“It’s complicated.”
“Tell me about it.” She waves at me. “No, really. Tell me about it.”
“Remember the night I got stood up but I met someone else at the diner?”
“Yeah, you were all bright-eyed and tipsy on good vibes and hot kisses …” Realization hits her dramatically. The hands go up. The eyes flash vividly. “No! You didn’t know who she was?”
“Nope. Two days later, she’s here, starting her new job, and I’m her supervisor. So nothing can happen. Lives depend on it. Literally.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it again. She wants to fix it because that’s what family does but even she has to see what a bad idea this is.
I hold a hand up before she can start making a case. “There was a connection, but that’s it. I’m not missing out on anything. Her showing up here is the universe telling me it’s not meant to be.”
She snorts. “That’s the message you’re getting from the universe? I think you need to recalibrate your transmitter, bro.”
I head toward the lounge, deciding at the last second to make a detour to the truck bay, to check on how that wash-down is going. Abby’s there alone with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, giving Attila the truck a good going-over—which has me thinking dirty, dirty thoughts. I take a deep breath, calling my lust to heel.
“Where’s Wozniak?” This is definitely a two-person job and I’m fairly sure he’s on the roster.
She turns in surprise, half soaking herself in the process, or just enough to dampen her tee over her breasts.
Her chest. It’s a chest and we all have one.
Thankfully the fabric is dark, though I can still make out the tear-drop silhouette of one beautiful—no, I see nothing.
“One of his kids called upset about something, so he stepped out to calm her down.”
I nod. “Working off that cake, are you?”
“Yeah, I might just manage if I wash another ten trucks. Worth blowing any diet, though. Your kid’s got talent.”
“She does.”
“Spit of you, too.”
I enjoy the confirmation. Tori never liked that Lena looked more like me than her. Said it made us closer, which made her jealous. Kind of a weird thing for a mother to think of her daughter, but then Tori doesn’t have any genuine maternal instincts.
“And your sister’s a hoot.”
“Try living with her.”
She dips her sponge in the bucket. “You must be close.”
“I must need cheap childcare.”
She chuckles, that dirty sound that tightens my groin. “She still charges you?”
“The cost is having to listen to her wisdom about my love life.” As there’s no sign of Wozniak, and I feel lazy standing around, I grab the sponge from the other bucket and start working from the other end. “After my divorce and the move to Chicago, it was important that Lena have good influences in her life. Strong female role models.”
“I’d say your sister qualifies.”
“She’d be the first to say so. With great humility, of course.” Smiling at the thought of Chiara being humble about anything, I soak the hubcap and get scrubbing. “My ex was more interested in Lena when she was a little girl. Could dress her up, treat her like a toy. Once she developed a personality it didn’t really play as well to Tori’s strengths.”
“Lena’s too individual for that,” she says with a certainty I appreciate. She swipes a stray, dampened curl out of her eye. “So how often does she see her mom?”
“Rarely. I was awarded full custody.”
“Oh, I see.” Curiosity lights up her face and I wait to see how she’ll phrase whatever comes next. It’s sweetly diplomatic. “That must be tough on her. On them both.”
“It is for Lena. Tori’s not really interested in being a mom and she’d been looking for an out for some time.”
I’d questioned for a long time why Tori couldn’t step up. Wondered if it was my fault and if Tori’s ambivalence about being a mom was tied to her attitude toward me. Lena’s a daddy’s girl, that’s for sure, and my wife didn’t like that. She wanted all my love in a way that wasn’t healthy. Her neglect of her daughter was the final straw, and now she has her wish: she doesn’t have to be a mom.
Or a wife.
At least not to me. But she’ll be hitched again to my ex-FDNY colleague in a month or so, and is still giving me grief about letting Lena travel to New York for the wedding. I’ve been avoiding the subject with both of them in the hopes it would just disappear, which is kind of how I’m working through this Abby problem.
“So you’re the man of a house filled with strong women,” Abby says. “You must love coming to work.”
I snort a half chuckle. “I do. But not to get away from my girls. I just love my job.”
We’re closer now, both working the sponges about a foot from each other. That damp curl has slipped over her eye again and she blows on it, which is so damn cute. I can’t help myself: my wayward hand shoots out to push it back and hold it behind the delicate shell of her ear.
Just helping a co-worker see better, that’s all.
“Need a hair pin or something,” she mutters, the color rising in her cheeks.
My brain fills with lurid thoughts about where else she might be blushing. How I might raise color with my mouth on her breasts, her stomach, that soft, pale skin between her thighs. The pink, pulsing flesh there that I can already taste …
“Thanks for helping out,” she says, cutting into my fantasy. “I’ve no idea where Woz has got to, not that I miss him.”
“Why, has he done something?”
“No. I mean he’s a bit inappropriate but nothing I can’t handle.”
I let that soak in. I have a duty to protect my crew, but an even more special one toward candidates who are the most vulnerable of the bunch. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“Thanks for the offer. I’m okay. Really.”
“Sure, but my door’s always open, Abby. Unless you feel it would be awkward to talk to me because of what happened before.” Or the fact I’m practically slobbering over her right now.
“No, not at all. I mean, we’ve moved on from that, haven’t we?”
Have we? Sure, I’m going with that for my sanity. But even now, a foot apart, hidden by the bulk of the truck, it feels like we haven’t moved on at all.
Fucking Chiara and her faulty transmitter analogy. I don’t want to think the universe is telling me something, that Abby’s presence in my firehouse is a sign of something positive. I can’t act on it so what’s the point in even allowing any excitement for the possibilities?
I say the words, though they mean nothing. “We have.”
She tilts her head. “Who do you talk to?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
She considers that—and me—for a moment. “You’re doing something right. The crew loves you, your daughter adores you, even your sister probably thinks you’re the best brother in the world. Maybe your life is peachy.” Said with a side of who are you kidding.