His stomach sank. No matter what he seemed to say or do, it was wrong. He couldn’t win in this situation.
“Do you remember the way to Tori’s apartment?”
“Yeah.” He turned away from downtown and toward Capitol Hill. Keeping his tone light, he changed the subject. “I’m amazed she can afford a place down here. I had to look twenty minutes out of the city to afford a place.”
“She shares the apartment with three other girls. It’s the only way they can swing it. Rent here is crazy.” She sighed. “Which is one reason I’d hesitate to come back. I can’t afford to live here on a social worker’s salary.”
He nodded, understanding entirely too well. “Roommates?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
She went quiet, and he glanced over to find her eyes closed. Her face was etched with exhaustion, and she looked ready to fall asleep.
He thought back over the day and shook his head. It’d been a long day for both of them, and yesterday had been just as wild.
It was crazy to think he’d only met her twenty-four hours ago. She already felt like such a pertinent part of his life.
So weird. She was here for a week, and then she would be gone. After that, who knew if their paths would ever cross again. Maybe if she came back up to see her brother and they ended up at the same party, but talk about a big old maybe.
When he pulled up along the curb by Tori’s apartment, she came fully alert again. She grabbed her purse and fumbled for the door. “Thanks, Blake. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Kristen…hang on. Are you okay?”
She glanced at him and shrugged. “Does it really matter?”
Then she climbed out of the truck and ran to the building, disappearing inside.
Yeah, it mattered.
It was only when she was gone that he realized two things. One, she’d been barefoot—because her heels were still in his car. And two, they didn’t have each other’s numbers.
Damn.
He would have to be sneaky as hell to figure out how to find her again. He sure couldn’t ask James for her number.
*
What did onedo when they acted like a grumpy bitch to someone who was doing them a big favor?
Bring them pie at work.
Kristen tightened her grasp on the cherry pie in her hand and marched up to the front door of the fire station.
She hesitated before opening it.
An older lady who looked like she must’ve been the station receptionist or something glanced up. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“Hi.” She braved a friendly smile. “I called earlier about Blake Avery. I wanted to drop off some—”
“Pie! Oh yes, of course; I remember talking to you.” The woman stood. “Follow me back. You have good timing—the crew is just getting ready for dinner.”
Dinner?
Now she just felt like an intruder.
She followed the lady through a hallway and toward the sound of loud, animated voices.
A sliver of nerves hit her, and she swallowed hard. She was about to walk into a room full of firefighters and paramedics with a pie. Who was she, Betty Crocker?