She thought about what she felt for Joe, and how no matter that she wanted to be easy and light, it was so damn messy and complicated. “It can sure as hell feel like an infection.”

A low rusty sort of sound escaped him.

“Did you just laugh?” she asked, shocked.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Tell me the truth. You missed the how-to-make-friends day in kindergarten, right?”

“So I’m not social.” He shrugged a lean shoulder. “That’s not a crime.”

No, it wasn’t. But his defensiveness was certainly interesting. “Does it have anything to do with why you don’t drink anymore?”

His indulgent smile faded.

“I’m not trying to pry or anything,” she said.

“Like hell.”

“Okay, I’m prying.”

“My past is not relevant to this job.”

“You’re right.” But she had a feeling it was relevant to why he was so cynical and sarcastic. And while she instinctively liked him, her first loyalty was to Chloe, brat or not. “Just tell me. Do you really like Chloe or are you playing with her?”

“Do you really like your fire marshal, or are you playing with him?”

Summer narrowed her eyes.

Braden went back to his work.

“I like him,” she said softly.

Braden looked up in surprise.

“I like him a lot.”

“Well good for you.”

“And?…”

He sighed. “And you’re a pest.” When Summer just waited, he let out an annoyed breath. “Jesus, you’re stubborn too. Okay, listen, I like your cousin. Happy?”

She grinned and he groaned. “Go back to work, Summer.”

She did. But cataloging inventory was making her eyes cross and not taking up enough brain waves. She did like Joe, she always had. Liking him had never been a problem. They’d once shared a deep, abiding, mutual affection. A binding connection. But after her father’s death, such connections scared her.

Since then, anything she’d felt for a man had been light. Easy. And purely physical. Sex for her was as it should be—a simple relief. Necessary as air, but no real ties required.

“You’re thinking so hard my head is hurting,” Braden said, startling her.

“Sorry.”

“Actually, you’re making me hungry, too,” he said, and closing his laptop, left to get lunch.

Camille came in with Socks in her arms, and for a moment, Summer saw her mother as a stranger would. Tall, willowy, hair pulled back, only a minimum amount of makeup on her face, but still beautiful despite the dark circles beneath her eyes and her tight expression. “The marshals are on their way,” she said to Summer. “They need to take interviews.”

Her stomach both dropped and fluttered. “Me?”

“And some others, too, but you, yes. They wanted to catch you before you left.”

“Oh. Did you by any chance tell them I wasn’t leaving?”