded like a great idea.

“On it, boss.”

He scowled at me. “Don’t act like you like it. It’s supposed to be a punishment.”

Chucky laughed as I collected the keys, and then Doug turned to him. “And you can help him.”

“What did I do?” Chuck protested. Then it was me who laughed, and Chuck gave me a shove. “Thanks a fucking lot, man.”

We got busy with the truck, cleaning inside and out, working up a bit of a sweat. I had to undo my coveralls to my waist so it was just my T-shirt showing, and man, the sunlight felt good.

It was an unusually warm day for November, and we’d soon be under a few feet of snow and freezing winds, so I wasn’t about to waste any chance I got to absorb some vitamin D.

I kept a random eye on the clinic across the street every now and then, noticing people going in and out asthey usually were. But I must have gotten lost in my work until Chucky gave me a shove. “Eyes at nine o’clock.”

I turned and saw Rob standing out in front of the clinic, staring, before he realized he got caught and hurried down the street.

Chuck laughed. “Good deed, huh?”

I was grinning, feeling a buzz I hadn’t felt in far too long. “Good indeed.”

CHAPTER THREE

ROB

Of coursehe was washing the fire engine. Because of course he was.

Of course he was wearing his coveralls rolled down to his waist, and of course his gray T-shirt clung to his ripped body like a glove.

Of course it did.

I had a coat on with the collar up against the cold and my hands shoved into my pockets, and he was wearing a goddamn T-shirt while he washed the fire engine.

And he was gorgeous.

I don’t mean a little bit gorgeous. I mean the whole way. Tanned, ripped, dark, glittering eyes, and that smile. And don’t even get me started on the perfect bone structure of his face.

Or his lips.

Did I mention his lips?

And the way he always seemed to be smiling?

And the way he held my gaze and said he liked my pride pajamas. Pride. And that he wasn’t straight.

He said these things to my face.

Admittedly, I’d been a hermit by Gay Seattle standards. I just hadn’t had the time, the energy, or the inclination to bother.

I was also a sad and sorry mess.

---