Page 7 of Faking It with the Firefighter

“Wanting to get into the hotel business?” I asked.

Sinclair grunted his agreement. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in helping me find the perfect property. Should we meet and discuss the particulars?”

My eyes narrowed. The botanical gardens’ trees waved in the breeze, and a windchime I’d hung up when I first moved into the house let out a tinkling tune. I mostly dealt with residential real estate, and Sinclair had to know that. If he was calling me…

“How many realtors have turned you down so far, Sinclair?”

He chuckled. “It seems the town thinks I’m a threat, and you’re all circling the wagons against me.” He paused. “Look, Ms. Stone. I’m not here to wreck New Elwood, whatever people say about me. I’ve revived this vineyard and sponsored part ofthe Wine Festival every year since. I look around town and I see potential.”

“Potential and beaucoup bucks,” I shot back.

I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “One and the same. Of all the realtors in town, I would think you’d know something about that. Your name pops up a lot next to the word ‘Sold.’”

Despite myself, my lips curled. I couldn’t fault the guy. In a way, I liked that he wasn't cowed by what people said and that he wasn’t afraid of going against the grain. I was like that too—the only difference was, going against the grain usually landed me in lockup instead of in a boardroom signing big-money deals.

But what the hell. After my conversation with Rex, I was in the mood to be a little reckless.

“Name a time and place, Sinclair. I’ll see what I can do to help you out.”

FOUR

REX

My house wasquiet and empty when I got home. It always was. For a long time, I liked it that way. I could listen to my music on full blast, watch sports in my underwear, and keep the toilet seat up. But after a while, bachelor living got old. That’s when I started volunteering as a firefighter. It was the best way to keep me busy. That, and I missed the action.

I started out as a firefighter in my early twenties, when my college communications degree hadn’t brought a mountain of job offers and money at home was tight. My mom and brother had needed help, and I had to do what I always did: step up.

But as I got into my thirties and thought I might be settling down, I decided to get out and became the fire marshal—a career that wouldn’t worry my future wife.

Of course, there had been no future wife. Still wasn’t—again, the reason I had to pretty much blackmail a friend into pretending to be my girlfriend at my brother’s wedding. I doubted I would admit it to anyone else, but I hadn’t given upon the possibility of a white picket fence and a couple of rocking chairs on the front porch.

I’d grown up taking care of everyone else—doing what a kid could to keep the family together until Dad died, and then I reallywaskeeping the family together—and part of me always wondered when I would find someone who wanted to take care ofme. Selfish, maybe, but I always seemed to get myself into one-sided relationships. I’d end up with a woman who demanded the world and never seemed that appreciative when I did my best to deliver it. I didn’t want a 1950s housewife; I just wanted… I just wanted someone whocared. Someone who smiled when I got home and noticed when I took out the trash. Someone who didn’t complain when I asked for a backrub.

Hell, maybe that was selfish. But these days, it was easier to be on my own than to go out looking for someone who’d reciprocate.

My stomach growled the moment I hung my keys up. It had been a long afternoon at Sebastian and Charlie’s demolition zone. I was pretty sure there was leftover fried chicken in the fridge. I trudged over to the kitchen and grabbed the bucket and a chilled soda can. I settled on the sofa and flipped on sports highlights.

I watched for all of thirty seconds. Who was I kidding? Abigail must have been on my mind, because it felt like a guilty pleasure kind of day. I put on an episode ofThe Bachelorand settled in for some trashy drama that I would never admit to enjoying.

Just as the episode was getting good, my phone rang, my brother’s name on the screen.

“Hey,”I answered. We’d just talked the other night, but my little brother seemed kind of on edge about the wedding.

Sure enough, I could hear a thread of tension in his voice when he said, “Hey bro, how’s it going?”

“Going well. What’s up?” I asked, then took a bite out of a crispy, cold chicken leg.

“Nothing, man. I just wanted to call and say hi. I’m looking forward to seeing you this week.”

Uh-huh. “Me too.”

My relationship with Donny had been strained after Blair got together with him. Not that we ever really talked about it. There weren’t any hard feelings, but there weren’tnofeelings, either. He was ten years younger than me, and I’d always taken care of him. Him dating my ex had been a shock in a lot of ways. It was the first time I realized he was grown up, despite me still feeling like I needed to look out for him. That, combined with the vague sense of betrayal that came with his dating Blair, meant that my feelings toward my little brother were complicated.

But now that they were getting married, it seemed like a good time to officially put the past behind us. I wanted things to go back to normal between Donny and me.

I put my show on mute, turned on the captions, and hit the play button. The bachelor had just kissed one of the contestants behind a bush, and the other ladies were going nuts about it. It was messy as hell.

Donny cleared his throat. “So, just checking if there's still a room available for me and Blair?”

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