Page 43 of From Nowhere

With his head cocked, he studies me. “Why are you trying to seduce a guy who rides a bike everywhere?”

I laugh. “If you must know, in my dating ‘fish stories,’ I’ll refer to you as a biker.”

“You’ll tell people I have something bigger between my legs than what’s there?” He smirks.

Covering my mouth, I snort. “Stop.” I shake my head and drop my hand.

“Come on,” he says, sliding out of the booth.

“Where are we going?” I follow him, threading my arms into my jacket while he holds my bouquet and the note.

“Let’s take a walk.”

“At this time of night?”

“I’ll protect you.” He holds open the door for me.

We worm through the parking lot to the sidewalk and gaze at the path in front of us.

“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, but what got you into this profession? Were you in the military?” he asks.

“No. I was a crop duster. I had my pilot’s license by the time I turned seventeen, and I was spraying fields the summer after I graduated high school. Fast-forward eight years, and I was flying tanker planes for Cielo. I’ve never wanted to do anything but fly planes. I’ve been fighting fires for seven years. Four years in the right seat and the past three years on my own.”

“And you’re good at it.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re being modest. Taylor said you thread the needle. Impeccable precision with your drops.”

I chuckle, tipping my chin and shaking my head. “I’m above average.”

He playfully nudges me. “Badass.”

We stroll a block without saying much. There’s something special about being with someone, feeling comfortable in silence, and holding space.

“What do you do besides hiking and rescuing stray cats on your days off?”

I chuckle. “Depends on the summer, but mostly I’m outdoors, hiking, kayaking, and hanging out with friends. Occasionally dating.” I return the playful nudge. “But I’m seriously considering buying a house. If I make that happen, I might spend my days off renovating it.”

“So you’d buy an older home?” he asks.

“Probably. I like the older neighborhoods.”

“Are you handy?”

“I have handy friends. Same thing, right?” I laugh.

“Those are the best kind. Feel free to add my name to your list. I have a few skills from past lives.”

“Do tell.”

For the remainder of our short walk, Ozzy gives me a quick rundown of his seemingly infinite home-renovation skills. He follows me to my car when we return to the parking lot.

“Thanks for sneaking around with me,” he says.

I nod, fiddling with my key fob while standing at my door, not wanting the night to end. “I was wrong. I’m not too old to sneak around. We should do it again.”

“We should.” He fiddles with the ribbon on my bouquet.

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