Page 17 of Iron Heart
“That would be amazing,” I finally say. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” She stands back and gives my hair a final snip and stands back to appraise her work. “Okay, I think we’re good here. Let me get you dried and styled, and we’ll take a final look.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Cyndi has given me an amazing blowout and I’m ready to go. I book my next appointment before I leave, just to make sure I don’t let so long go before my next trim, and leave Cyndi an even more generous tip than usual as a thank you for the electrician lead.
I exit the salon looking and feeling ten times better than I have in weeks. I decide to treat myself to my favorite sandwich place for lunch, which has the most fantastic BLT I’ve ever tasted. Since it’s a bright, sunny day, I take my feast to a local park a couple of blocks from thePost-Gazetteoffice. When my lunch hour is up, I decide to just leave my car at the park and walk the couple of blocks back to the office. I’ll come back to get it after work.
Things aren’t so bad here in Ironwood,I surprise myself by thinking.I should be thankful for what I have.Even despite the electrical problem in my house, for the first time in a while, my life doesn’t feel quite as broken as it usually does. I could almost even forget about my messed-up heart on a day like today.
My unusual optimism lasts through most of the afternoon. I spend a few hours doing some research for a couple of stories I want to pitch to Frank one of these days — stories that are a little more in the vein of serious journalism. I know they’re a long shot, but I’m hoping that I can convince him to run one of them some week. When we haven’t had a lead about a psychic toddler, or a dog who’s actually the reincarnation of someone’s long lost uncle.
The time flies more quickly than usual because I’m doing work I’m actually absorbed in. Before I know it, it’s after five-thirty. When Frank emerges from his office. I look up and realize we’re the only ones left in the place. I snap my laptop closed and stand up to follow him out. I decide not to take any work home. I think I’ll spend the evening sitting on my front porch with a cold drink, reading the rest of my romance novel.
“You have any plans for the night?” I ask Frank as we walk out together.
He grimaces. “Isaac’s got a game tonight. I get to spend the next couple hours watching a bunch of little kids run around, not hitting or catching a baseball.”
I scoff. “You know you love it.”
And he does. Frank pretends to hate going to his kids’ events, but he’s a consummate family man.
I wave goodbye to him and walk the two blocks back to my car, then drive home with the windows rolled down. As I drive, I remember that since the electricity in my kitchen basically doesn’t work, I’m going to be limited in my options for dinner. Especially because I can’t refrigerate the leftovers. I decide to keep it simple and go with one of my favorite guilty pleasure foods: a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. I can eat it sitting out on my porch swing, with a glass of iced tea — warm, since I probably don’t have any ice cubes left.
I’m so determined to enjoy my good mood to the fullest that I turn on the radio and start singing along to the classic rock hit that comes out over the speakers. A couple of people walking by on the sidewalk turn when they hear me, and I wave out the window, feeling silly but not really caring. I’m so absorbed in my performance that I don’t notice anything unusual when I get home and park my car in my long, gravel driveway. I’m halfway to the front porch before it registers that there’s someone sitting on my porch swing. Someone large. And dark. And familiar.
His size dwarfs the swing. With him in it, it almost looks like it was built for a child.
“Well, shit,” the dark stranger drawls, standing. He cocks an amused brow at me. “If you wanted to see me again, you should have just said so.”
8
Dante
“Excuse me?” the hot reporter sputters angrily. “If I wanted to seeyouagain?You’rethe one standing on my porch right now.”
“Yeah, because Cyndi told my club brother Mal some chick had an issue with her wiring.” I shrug. “I sure as hell didn’t know who it was. But you didn’t have to go to all the trouble of inventing an electrical problem.” I let my eyes cut to her front door and give her a smirk.
“You think I made that up?” Amazement registers in her face. “Who does that?” She glances toward the street, where my bike is sitting, then back to me, frowning. “You’rethe electrician?”
“Yup. What, I don’t look like an electrician?”
“Not really,” she snorts.
“What does an electrician look like?”
“I mean, I don’t know… not…”
She trails off, sucking in a breath as she looks me over. Then she does a double-take as she seems to realize that she’slooking me over, and immediately turns her head away.
She’s flustered. It’s cute as hell. Makes me want to fluster her some more.
“Where’s your electrician stuff?” she finally manages, her eyes fixed on a point about six inches to the left of my head. Her face flushes pink.
“It’s the end of the day. I’m off the clock.”
“Well, then…” she frowns in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“Mal said Cyndi told him you needed help ASAP.” Well, he didn’t sayher. He saidsome chick client of Cyndi’s.“I figured I’d come take a look, see what the problem is — if there actually is a problem — and then come back tomorrow to fix it.”