“We spent nine months wrapped together in our mother’s stomach, Frankie. I know how you think. You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?”
Frankie sipped her coffee, swallowed the bitterness in her throat. “Actually, I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Remembering the promise they’d made when they were kids never to lie to one another, she held up her hand, knowing he was poised to challenge her. “Okay, okay. It’s crossed my mind. I do want to be chief. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I stole Dad’s dress uniform hat and pranced around the house with it for days. It can’t hurt to consider my options, right?”
“Consider? No.” Monty cringed. “It would hurt if you left, though. A lot. Not that I’d blame you. I would guess exploring outside options is more appealing than tracking Gil down and finding out why he didn’t give you the promotion.”
Not to mention easier. Which was part of what really irked her. She never took the easy way; it was so much less fun. Right now, Frankie wasn’t sure if she could even be near the good mayor without wanting to do him bodily harm. The idea of leaving Butterfly Harbor left a sick feeling in her stomach. And leaving Monty? Monty wasn’t just her twin, he was her best friend. Starting over in another town would be as if she’d jumped overboard off one of his boats with nothing more than a deflated life preserver.
“Don’t get ahead of this,” she said when it was clear Monty was waiting for a response. “At this point I don’t care why Gil didn’t give me the promotion. It’s probably best if I avoid him altogether. Roman Salazar is already here. He’s qualified, if a bit naive. Life moves on. That being said, if I happen to run into Gil...”
“If you can give me some advance warning and let me sell tickets, I can buy a whole new fleet of boats.”
Frankie managed another laugh, this one a little strained, and finished her coffee. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for the doughnuts. And the talk. Both helped.”
“I hope so. Ah-ah-ah!” He reached over and slapped at her wrist. “Get your hands off that lemon-filled one. It’s mine.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ROMAN HOPED HIS stroll down to Monarch Lane, the main thoroughfare of Butterfly Harbor, would clear his mind of the image of Frankie Bettencourt slogging away on that elliptical machine of hers.
Walking out of the station, he realized it had been a long while since a woman had captured his attention so completely. Every time he turned around he seemed to discover something new about her. For instance, the drum and bass music vibrating through the firehouse so loud that he thought he could hear the walls whine.
Protests and demands had hovered on his tightly pressed lips but were kept quiet by the reminder that he’d thrown what had to be some high expectations for herself into the unknown. He knew what it was like to be blindsided; he didn’t like it and it was clear his captain didn’t like it, either. Far be it from him to rob her of her catharsis.
The notion she might be trying to irritate him on purpose was proven when, only seconds after he closed the door behind him, the classic rock gave way to one of his favorite sonatas. He’d stood there, looking at the run-down station house, taking in the music. Even the weathered wooden sign seemed to sag with exhaustion.
The SUV parked out front hadn’t been there last night, which told Roman this was the famous Dwayne, the vehicle Frankie had arrived in. Bright red, with Emergency Services painted in neon-yellow letters and LED lights poised on top of the roof, the SUV gained his immediate approval, even if he wasn’t convinced it should be used as a private vehicle. Clearly Frankie was used to doing things her way, but it was going to be up to Roman to decide if that was the right way or not. She knew this town; he didn’t. But what he did know was how to run a firehouse; he’d learned from the best. But...
That had been with a full department. Plus, the job wasn’t officially his until Monday. Before then, he’d make notes about what he’d need to explore in depth and what he’d need to pass on. Like the exercise room. She already had him on board with that facility and plan. She was smart, determined and dedicated to this town. He needed her if he was going to succeed. And he needed to succeed here if he ever had a shot at that federal inspector’s job.
A charming, decrepit saltbox home stood just across the dead-end road, with the windows boarded shut and the front yard overgrown to the point of being a fire hazard. Chances were the coming winter season might take some of the edge off, but it made Roman wonder how many other properties in the area—either abandoned or occupied—had similar issues. Not that a coastal town like this was a tinder box, certainly not like areas farther north had been recently, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.