Page 68 of Red Hot Harmony

I shuddered. “Are they going to close the interstate again?”

“Most likely.” The firefighter moved along the side of the truck and I followed him, in my shoes and in my dress, looking absolutely ridiculous next to his soot-covered uniform. “You’re having a party or something?” he asked. His partner was talking to someone over the walkie-talkie and I heard the light crackles and the mesh of voices.

“My parent’s wedding anniversary,” I said, suddenly feeling proud. “Forty years.”

The firefighter made a small whistling sound, then smiled. “That takes guts. Give them my best.”

“Thank you.”

“And be ready to evacuate.”

“Okay, thank you... Thank you for all that you’re doing.”

“That’s the job, ma’am.” He grinned and went on to do what he was going to do before I interrupted, and I ran back toward the house.

Halfway there, I noticed two bars on my phone, so I called Dante again.

My heart was thudding, my emotions were running wild. For a second, I truly believed everything was going to be okay. And then the call went straight to voicemail.

8 Dante

I had two problems.

I didn’t know what to wear to Camille’s parents’ party to ensure they didn’t hate me right away, and I also didn’t know who the best person was to ask. In other circumstances, I would have worn my usual, but this was a very different type of event. From what Camille had told me, her family was pretty conservative and most of the guests would be older.

Basically, I had to impress a bunch of senior citizens and traditionalists. Truth was, these people meant nothing to me and I didn’t care whether they liked me or not, but I did care about Camille. I cared what they would think of her choosing me.

So, yeah, I was doing this shit. I was playing this game.

That was why—after careful consideration and massive jitters—I texted Frank.

Need help. Can you talk?

I’d first thought of Malik, but dude had been blowing me off for weeks and I didn’t have it in me to take his bullshit right now. I tried leaving voicemails for Shanice, hoping she’d know where he was hiding, but she didn’t return any of my calls.

Sometimes, it felt like I was the only one worrying about him. He’d stopped worrying about his own well-being long ago. Once a sobriety partner, he was a ghost now.

My phone rang a few minutes after I shot Frank the text.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you never text.”

“Texting is exhausting.” Not when there were sexy messages to Camille, but otherwise, I preferred talking to typing.

“What do you need help with?”

“Fashion.”

Silence. Then Frankie-boy laughed. He fucking laughed.

“You’re asking me about fashion?” He continued to make the most undignified sounds a man his age could make and it reminded me of when we’d still been green. Those long rehearsal nights right after he’d moved to L.A. from Shitville, Arizona.

“Are you done having fun at my expense?”

“Yeah...I’m sorry.” There was a snort.

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