Mr. Monk and the Two Assistants by Goldberg, Lee (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗

got out of the car all I did was give him a friendly kiss on the cheek instead of tackling him onto the grass, tearing off his clothes and having my way with him.

He put his big hands on my shoulders when he returned my kiss and I found myself yearning for him to pull me close to him.

“This is a nice surprise,” I said.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months,” Joe said. “You have no idea how many times I’ve driven by and thought about stopping.”

“I could give you a rough estimate,” I said.

“You’ve seen me?”

“Your truck isn’t exactly subtle,” I said. “And I like to sit in front of my little bay window and read magazines.”

“That’s why I like to drive by,” he said.

“So what made you stop this time?”

“I need you and Monk again,” he said. “The company got called out to put down a car fire last night, and when we got back, we discovered that someone had stolen some of our rescue equipment.”

“And you want Monk to investigate,” I said.

“And you, too,” he said.

“This sounds like a ploy to see me again,” I said.

“Of course it is,” Joe said. “But we’d really also like to get our hydraulic tools back.”

“Mr. Monk only investigates murders,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. “And he’s already got a case, a very important homicide down in Los Angeles, that’s taking his full attention.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You’ll just have to trust the police to handle it.”

“You could investigate,” he said.

“I’m not a detective,” I said.

“I’m sure you’ve picked up a few tricks from Monk.”

“You just want me to hang out all day at the firehouse so you can woo me.”

“That, too,” he said. “You’re very woo-able.”

“You don’t have to wait for someone to steal something from the firehouse to take me out for a cup of coffee.”

“But you dumped me,” he said.

“Coffee isn’t dating,” I said. “It’s coffee.”

“I’m not sure that I see the distinction,” he said. “But I’m certainly not going to argue the point.”

We walked down the street to my favorite little coffeehouse, which was across from Sorrento’s and next door to a little independent bookstore with several copies of Ian Ludlow’s latest book displayed in the window.

The coffeehouse was furnished with grungy but inviting thrift-shop couches, and we settled onto one with our coffees and cakes.

We talked for hours.

He told me about his latest firefighting exploits and his loneliness when he wasn’t at the station. I told him all about Trevor’s case, my fears about losing my job and my jealousy of Sharona’s relationship with Monk.

It was such a relief to be able to unload all of my anxieties on someone—and Joe was a great listener. He didn’t offer me a lot of advice, but that wasn’t really what I was looking for. He made me feel comfortable and safe.

Afterward, he slipped his hand into mine and walked me slowly back to my house. When we got there, I impulsively and stupidly invited him in for coffee.

I knew we’d already had gallons of fresh-brewed coffee, and all I had in my kitchen was the foul instant stuff, but that wasn’t the point. It was an excuse to stay together for another stolen hour or two. There was this wonderful glow between us, probably caffeine-induced, and I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

I guess you know where this story is headed, so I won’t drag it out.

Yes, we made love.

Yes, we did it even though I’d dumped him and had no intention of beginning a relationship with him. But we had a natural chemistry together and I needed him. So I let my emotions, and the moment, overrule my intellect.

Besides, it was a lazy afternoon and Julie was at school, so there was none of the elaborate planning that usually went into scheduling my rare intimacies as a single mother.

It had all happened so naturally, and we were so good together, that it felt inevitable and right. And afterward, I felt none of the guilt that I thought I would for my emotionally reckless indulgence.

Joe seemed to understand without a word between us that this wasn’t the beginning of something or even the end—just a few intimate hours between two people who liked each other and needed some comfort. His kisses were warm and sincere, and I luxuriated in the safety and strength of his arms.

I stayed in bed for an hour or two after he left, cuddling the SFFD T-shirt he’d forgotten and drifting in and out of a dreamless sleep, feeling his arms around me even though he was long gone.

I guess my horoscope had been right after all.

I managed to get out of bed, shower and do a little laundry before Julie got home from school. But I didn’t get around to grocery shopping. So for dinner, we took advantage of Julie’s cast-vertising discount and went to Sorrento’s for pizza.

As soon as we walked in, the crowd noticed Julie’s cast-vertising and also took advantage of her discount. I thought the proprietor might get upset, but I was wrong. He was so pleased with the business she’d brought him that he gave us our pizza for free.

On Friday morning, my horoscope didn’t say anything about unpredictability or romance. Instead, it told me I was creative and resourceful. It was nice to hear, but I like my horoscopes to tell me the future, not offer me insights into my personality. I rely on fortune cookies for that.

I was feeling centered and rested in a way I hadn’t in a while. I was beginning to rethink the wisdom of keeping Firefighter Joe at a distance. Maybe my heart was telling me something my brain should pay more attention