Page 33 of Sizzle
Sam stepped back, gesturing at Lucy. “Hazel Rutherford, meet my friend and co-worker, Lucy de Costa.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Rutherford,” Lucy said, making the woman laugh.
“Oh, honey, please. It’s Hazel. Especially for a friend of Sam’s.” She paired her knowing smile with a lift of one gray brow. “He doesn’t usually bringanyladies around, although I can’t complain about those other firefighters who visit from time to time. That handsome boy who looks like the actor…what’s his name? Ryan Goosebaby?”
Lucy coughed out a laugh, grateful to dodge the part of the comment about Sam bringing any ladies around, since she very much didn’t count in that regard.
“Ryan Gosling?” Hazel had to be referring to Tyler, and Lucy would admit, it was a decent comparison. Also, not one he was going to live down anytime soon, if the look on Sam’s face was anything to go by.
Hazel brightened. “Yes! That’s the one. He’s just the sweetest. Reminds me of my grandson who lives in San Diego. Anyway”—she looked at Sam—“I didn’t realize you had company, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
“You could never bother me,” he said, pointing to the can opener still in her hand. “Do you need help with something?”
The woman hesitated, but only briefly. “Well, I was having a bit of trouble getting the dog food open for Geoffrey.” To Lucy, she said, “He struggles with the dry food. No teeth, and all. But no worries! I’ll muscle through.”
Lucy moved to protest, but Sam beat her to it. “Ah, we can’t let poor G go hungry. It won’t take more than a minute.”
At Lucy’s nod in agreement, Hazel looked relieved. “Oh, thank you, dear. My arthritis makes opening these cans so difficult sometimes.”
Sam and Lucy followed Hazel back to her apartment and past the front door. “Have you tried that anti-inflammatory cream we talked about last week?” Sam asked, headed into the living space as if he knew the layout by heart. “I swear by it for my knees after a really hard shift at the fire house, and your doctor said it might help with your hands.”
“Oh! I knew I was forgetting something at the drugstore,” Hazel said, handing over the can opener and watching as Sam used it to easily remove the lid from the can of dog food on Hazel’s counter.
I am not turned on by his forearms. Oh, no I’m not,Lucy lied to herself, and holy shit, those corded muscles flexing and releasing under smooth skin were absolutely criminal.
The way he smiled so kindly at Hazel, letting her take the can of now-open dog food from him and scoop it into the blue ceramic dish labeled World’s Best Boy so she wouldn’t feel helpless?Thatwas something Lucy couldn’t even define.
“I’ll pick some up for you next time I’m out. How does that sound?” he said, kneeling down to pet the geriatric Chihuahua making his way into the kitchen.
“Oh, that would be lovely. I’ll have to bake you some cookies as a thank you.” Hazel looked at Lucy, her blue eyes twinkling. “But only if you promise to share.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Hazel, but for you”—Sam winked at her as he stood, a move that would be ridiculous on anyone else but that he somehow pulled off with natural charm—“I promise. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea before we go?”
“Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest? Back in my day, I would’ve snapped you right up. No, no. Go on and enjoy your afternoon, honey. And it was lovely to meet you, Lucy.”
“You too, Hazel. Take care,” Lucy said. After Sam made her promise to knock on his door if she needed anything else, he led the way across the hall, just in time for the pizza delivery person to ring the buzzer. Lucy made it as far as washing her hands at the kitchen sink before she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Gotta be honest, I knew you were good with all that”—she drummed up a big smile, pairing it with a wink for emphasis—“crazy charm, but I had no idea you hadthatin you.”
“What, with Hazel?” Sam asked, taking two plates out of a cupboard in the kitchen to place them on the breakfast bar alongside the pizza box. “That’s no big deal. It took all of five minutes. Plus, her chocolate chip cookies are ridiculous.” He paused to pantomime a chef’s kiss.
Lucy’s bullshit detector exploded. “Okay, but you clearly help her on a regular basis, and you’re just as clearly not phoning it in.”
He placed two slices of pizza on one of the plates, passing it over to her before repeating the process to fill a plate of his own, then slide onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “It’s still not a big deal.”
“Maybe not in the grander scheme of the universe, no,” Lucy agreed, pausing to sit beside him and take a few bites of pizza, because she really hadn’t been kidding about her blood sugar. “But between that and the way you’ve been paying such close attention at the academy—hell, even the fact that you live in a neighborhood that’s full of soccer moms instead of singles’ clubs? All I’m saying is that you’re full of surprises.”
Sam shot her a grin. “Nah. I’m an open book. What you see is what you get.”
Lucy nearly backed off. The week she’d spent with him had been enough to recognize, albeit not without a decent amount of scrutiny, that there was a truly good guy lurking beneath Sam’s overly cocky packaging, just as she knew that, for some reason she couldn’t guess, he wanted that guy under wraps.
Allof his cockiness wasn’t for show. Sam carried much of his confidence genuinely. But the over the top part, the schmoozing and the flirting and the magazine-cover grin? That wasn’t as natural as his kindness with Hazel or his true, steadfast effort at the academy had been. Pushing would probably make him double down, Lucy knew. ThiswasSam they were talking about, and right now, he was trying to distract her with his charming smile. Normally, she’d fall for it, hook, line, and panties. But then his eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion in their brown-gold depths, and Lucy didn’t just push. She shoved.
“How come you’re hiding a really nice guy underneath all that bravado?”
Sam paused, but to his credit, he was fast to recover, his smile making her heart catch. “You think I’m a nice guy?”
“You’re changing the subject,” she said, trying—and miserably failing—to block out the heat zinging through her.