her green eyes a focal point in her face, which was framed by badly tangled, dark brown hair.
But that mouth...damn, it looked as good as ever.
Ignoring her comment—what could he say?—he started off. “I’m parked this way.” She grudgingly followed.
Trailing behind him, she said, “I don’t always look like this.”
God, he hoped not. “Want to tell me what happened?”
As if she’d been waiting for him to ask, she started babbling. “There was a crying kid on the plane. He puked on me. I’d checked all of my luggage instead of carrying it on, so the mother gave me this—” she looked down at the baggy gray T-shirt “—this thing to wear. I think it was her husband’s. Anyway, I got most of the mess washed off my face and chest, but there wasn’t enough water in the tiny bathroom to get it out of my hair. I smell bad. I look bad.” She pointed at him. “And you had to show up?”
His mouth quirked. Yeah, he’d always remembered Zoey Hodge as being different. Eccentric.
Original.
Off the top of his head, he couldn’t remember any other woman screeching at him in accusation. “What’s wrong with me?”
Her expression said it should have been obvious. “You’re you.”
“Okay.” What the hell did that mean?
She bit her lip again. “That is...well, you know I had a crush on you in high school.”
“You did?” News to him. Hell, he’d had a crush, but had never acted on it.
“Well, of course I did.”
With no idea what to say, he just nodded.
“And,” she continued with emphasis, “when you see an old crush after so many years, well, it’d be better not to reek, right?”
“You’re fine,” he lied. The baking sun amplified the smell, so he was glad when they finally got into the covered garage.
“I was all set to explain to Amber, to maybe even laugh about it—”
“Really?” He couldn’t imagine.
“—and instead you’re here, seeing me like this, making me even more humiliated and—”
“Amber had a small catastrophe. I was the only one available.”
“Catastrophe?” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. Her bookstore’s a little soggy, though, thanks to a broken pipe.”
She started walking at a fast clip to catch up with him. “Oh, man.” She pushed back her long matted hair. “Well...I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”
“You’re out of sorts.” Under the circumstances, she had a right to be grouchy, but she wasn’t. More like frazzled, and plenty embarrassed.
They reached his truck and he put the bags in the back then went around to open her door for her. “We can leave the windows down and the smell won’t be so bad.” He hoped.
She groaned dramatically and got in. Poor thing. She even had stains on the top of her sneakers.
She noticed him looking and wrinkled her nose. “It’s in my shoes. I can feel it squishing when I walk.”
Sympathy kept the smile off his face.
One hand on the roof, the other on the door frame, Garrett watched her buckle up. Out of the blinding sunlight, he saw that no part of her had been spared. Her hair. Her face. Her jeans. Only the god-awful, too-big, men’s gray shirt was clean, but it didn’t add much to the getup. “The kid really hurled on you, huh?”
She turned to him, shading her eyes against the sun. “The little guy was so sick.”
Even under the unusual circumstances, something about her had him analyzing all her features. Big green eyes, slightly upturned nose and that lush mouth. She had small hands and delicate wrists, so she was probably still slight of build. But under the clothes, Garrett couldn’t tell for sure.
Yeah...and he should probably quit trying to tell. Forcing his gaze up to her face, he said, “That’s rough.”
Nodding, she said, “My heart just broke for him. Two years old and miserable on that plane. And his poor exhausted parents, they were doing everything they could. When he got distracted with me, I thought, well, good. Right?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer.
“Finally he wasn’t crying. And I like kids, enough that I didn’t mind entertaining him.”
He remembered her as always being kind. Most people stuck on a plane with a noisy kid would gripe about it. Not Zoey. She’d tried to help. Nice.
“He was in my lap when he started retching.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ever seen a kid projectile-vomit?”
“Uh, no.” Thank God.
“I tried to...catch it.” She held out a cupped hand to show what she meant.
The smile broke. “Yeah? How’d that work out?”
“It was like a shower of puke.” She scrunched her face up more. “Who knew such a small kid could hold so much?”
Laughing, Garrett closed the door and walked around. As soon as he got behind the wheel, she continued.
“I didn’t really think about it. It was like...reflex or something, ya know?”
“Sure.”
“As a firefighter, maybe you’d have known how to handle it better.”
He gave her a disbelieving stare—and her mouth twitched.
“That was reaching, right?” Humor made her eyes even brighter, a beautiful focal point of color in her face. “But firefighters are heroic and all that so I’m sure you’d have figured out something.”
Definitely not his area of expertise. “Let’s hope I’m never put to the test.”
“He kept twisting around,” she said, still trying to explain how she’d gotten covered, “and I was trying to keep him from spraying anyone else—and that’s when he got me head-on.” Leaning toward him, she whispered, “It filled my bra.”
His gaze dipped to her chest again, but being covered in puke took the fun out of boobs, so he only made a noncommittal sound, then started the truck and backed out of the cramped parking space. “You seem like a natural. Do you work with kids for a living?”
“No. I work—worked—for a pet groomer. Now I hope to set up my own shop here.”
“Planning to stay?”
She waffled...and then
