For a second, I thought she might relent.

“I’m reliable, I swear.” I put my hand to my heart.

Her chin rose at least two inches.

Wrong thing to say.

“Contrary to what just happened—which I’m incredibly grateful for—I am not in the habit of relying on men, even the pretty ones, so I’ll be fixing my own landing, thank you very much.” She turned me down with a brisk nod of her head.

There was a hell of a story there, but all I could focus on was pretty.

“But really.” Her voice gentled. “Thank you so much for”—she motioned toward the landing and dropped her gaze again—“you know…” She gifted me with a closed-lip, embarrassed smile and then retreated up her stairs.

Holy whiplash. The woman was soft-spoken one second, then spitting fire at me the next. Much to my dismay, I more than kind of liked it.

“Pushing you out of the hole you fell into?” Crap, I was grinning. How could I not? She was so indignant that I’d offered to help, but I’d literally just pushed her ass out of the staircase.

“Right. That. Thanks.” She paused and waved like a queen to a subject but didn’t turn around.

“That offer stands. You need anything, just knock, or I can have Finley run over with our phone number.”

“I appreciate the gesture.”

Lord save me from polite Southern manners.

She stilled, then turned back toward me, her posture relaxed. “Please tell Finley thank you for me. She really saved my butt.” Her head tilted, and she winced slightly, then gave me a self-deprecating chuckle. “Literally.”

I laughed, the sound more honest than any I’d made because of a woman in a long time. My phone rang, and I reached into my lower pocket to check the caller ID.

Please don’t be a rescue.

It was just Sawyer.

“See ya around, Kitty.”

She sputtered, smoothing her dress back down around her thighs as I crossed the yard to our house, swiping to answer Sawyer’s call.

“What’s up?”

“Is it Finley-Free weekend?” he asked with the noise of a bar in the background.

“Nope. That’s only once a month and you know it, so whatever it is you want me to do, the answer is no unless it involves you on my couch with Moana.”

I heard a door shut and glanced over at Morgan’s. She’d made it inside without another incident.

“Damn. I mean, I love Fin. I was just kind of hoping you would wingman me here at McGinty’s. There’s a set of twins with—”

“Nope. You’re flying solo.” I started up the steps toward my door.

“Come on! Call her grams. You know she’d love to keep her. And don’t try to tell me you don’t want to get laid.”

I always wanted to get laid. Sex was a physical need I had zero guilt or trouble gratifying. But I steered clear of emotional entanglements, clingers, and anyone who saw Finley and thought they needed to step in as her mom—which basically meant I was perpetually single except for the occasional one-night stand with a tourist. Exactly the way I liked it.