Page 66 of Fire and Icing

“Okay. I’m good with that.”

“Trouble? You want me to call you Trouble?”

“If that’s what fits me for you, sure. Unless you want to go with Stud.”

“Um, no.” She’s all serious, but then she bursts out laughing.

I lift a hand off the wheel and flex my bicep for her. Both directions. Hand back, hand forward, and repeat. “I think it fits.”

“You’re trouble, alright,” she smiles.

“Never claimed otherwise.” I wink.

I’m not really trouble. But I like that she chose a name for me that feels personal.

Emberleigh studies me quietly, sipping from her coffee occasionally.

“Okay, Trouble,” she finally says. “I dare you to come up with something better.”

“A dare, huh? I love a dare.”

“Because you’re trouble.” She smiles.

“I’m the best kind of trouble,” I tease her. “So … give me a minute. I need to dig deep. Pick a song while I deliberate. I don’t want to subject you to music you don’t like.”

“There you go being thoughtful again,” she says, turning on the radio, shuffling the stations and landing on a Motown one.

Even though I love country, I enjoy a variety of music. I sing along with the song since I know it. Emberleigh watches me from across the cab. I don’t mind her eyes on me. After our conversation last night, I feel like I know her better. The more I know, the deeper she seems to burrow herself into my thoughts.

I like her. A lot. Which is fine, except I’m starting to feel as though I’d ask her out for real if she’d let me. And she won’t. She’s made that perfectly clear.

We ride along down a two-lane paved road, curving gently through the grassy fields flanking both sides. A wooden fence runs along the edge of the road where a sidewalk would be if we weren’t so far from civilization. Mature trees dot the landscape, some more full, while others are budding with light green leaves. A brick house with a red roof sits back from the road, partially hidden behind trees and nestled on the sprawling rural property. A good distance down the road on the opposite side, a white farmhouse sits at the end of a private gravel driveway.

It’s the kind of setting where kids grow up knowing every neighbor, and where a slow drive feels like a breath of fresh air. Emberleigh has her feet on my dash. She asked before she propped them up there and I easily said yes. I’m pretty sure I’d do anything she asked me at this point.

“So … I’ve got a few top contenders,” I say into the comfortable silence that settled between us a little while ago. Silence filled with Motown.

“Contenders?”

“For your nickname,” I say.

“Okay. Lay them on me.”

“Chance.” I’ve got my reasons for that one.

“Chance?”

“Because you gave me a second chance after I hauled you out of your house fire.”

“Hmmm.”

“No?”

“Better than Muffins, by far.”

“Okay. What about Ember?” I ask.

“Short for Emberleigh?”

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