Every muscle in my body is fatigued. I knew I should have stopped, or at least slowed down, but I couldn’t. I needed to get every last ounce of energy out of me so I could stop Joey’s words from replaying in my head and replace them with exhaustion.

Yet, I’m entering the neighborhood from the second entrance rather than the first, which is a faster route to my house, and when I pass Ella’s house and see lights are still on, I quietly mutter a handful of expletives before admitting having a thing for a woman who lives close might not be the end of the world.

Stopping in my driveway, my thoughts come to a halt as I realize I’m assuming she is interested in me. Ella’s made it very clear she doesn’t date firefighters.

“Hey, neighbor!”

Rachel is sitting on her front porch with the lights ablaze, a magazine in her lap, an inviting smile on her lips.

I wave, and the motion reminds me I need to be stretching my shoulders.

Rachel says something, but I can’t hear her. “Sorry?” I call, taking a few steps to the edge of my driveway. She repeats herself, but still I can’t hear anything but the tone of her voice.

Sighing, I walk closer. “Sorry, say it again,” I say, leaning on the railing of her porch.

“How are you?” she asks.

I came over here so you could ask how I am?

“Good. Tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, sitting forward. “Did you have any big plans?”

“Work.”

“Me too. I actually just got in about an hour ago. I was in Miami for the weekend at a conference. I haven’t been outside all weekend.”

I smile, but only because I don’t have anything to say. “Well, I hope you had a good trip. I think I’m…”

“It was great!” she says. “Have you been?”

“To Miami?”

She nods.

“Once,” I tell her. “A lifetime ago.”

Rachel laughs. “Are you really old enough to use a line like that?”

“Depends on how you measure years.”

“You don’t sparkle, do you?” she asks.

“Sparkle?” My brow furrows with confusion as I look at my bare arm.

“I’m just making sure you’re not a vampire,” she says, laughing harder. “You want to come in? I was thinking of getting something to eat.”

“That sounds good, but I just got out of an open gym and am sweaty and need to shower and then pass out for a solid ten hours.”

“Okay.” Rachel stands and walks to the top of the stairs. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be around.”

I nod once, a tight smile keeping me from saying anything that could offend her.

Once inside, I drop my gym bag and climb the stairs to my bedroom while entering a text to Ella.

Once washed and wearing a pair of clean gym shorts and a T-shirt, I grab my phone and sit on the couch.

I’ve never called Ella, only texted her, but I hate texting, so, feeling like an anxious twelve-year-old, I hit Send and wait to hear the ringing on the other side.

“Hey.” Ella doesn’t sound surprised or weirded out by my call. In fact, she sounds like this is normal, common even.

“How was your date?” I ask.

“Awful. How was basketball?”

“Liberating. I obliterated a twenty-year-old who thought he was God’s gift to this world.”

“That’s all it takes for you to feel liberated? Kicking the ass of someone half your age?”

“Ella Chapman!”

“Coen DeLuca!” she mocks.

Chuckling, I throw my feet on the coffee table. “I’m glad you get your fun at my expense.”

“Well I’m glad you got your kicks.”

“Tell me about your date. Did he smell? Not shave? Have horrible breath?”

She sighs and I imagine if I were next to her, Ella’s eyes would be downcast, working to sidestep the subject like she often does with things she wishes to avoid. “He was … I don’t know. Regardless, it doesn’t matter because he definitely wasn’t interested in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to think I’m nuts.”

“Did you just say nuts?”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans. “It was just … awkward. He was staring at other women, and it was just … bad. I left pretty quickly, but sadly forgot to bring my ice cream with me.”

“Maybe he’s a cross-dresser and wanted to see their clothes?”

“Yeah, no. I’m a big girl. I can take the rejection and admit he wasn’t interested.”

“In you, my nutty friend? Never.”

“Don’t be an asshole. I will hang up.”

I’m debating whether it’s good I sounded sarcastic or really stupid because I had such a great opportunity to tell her how crazy this guy must have been. I choose the latter. “I’m being serious. If a guy was checking out other women while out with you, then he needs a lobotomy.”

She’s silent, but my heart is beating loudly in my head as I wonder if I just freaked her out.

“You want to pretend you’re thirteen again, and watch a show together? You watch it at your house, I watch it at mine, but we can talk to each other about it.”

“I don’t watch TV at night…” Her voice drifts off, and I know it’s because she realizes I’m going to ask why.

And I do.

“You're going to laugh.”

“Probably.”

“It's because I can't hear things.”

“What kinds of things are you trying to hear?”

“I don't know. Strange noises and things…”

“Strange noises?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” She’s trying to sound annoyed, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Apparently, because I have no idea what you're talking about. What kinds of strange noises are you going to hear? I usually turn my TV up to block out all the strange sounds like the neighbor’s kids and the lady behind me that sounds like Fran fucking Drescher.”

“You know who Fran Drescher is?”

“My mother was a big fan of that stupid show she was in. Stop changing the subject. What are you listening for? Hayden won’t sneak out.”

“What if someone breaks in?”

“You're not serious.”

“Of course I'm serious!”

“What do you do all night?” I ask.

“Work,” she admits. “Well, usually I clean, and then I work.”

“I’m coming over.”

“You can’t.”

The panic in her voice doesn’t make her sound upset about the idea, but afraid.

Is it because she likes me?

“Why not?” I ask.

“It’s like nine o'clock.”

“Are you about to turn orange and sprout a stem?”

“That and I'm not wearing a bra, if you must know.”

“So put it back on.”

“You don't understand. That's like saying put your jeans back on.”

“I am in jeans,” I lie just to get a reaction out of her.

“What is wrong with you?” she cries.

“What's wrong with jeans?”

“They're stiff and uncomfortable. Wearing jeans all day is basically equivalent to walking on sandpaper. But at least you guys have pockets that will actually hold something larger than a thimble and don’t ride up your ass.”

“If your bra is riding up your ass, we have bigger fish to fry than being afraid of the boogey man.”

Several seconds pass, and I’m trying not to laugh because I know the expression she’s giving me. It’s the one with her chin out and her lips pursed, and those bright blue eyes of hers dancing like a real-life flame. “You're not funny,” she finally tells me.

“You're right, I'm hilarious. And I'm coming over.”

“You can't come over!”

“I'm already on my way.” I stand from the couch and head over to my freezer, where I keep a few extra gallons of ice cream for when the damn local paper runs stories on me, and head out to my truck with the phone still at my ear.

“You’re bluffing,” she challenges.

“Babydoll, you clearly don’t know me.”

She’s silent, and this time I don’t care if it’s because I made things weird with the term of endearment or if she’s nervous, because while this idea hasn’t fully materialized in my head of how things will progress, I’m ready to run with it and see where it leads us to.

I park in her driveway, and because I know Hayden’s in bed, I walk around to the back of her house and stand in front of the big slider. She’s sitting at her dining room table, and like she told me she was, she’s working. Her dark hair is curled like it had been the first day I saw her, and once again I feel the desire to run my fingers through it. I use a single knuckle to tap on the glass. “It sounds like someone’s at your door. You should probably get a bra on.”

Ella turns, a glass in her hand. She smiles and my mind clears. Walking toward me, she shakes her head and laughs. “What are you doing?”

“Making it possible for you to become normal.”

She laughs again, and it’s then I notice her eyes are still bright with that fire, and I smell the alcohol on her breath. I look back at the glass she left by her computer with accusation as though willing it to show me what its contents are.

“I’m pretty sure I have completely failed at being normal today.” Her face contorts with heavy thoughts. “Or maybe ever.” Her eyebrows soar up her forehead. “I’m pretty sure that’s a very accurate statement.”

This is the first time I’ve ever heard her ramble. “Are you drunk?” The question surprises us both.

She frowns deeply, her eyes hardening with offense. “No!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not,” she argues, grinding the words between clenched teeth.

“You’re rambling,” I tell her. “You don’t ramble.”

“How would you know if I ramble or not? You don’t know me!” She moves so she’s standing in front of me, her shoulders rigid, creating a wall to her house like she does around her heart.

I stare at her with a million words. Not one of them making a bit of sense because she’s right. There’s still so much about her I don’t know. Regardless of the refuting words my heart has strung together about knowing her and her character. How I know more about her than anyone else.

I raise both of my palms and sigh. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I am really, really, really sorry. It’s just been a shitty day, and I’m tired, and I’m cranky, and I probably should’ve just stayed home and gone to bed, but I wanted to see you and hear how things went.”

While the anger visible in her eyes and shoulders recedes, it doesn’t go away.

“Tell me what you did this weekend.” We’re still standing next to the door which neither one of us has closed. I’m hoping she will reach for it as a sign that she wants me to stay.

“You already know what I did Saturday.” And thankfully, Ella does lean forward to close the door.

I do because we texted throughout the night, the middle of the night, and into the morning. When I wasn’t on a call, I was messaging Ella. Trying to ignore that she was up at 3 a.m. messaging me back because it could mean something to either of us.

“What about today?”

Like I pictured her doing earlier, Ella’s gaze drops. But then she surprises me by glancing back at me, her blue eyes warm then harden, as though battling something. “Today kind of sucked,” she tells me. “I met a guy who was a total ass who Rachel set me up with, then I endured a movie with my ex, and now this guy who I thought was becoming a close friend goes off on me because I apparently ramble and had two sips of wine that a client sent me.”

She’s giving me the opportunity to right this. To fix my mistake. To show and tell her that she can trust me.

“You really should ditch all three of those bastards and just hang out with me, especially that last guy. Personally, I think people who ramble are awesome.”

Ella chuckles and shakes her head, but her face warms and her shoulders soften.

“I work very hard to surround myself with them because they tend to be honest, incredibly kind, and way funnier than you expect. Plus, something most people don’t know about ramblers is that they’re exceptionally—”

The doorbell rings, followed by a rapid knock that interrupts my apology. It’s probably for the better because I was about to be one of those assholes who uses the opportunity to hit on her and tell her that she’s beautiful, and then she’d likely see me as a slimeball.

“Who in the hell is that?” she asks.

“I’ll get it,” I offer.

“I don’t have any idea who it would be,” she says, following close behind.

I unlock the deadbolt and pull it open to reveal Rachel standing on Ella’s doorstep wearing an accusing glare that she’s working to cover with a smile.

“Hey, Coen. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I was just stopping by,” I say.

Rachel nods, but her tight-lipped smile is screaming ‘bullshit.’ Likely mine is too since my truck is parked in the driveway she walked up.

“Why’d you ring the doorbell?” Ella asks. “You should have just texted or something.”

“I did,” Rachel says. “You didn’t respond.”

“Sorry,” Ella says. “We were just talking.”

Rachel looks between Ella and me, then her smile grows. “Well, is there room for one more at this party? I wanted to hear about your weekend. I heard through the grapevine you went to the movies with Patrick.” She takes a step inside, and Ella takes two back, her shoulders folding like Rachel’s words have added a weight to her.

“Who told you?” Ella asks.

“Everyone’s talking about it.”

Ella wipes a hand down her face. “I didn’t go to the movies with him.”

“Someone took pictures, Ella.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ella chants.

There are quiet footsteps upstairs, and then we all turn hearing “Mom?”

“I’ll be right back,” Ella whispers, darting toward the stairs.

Rachel eyes me. “I also learned you’re friends with Patrick.”

“I barely know the guy.”

“But you think he’s nice, right?” Rachel glares at me, not allowing me an opportunity to respond before continuing. “He’s nice to everyone. That’s the problem.”

Confusion pushes my eyebrows lower.

“Everyone thinks Patrick’s a great guy, even Ella. Do you know why? Because he is nice to her. He’s attentive, sweet, even thoughtful, and if you didn’t know them—know he is married—you’d think he and Ella were together. He leads her on. Plays with her emotions.”

Rachel grits her teeth and purses her lips. “He doesn’t know what or who in the hell he wants, so he leaves all of his options open in case he changes his mind. And Ella still hasn’t learned that if she continues to allow him to do this—play family with her on whims that suit him—it’s her who this town is going to burn, not him.” Rachel’s eyes are wide, her jaw stiff, revealing how worked up she is about this.