Page 15 of Nanny for the Firefighters
"So, Ella, tell us something embarrassing about yourself. It's a tradition for newbies," Ethan teases, winking at me across the table.
I roll my eyes, playing along. "Well, there was this one time I tried to impress a date by cooking dinner. Let's just say the fire department was involved, and it wasn't because of any sparks flying between us," I quip, earning a round of laughter.
"That's perfect! She fits right in!" Theo chuckles, raising his glass for a toast. "To Ella, who hopefully only sets off metaphorical fires from now on."
The dinner progresses with more stories and plenty of teasing. The guys are easy to be around, their warmth genuine, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I'm part of a team—a family, even.
But as the evening wears on, a glance at my phone reminds me of plans I can't break. I stand, catching their attention. "Guys, this has been amazing, but I actually need to head out."
"Oh? Hot date?" Ethan teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Something like that," I reply cryptically, smiling to keep them guessing. "Don't wait up!"
Theo pretends to be heartbroken, clutching his chest. "Abandoned for a mysterious rendezvous! How will we go on?"
"You'll manage somehow," I laugh, grabbing my coat. "Thanks for the dinner, Theo. It was delicious."
"Wait," calls out Marcus, his eyes on the clock over the mantlepiece.
It's after one in the morning—a late hour for a sleepy town like this. I stand by the door, ready to step out into the crisp, still night.
"Ella, it's pretty late and this is a small town. Are you sure it's safe to be wandering out now?" His brow furrows with genuine concern. This is expected from a man who spends his days and nights safeguarding others.
I offer him a reassuring smile. "Marcus, I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But I'm a free, independent, and strong woman. I can take care of myself." My tone is light, yet firm, underscoring my confidence.
He studies me for a moment, his protective stance wavering under my resolved gaze. "Alright, just make sure to call if you need anything, okay?" His voice holds a hint of reluctant acceptance.
"Will do," I promise, pulling my jacket closer around me as I open the door. The cool night air brushes against my face, refreshing and invigorating.
Stepping out, I cast one last look over my shoulder, catching Marcus's slightly anxious expression through the flickering light of the porch. I wink, a playful reassurance, and then turn, letting the night swallow up the warmth of the house behind me.
As I walk down the driveway, my boots crunch softly on the gravel. The moon is a sliver in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. The thrill of the night, the freedom of my new beginning—it all pulses through me like a living thing.
On any other night, such beauty would draw the romantic out of me. Not tonight, though.
I have unfinished business to attend to.
7
ELLA
Night demands a ritualistic blending—something I hope I have achieved by choosing a midnight-blue shirt and black trouser pants under my cavernous coat.
The click-clack of her heels makes it easy to track her. Walking around downtown isn't her smartest move, but then again, she's been obvious enough to worry her husband. She peers over her shoulder as if she can feel my gaze, and I slow, running a hand through my curls, loosened from the day. I turn toward the shop window and pretend to fluff them up in the reflection to throw her off if she sees me.
She doesn't, sauntering on with a purpose that isn't too hard to guess.
One Tiffany Davis is meeting someone. And tonight will be the night that I get proof.
I turn away from the window and pull out my cellphone, attaching the clip-on zoom lens to the camera to be sure I capture her details. Blurry pictures are not a private investigator's friend. I prefer clear details before I send photos to my clients.
Snapping a couple of photos when she peers over her shoulder again, I can see everything but the color of her eyes. Her outfit isn't damning enough to call her out as a cheater to her husband, but it does provide the ground work. Unless she's meeting Mr. Davis at one of these bars, the reasons for showing so much skin are few and far between—most of them sexual in nature.
Especially with the cool air rolling in, most of the other women weaving in and out of the cluster of bars ahead are covered with at least a few more inches of fabric.
I'm trying not to judge, but I abhor cheaters, and with good reason. My past has taught me to be careful around people who look and behave like they're rolling in oil. Smoothness isn't my favorite trait in a man, not by a long shot.I shove those dark, angry feelings back down. They're of no use to me now. The only thing I can do is channel them into something productive, something that will help another victim get out of their toxic relationship.
Tiffany finally beelines into the second of three bars in this little town, Harvey's. I give her a minute, mist wisping around our feet as I take my time getting inside and slide along the wall to the corner of the bar where I have a full view of the place. The wood is sticky under my fingers, reminding me of why I'm not such a fan of this scene. Not anymore, anyway.