Page 8 of Red Hot Roaster

Rafe

Isat in Rose’s driveway and stared at the house to my right. Princess stood up from her pile of blankets and gave a good shake, her ID tag jingling on her collar. She shoved her head on my right shoulder, and we stared together.

“Quite a place, huh, baby girl?” I grunted.

With its colorful paint job, wide front porch and lush rose gardens, the bungalow called to me. Flat-out appealing…as appealing as the woman living inside.

The places where I grew up in Oakland had been nothing like this. They’d been shabby apartments or falling-down tract houses with no yards or flowers or brightness at all. Army quarters had been even uglier—old barracks stateside or flimsy tents in the sandbox.

Yeah. If this place were my home, I’d do everything in my power to protect and take care of it—and the family living there.And I’d be thankful every day for the privilege.

Rose had called last night, said her name and apologized for the late hour. Funny on both counts—she was already in my phone’s contact list, and I’d been up because I couldn’t get her out of my mind. She said I was welcome to park in her driveway when I was working since she lived right behind the Chocolate Lab.

She assured me,Rafe, it’ll be safer for Princess. You can pop over during the day to check on her, take her for walks, feed her—things like that. I won’t takenofor an answer.

Rose had a knack for making an offer sound like an order, but I’d yielded to her this time around.

We’d arrived at zero five forty, earlier than scheduled so I could scope things out. I didn’t like to be caught by surprise. Rose wanted to meet Princess, and then we’d walk to work together.

I scrubbed my hand down my face and leaned my head against the driver’s door. My eyelids drifted shut—not sleeping, just…resting while we waited.

After I’d left the café yesterday, I hadn’t been able to let it rest. I’d had questions.

Why did Rose’s eyes, as beautiful as they were, look so tired, with smudgy circles underneath? Was she married after all? She had a son—although, apparently,notthe boy who tied the old dog to the statue. Where was her husband—I hadn’t clocked a ring—or son or other family, and why weren’t they helping her with all those Post-it things?

I’d also wanted to kick myself in the ass.Why did I care? I’d be moving on soon enough.

On my way back to Pete’s house, I’d picked up groceries for dinner. He wouldn’t let me pay rent while we stayed with him, so I helped with food, home repairs, fixing meals, those sorts of things. Since Pete was the one who’d called me to help out his old family friends, he’d be sure to have the answers to my Rose questions. And he wouldn’t give me crap about my curiosity.

I could always count on Pete. He’d taken a chance on me a few years back when I’d retired from the army. At thirty-eight, I’d been the oldest student in his roaster training program. Afterward, he’d put me in touch with his network of roaster buddies for short-time gigs.

So yeah, whenever Pete called me for a favor, I came running.

A sharprap-rapsounded on the passenger side window at the same time that Princess gave a shortwoof. Caught off guard, I jumped a mile. I’d been chewing on the info I got from him last night and must have spaced out.

Rose peered in and started giggling. She gave a little wave, stepped back and held up a large brown paper bag. Today she had all that wild streaked-blond hair bunched up in a knot on the back of her head. Her smile stretched all the way to her gorgeous green eyes. Tight jeans wrapped her long legs down to her pink sneakers, and her pink T-shirt proclaimed her aHot Dog Momin fancy script.

Oh, fuck me. Am I going to start dreaming in pink tonight?

I told Princess to chill for a minute. She was eager to get out and investigate—and by investigate, I meantsniff—the stranger. I jumped down from the driver’s side and swung around the front to come up close to Rose.

“Looked like you were asleep at the wheel there,” she pointed out. “Now I’m sorry I kept you up late with my call.”

I didn’t let her know I’d stayed up even later thinking about her and what Pete had shared.

“Here are your shirts, nice and clean and blood-free.” Rose thrust the bag at me.

I stood frozen for a second before grabbing it. And another second before I pushed out “thanks” from my too-tight throat.

Why was I so surprised? Rose was a woman of her word, and she’d done something nice for me. When you’re on your own, you get used to taking care of yourself, taking care ofeverythingyourself.

So this one time, I should enjoy it. Just don’t get used to it.

“Oh, and I stashed one of our private-label chocolate bars in there too,” she went on. “A new local shop makes them for us. I went pretty vanilla with our rich milk chocolate version since I don’t know what you like. Hope you’re not allergic or anything.”

I opened the bag and looked in. I saw a big-ass chocolate bar sitting on top of my folded—and ironed?—tee and flannel button-down.

What was the woman trying to do here—give me a heart attack? I rubbed the center of my chest where it’d started to ache.Calm down, man.Obviously, it wasn’t a big deal to her, but it was a bigfuckingdeal to me.

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