Page 48 of Engulfing Emma

She turns around and draws her brows at me.

“I mean, would you go to dinner with me? Tomorrow night.”

I see the answer in her eyes before the words leave her mouth. “I don’t date firefighters, Brett.”

“Oh.” I stand here and once again try to figure out the woman in front of me. “You don’t date them as a general rule, or you don’t want to date me specifically.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

The sad look on her face tells me it’s not me. It’s her dad.

“So there are three things you’re afraid of then: tall buildings, airplanes, and firefighters.”

She doesn’t answer me. She reaches the door and waves. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

After she goes inside, I try to think of things I should have said to get her to change her mind. I’m no good at this anymore. I’m sure Bass or Denver, or hell …anybody, would have come up with something.

I’m about to walk away in defeat when I hear a bloodcurdling scream from her townhouse. I rush up the stairs only to find the door is locked. “Emma!” I shout. When she doesn’t answer, I kick in the door, breaking the frame in the process. “Emma!”

Chapter Sixteen

Emma

“In here,” I yell, thankful to hear Brett’s voice.

He runs into the kitchen to see me perched on a chair. I point to the corner. “Snake. There.”

Brett lets out a huge sigh as he looks up to the ceiling in relief. “Jesus Christ, Emma. I thought you were being murdered.”

“I was about to be,” I say, peering at the snake.

He takes a look. “It’s a garter snake, Emma. Small. Non-venomous. Mostly docile.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?”

He puts a hand on the chair to stabilize it. “You can come down now.”

“Not on your life.”

“So tall buildings, planes, firefighters, and snakes,” he says.

“Apparently.”

He picks up the snake as if it were a kitten. He nods to the back door. “I’ll just put him out there.”

I am aghast. “Not there!”

“Do you know how many of these are already living in your backyard?”

I shudder. “I don’t want to know. Just get rid of it please.”

I watch as he opens the sliding door to the back, crosses the small deck, goes down the stairs, and then carries the snake all the way to the back corner of our tiny yard.

“Thank you. Again,” I say when he returns.

He goes into the kitchen and washes his hands at the sink. “No problem. But don’t thank me yet. I busted down your front door when I heard you scream.”

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