Page 11 of Bewitching the Firefighter

I can tell he won’t let this go. “Thank you.” Then I grab my things and head out the door, avoiding Lincoln. It’s only when I pull into the library lot that I see the red splotches crawling up my neck.

But I don’t care. I stood up for myself, which is what I didn’t do when my boss tried to take credit for my work.

And for the first time in a while, I feel great about where I’m headed.

So, why am I left with a hollow feeling as I walk into work?

Chapter 7

Lincoln

The sun is already setting over the Texas hills as I wait with my brother, Mason, while security checks our IDs. When we finally drive through the sprawling ranch, my anxiety amps up even though I’ve been here too many times to count. Echo Ridge is owned by Mason’s close buddy, Zane, whose wife is Isla Sutton’s cousin.

Any other night, I’d be all in for a party with friends. But several of them are ticked at me after learning about Isla’s firehouse visit yesterday. It didn’t help that Captain Bannon chewed my ass out a second time via text addressed to me and my brother. That was a fun time.

I’ve hung out with my brother’s friends since elementary school; never once did they consider me a tag-along. I was up for anything. So what if we ran around with broomsticks and kicked soccer balls when we played quidball? I got a workout in.

And right now they’re all disappointed in me. Mason tried to talk me out of coming, but I’m not a damn coward. Ryder Bannon and Zane Wyatt are my friends too, and I owe both a sincere apology in person.

Besides, I need to talk to Isla. Sure, it’s probably the wrong place, wrong time. But it’s the perfect time to let her see me with my friends and hopefully figure out that I’m a decent guy. I don’t tend to do things that piss people off. And I would never have accepted the bet for real. I figured a friendly cup of coffee was easy, and I just wanted the lasagna. Not my brightest moment.

The moon is already hanging in the Texas Hill Country sky even though the sun hasn’t completely set. My brother parks his car in the parking lot at Ranch headquarters, where a golf cart is waiting to transport us to the party.

“You are such a fucking idiot,” Mason says. It’s kind of hard to take my brother seriously in his Mad Hatter costume. When I chuckle, he smacks me on the head. Hard. Luckily, my gladiator helmet is thick plastic.

“You get one. That’s it.” I point at him, the leather cuff on my forearm a little itchy. “Touch me again, and I will kick your ass.”

He snickers, his carrot-colored wig bouncing. “In that skirt? You’d probably trip over your sandals.” His boots kick at my foot.

“Says the guy with the velour jacket and frilly bow.”

It’s about this time we both remember our audience and quit putting on a show. The college kid bites his lip and does his best not to smile.

Truth is, Mason and I haven’t had a fistfight since we were thirteen and fifteen, when our parents made us make Thanksgiving dinner for our family. It was our year to host about twenty people, and the punishment was that we had to figure out to pay for the whole thing, and if anything tasted bad, we had to stay home and eat it while the family went out, again our treat. We cleaned gutters, scrubbed trash cans, and emptied barbecue pits around the neighborhood for extra money. We researched recipes for a week and did a practice turkey thanks to the Butterball hotline. Not once did our parents yell, and we figured out how to work together.

We pull up to the sprawling ranch house and hop off the golf cart. Tonight is an adult event and promises to be a good time. As we approach the door, my temples pound, the sign of an oncoming headache. I haven’t had one in a while, but it’s definitely stress-induced. Why it’s so important that I talk to Isla, I’m not sure.

It just is.

Normally, I might offer a simple apology or even send some flowers and let the apology speak for itself. It’s not in my nature to beg for forgiveness from anyone because forgiveness is someone else’s to give. We’re not entitled to it. But then I picture Isla’s beautiful face, and all I want to do is plead at her feet.

Just as I reach for the doorbell, Zane opens the door in a head-to-toe Beast costume. “Hey, man.” Zane bro-hugs my brother before turning to me. “Wasn’t sure you’d have the guts to show tonight, Linc.” Not gonna lie, the horns on his head are intimidating.

“I definitely screwed up, man.” I hold out my hand. “Need to own it and make it right. The only way is in person.”

He studies me for a beat, then cocks an eyebrow. “A gladiator skirt’s an interesting choice without a Cleopatra around.” Then he steps aside, his tone direct. “Don’t make me regret this, Linc.”

“I won’t.” My words feel thick on my tongue as my temples try to pound out of my skull.

The hard part of growing up in a small town is that you just know so many people. I visit with friends and acquaintances for a good twenty minutes when I see Isla’s cousin Levi, who, according to my brother, has banned me from his tattoo shop. Not that I can blame him. He’s talking to Zane’s twin sister, whose eyebrows rise when she catches my eye. With a subtle nod, she heads to a group of women chatting near a pumpkin and hay display, leaving Levi alone. He’s dressed as Westley from The Princess Bride, and if looks could kill, I’d be in a grave piled with fresh dirt.

I take a deep breath and head toward my brother’s friend.

“Hey, man.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just stares at me, his bulging arms crossing his chest in a clear show of intimidation.

Determined, I cut to the chase. “I understand why you’re angry. Isla didn’t deserve to be treated like the a game to win.”