Done (Harmony Haven #1)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

EASTON

The ninth call to my brother’s phone went to voicemail—yet again—making me irritated that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. Sure, all nine calls were in a span of three minutes, but I could’ve been dying. Three minutes could be the difference between life and death.

Not that he could have saved my life from his penthouse in Atlanta, but he could sure as hell listen to my last words. He acted like he had an empire to run, and his family meant nothing to him.

Okay, I took that too far. West may have hated most people, but he loved his family. The one thing I knew for sure was that West would do anything for us. He was the oldest and always made it his job to take care of us, even when he had to leave town to take care of himself.

On that note, I decided to cut him some slack and give him time to call me back when his schedule aligned, and he found the right time. I was, if nothing else, understanding and patient.

But fuck that. I started to hit call once again, rationalizing that ten was an even number, and even if he didn’t answer, he’d appreciate his missed call count not being the number nine. Cats had nine lives, and West hated cats. He also hated science, which meant he hated the solar system—I think—and there were nine planets. Maybe. And don’t even get me started on the fact that my favorite baseball player was number nine, and he retired, leaving the Atlanta Kings weak at the catcher position.

Yeah, I was definitely calling again, but before I hit send, my phone lit up and started buzzing in my hand.

Finally .

“Hello?” I answered casually as if I hadn’t just been mentally accusing him of letting me die alone.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Grams okay?”

He sure knew how to make me feel like a dick. In my craze, it never dawned on me that he would think something had happened to Grams. She was healthy as a horse but wasn’t getting any younger.

“Grams is good,” I quickly assured him. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? It's not like you to call on a Monday afternoon. My assistant pulled me from a meeting to tell me I had nine calls from you on my phone. She was worried something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong.” Kinda . “But not with Grams, with me.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, calmer but with a hint of concern. “Something happened on shift last night?”

Sure did, I thought to myself. I fell in love.

No, that was too much. My brain was once again trying to take leaps because of the frantic state it seemed to be in. I needed to have a different angle with him. Something believable.

“We had a call to one of your houses. I thought it was empty, but sure enough, someone was living there. Bro, that house isn’t fit for anyone to live in.”

“What house? A squatter?”

“The one on 55th, just past downtown, off the main road.”

He was quiet for a minute, then sighed. “That must be the one the woman and her kid moved into.”

“Uh, yeah. You know about that?”

“Vaguely. Do you know the contractor restoring some of the houses up there? His foreman had done some work for a candle maker or something. She was looking for a house somewhere outside of Atlanta, and it all fell into place, so I let her rent it.”

A candle maker?

“No, West,” I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. “This woman wasn’t a Yankee Candle. She was the whole flame. A fucking bomb.”

“Please don’t tell me that house burned to the ground. Please don’t tell me she blew my house up, Easton.”

“No,” I began pacing the length of my living room. My brother was missing the point, and maybe that was for the best. I needed to keep him confused because he didn’t need to know that a woman who made candles for a living had practically lit my life on fire with one glance.

Which was ironic since I was a damn firefighter.

And it wasn’t because I saw her nearly naked. It was how she dove after her son, not caring about anything except making sure he was safe. Then, the way she processed what happened and straightened her shoulders in fortitude. Her dark hair was wet, and her green eyes were wide. She looked like a goddess.

She immediately made me want to know more. Every single detail about her was vital, and I had hoped my brother knew more than he apparently did.

“So what happened?” West finally urged. “Is the family okay?”

“Yeah,” I snapped back, a new mission in my mind. Maybe West wasn’t completely useless. “But there are still some things that need to be fixed on that house, or you’re gonna be considered a slumlord, man.”

“Like what? I’ll call Robert back to the house.”

“No, no. I’ll handle the issues. Just wanted you to know and wanted the story on who and why she was living there.”

“You don’t have time to do anything to that house.”

“I work one day and have three days off, I think I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a minute, but then sighed. “Whatever. Just let me know what I need to do. Having someone live there was not in my plans. I wanted to sell the damn house after repairs were made, not be someone’s landlord.”

“Well, you’re a good man, big brother.”

“Do me a favor, and don’t call me nine times unless something is seriously wrong.”

“Deal. I think we both know that Pluto sucks. It's wishy-washy. Unpredictable. Next time, I’ll make it an even ten without hesitating to overthink it.”

On that note, West hung up, probably thinking I was joking—or in desperate need of a strait jacket. I didn’t need a sweet goodbye from him, anyway. I had gotten exactly what I called for. At least enough to get started on a plan to learn more about Jesse, the naked candlemaker from Atlanta.

The fool in me was about to use my brother’s position as her landlord to get closer. And I didn’t seem to care that she probably didn’t need me in her business.

“Too bad, so sad,” I laughed, considering for an instant that I may have lost my mind.

Grabbing my tools, I loaded them into my truck and made my way to her house. I was going to tell her that my brother owned the house, and after the emergency call the night before, he wanted me to fix the old steps. Not that the steps and a false alarm 9-1-1 call went hand in hand, but I would bullshit and tell her it just came up in conversation.

“Ugh,” I groaned as I turned onto the main highway through town. “What happened to you last night? And when did you start talking to yourself?”

And why her? Of all the women I had ever laid eyes on, why did it have to be a woman that clearly had more important things to do than fuck around with me?