Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I had a few chores before work on Thursday, including stocking up on coffee and other essential groceries. As I unloaded bags at the house where I rented the studio, smoke billowed out of the Wallace-Davis backyard.
Uh-oh. Sean. Dropping my groceries on the porch, I broke into a run. Turned out my fear of emotional connection was nothing compared to fear for the dude’s physical safety. I raced up the big house’s wide driveway and rounded into the backyard. Three Wallace-Davis kids surrounded a smoldering grill on the back deck, which was covered with fire extinguisher spray.
“John!” The smallest of the teens stamped their foot. I’d heard the others refer to them as Wren, and they were red in the face, with wild blond curly hair flying around their elfin face. “Why did you call 911? Why? Dad’s gonna kill me.”
“John did the right thing.” Another teen gestured with a large fire extinguisher. He was a skinny dark-haired kid who looked ready to audition for the lead in a boy band in a slim-fitting gray button-down, perfectly fitted tight jeans, and clunky boots. “The fire’s still not completely out. Geez, Wren. Cut it out with the cooking experiments.”
“I called because I didn’t want to lose the house.” The third teen, who had to be John, was on the shorter side but muscular. He had a garden hose and was watering the lawn and house itself. Smart thinker.
“What’s on the grill?” I asked as sirens sounded in the distance. “Where are your…adults?”
“Oh, hey. We’re fine.” John turned toward me, all bravado. “Help’s on the way.”
A fresh round of sparks erupted from the grill.
“Get off the deck,” I shouted before bodily removing the small one who turned toward the grill with a large pair of tongs in hand instead of following orders.
“I need to check my meat,” Wren said urgently as I tucked them under one arm. “The laws of thermodynamics say—”
“Rowan! Get the dog!” John called out to the other teen as he joined me in hauling Wren off the deck. Rowan, the boy band wannabe, scooped up a medium-sized dog waiting near the kitchen door and followed us down the steps to the sloping yard. The grill made an ominous hiss.
“Down. Get down.” I shielded the three and the shaking dog as best I could as the sirens became louder. And right as a host of fire trucks pulled up, the grill blew. The explosion echoed through the neighborhood.
I kept the kids down as a group of firefighters raced into the yard, only letting them up once the grill had been thoroughly doused and the risk of any more flaming debris had passed. Firefighters swarmed the yard, a carefully calculated response. Sean was there in the thick of it. Suzy had been right—he was a natural leader, calling out orders and directing his fellow firefighters. Not to mention, he made a rather impressive sight in uniform. His ease at being in charge made the way he’d given up control to me in the shower and with kissing that much sweeter.
Trying not to think too much about kissing, I hung back with the kids. Once the grill was no longer a hazard, Sean hurried over to us, eyes only for the kids.
“Wren, what did you do?” he asked as he turned Wren this way and that, undoubtedly checking for injuries beyond teen pride.
Pursing their lips, Wren made a series of grumpy noises. “Why is it always, ‘Wren, what did you do?’ And never ‘who did this?’ It might not have been my fault.”
“But it was,” John inserted quickly as Sean moved on to inspecting him and Rowan.
“Not helping, John.” Rowan rolled his eyes as he let Sean look him over as well. His nice shirt was ripped, and all three kids were damp and sooty, but thankfully none seemed injured. “Jonas got called in for an emergency at the hospital. You and Dad were already on duty, and rather than heat up pizza like Dad directed, Wren had the bright idea of using science to cook frozen chicken.”
“It wasn’t a terrible idea.” Wren puffed up like an angry rooster.
“How about next time you want to try cooking, you call me?” I had no idea what prompted my offer. I didn’t much know what to do with kids and couldn’t say as I particularly liked them, but something in the last ten minutes had softened me toward this trio. “Keep the house in one piece?”
“Who are you anyway?” Head tilting, Wren gave me a suspicious glare.
“I’m…a neighbor.” I had no clue why I hesitated over a purely factual response.
“And a friend,” Sean added, seemingly only now noticing me. “I’m sure Wren would benefit from some actual cooking lessons.”
“Science—” Wren started another academic point only to be met with groans from both siblings.
“Wren.”
“Uh-oh. Here’s Dad,” Rowan said as an ambulance joined the firetrucks and Eric Davis hopped out, along with two other paramedics. The other two kids followed Rowan in marching toward Eric, leaving me alone with Sean. Or rather, as alone as we were likely to get in a yard crawling with firefighters, kids, and concerned neighbors.