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Apparently Jake was so fit to be tied he sent another fireman, Duffy McKenna, to fill out the report. Fine with her. Redheaded Duffy had a face full of freckles. He was sweet and he kept her laughing. Of course he wasn’t as...well, as three-dimensional as Jake. In fact all the firemen were nice, and understanding. The only one glaring at her was the chief. It seemed that the word accident wasn’t in his vocabulary.
“Hello?” a voice called out.
“Coming,” Maggie returned.
She wiggled out from beneath the drain pipes and stood up, straightening her clothes as she approached the front counter. A dark-haired teenager stood straight and tall. His bright blue eyes, magnified behind black-framed glasses, darted around the room as he wiped his hands on his jeans. The kid seemed to be all arms and legs. An earbud was hidden beneath his black curls, and the other end of the cord dangled around his neck. A wrinkled, once-white T-shirt hung on his lank body. He adjusted his glasses and stared at a point beyond her right shoulder.
“Beck Hollander, I presume.”
He nodded.
“Maggie Jones.”
Silence.
“You help part-time in the shop.”
Another nod.
“My uncle has gone fishing for a few weeks. Perhaps you’d prefer to wait until he returns.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be a bad influence. I am currently persona non grata with the PVFD.”
Beck cleared his throat. “I heard.”
“Heard? Heard what?” She grasped her ponytail and gave it a sharp pull, yanking the loose hair back into order.
“You burned a truck.”
Maggie grimaced and wrapped her hands around the neck of the blender she had been working on prior to the fire drama earlier in the day. She concentrated on tightly winding the cord around the base.
“That’s not exactly what happened, though I suppose the details don’t matter, do they? Let’s talk about you.”
He said nothing.
Undeterred, Maggie pasted a smile on her face. “Senior?”
Short nod.
This was worse than the blind dates her parents had set her up with. If she’d learned anything from those disastrous experiences with scholarly types who were inflicted upon her with her parents’ high hopes of a future academic progeny, it was that open-ended questions were the ticket.
“What are your plans after high school?”
“College.”
She sighed, and continued, refusing to be defeated. “Major?”
“Engineering.”
Ah. Gotcha, you little brainiac.
“Biomedical, civil, environmental, electrical, computer, mechanical, energy?”
“Electrical and computer engineering.”
“Great. I double majored in agronomics and earth science at UC Davis. Recently finished my doctorate.”
His jaw slackened. “You don’t look like...”
“What? A smart girl?”
Beck’s face turned solid red from his neck to the tips of his ears, which peeked out from his mop of hair. “I, uh...sorry.”
Maggie laughed. “Please, I’m flattered. Most people don’t think I look like a professor, either.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re a professor?”
“Was. Physical science. I’m currently between jobs. And to be clear, I’m an assistant professor.”
“Why teaching, when you could...” He gestured with a wave of a skinny arm.
“Oh, you know. Sometimes it’s easier to go along to get along. Ironically, as it turns out, I like teaching.” Maggie lowered her voice. “But I’ll tell you a secret, someday I’m going to open my own nursery. I’m thinking about my own line of honey. Organic lavender, too.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how or when, but someday.”
A smile spread on the kid’s narrow face.
Yes!The barrier had been breached.
“So, anything in particular I need to know about your hours, Beck?”
He shook his head.
“What do you do around here?” Maggie asked.
“I handle most of the computerized repairs. Before your uncle left I rewired the shop’s security alarm system. Now it can be set remotely.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Bob, uh, Mr. Jones isn’t into digital stuff.”
“So, do you get a lot of computerized repairs in Paradise?”
“No, but we get a lot of people stopping by for computer help.”
“Uncle Bob dispenses computer advice?”
“No. I do. Mr. Jones doesn’t even have a computer.”
Maggie laughed. “Now that sounds like Uncle Bob. So, do you charge for this advice?”
“No. It’s free. I’m like a tutor.”
“A tutor? I like that. Maybe we can share the workload.”
Beck grinned. “Sure. Yeah.”
“How many hours are you working in the summer?”
“Three or four hours a day. Four days a week. I’m taking a few online classes, as well.”
“All right. Works for me. I’m closing up shop here shortly.” She met his gaze. “I’ve got an appointment Thursday around eleven. Think you could come in then and cover for me for a few hours?”
“Sure.”
“And we can talk some more, maybe work on your schedule?” she added.
His eyes lit up. “Yeah. That’d be sweet.”
“Sweet it is.” Maggie stuck out her hand. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He shook her hand. “Thanks, Ms. Jones.”
“Maggie. Just Maggie.”
“Um, Maggie?”
“Yes?”
He adjusted his glasses with his thumb and forefinger. “Chief MacLaughlin was wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“The 2003 Ford F-150 was recalled for suspected engine fires caused by a cruise control switch.”
Maggie’s mouth opened as his words sank in. “What?”
“Apparently, the problem is that the brake fluid leaks through the cruise control’s deactivation switch into the system’s electrical components, leading to corrosion and producing a buildup of electrical current that causes overheating and, in your case, fire.”
“You know this, how?”
He shrugged. “I read a lot.
“You read a lot,” she murmured. Suddenly his words clicked. “So it’s not my fault?”
“Nope.”
This time she smiled.
“I, uh, just thought you should know.”
Vindication!
Her elation was short-lived as she realized she was the designated adult in this conversation.
“Thank you, Beck. I appreciate that. More than you know.” She took a deep breath. “However, let’s not be too hard on the chief. He’s doing his job, and keeping everyone in Paradise safe certainly can’t be easy.”
Beck nodded yet again, and then looked at his sneakers.
“Was there something else?” she asked.
“Yeah. There’s an opening at the high school.”
“An opening? For what?”
He barely met her gaze. “Science teacher. I heard my dad talking about it last night. Mrs. Janson is going on maternity leave early. I thought maybe you might be interested.”
Maggie’s heart soared. She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. My dad is the principal.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll tell him to call you,” he added with a small smile, before he loped out of the shop.
“Yes. Please. Do that.” Maggie was still staring after him, minutes later.
A job in Paradise?
Why not? Her credentials were impeccable. Of course, she’d have to be extremely careful from now on. No more accidental fires. Low profile. That was the ticket.
Mustn’t get your hopes up, Margaret. The voice of her mother—the eternal pessimist—whispered in Maggie’s ear.
“You’re wrong, Mom. This job is mine. The Lord brought me to Paradise and He’s not going to leave me sitting outside the Promised Land.”
Maggie smiled and lifted her hand in a high five.
“Thank You, Lord.”
* * *
Jake gripped the keys to his pickup tightly in his hand as he stood on the bottom step of Maggie’s house. Bright red ceramic pots were arranged on her small porch with small painted signs identifying the plants—lemon thyme, cinnamon basil, chocolate mint and pineapple sage. He shook his head. He’d never even heard of half the stuff she’d planted.
Overhead the sky rumbled a warning that a storm was imminent. Undeterred, Jake walked up the steps and pushed the doorbell.
The teal-blue door of the cottage swung open and Maggie stared at him from behind the screen.
“I have it on good authority that it wasn’t my fault,” she announced.
