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ridiculous rush of pleasure that he’d remembered. “That’s right. The one who’s as good a climber downer as a climber upper.” Oh, no. Had she really just said climber downer again? She smiled gaily, hoping somehow he wouldn’t notice that she was the biggest dork in the known universe. “You won’t ever have to rescue Max.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t be a problem, ma’am,” he said, pretending to tip an imaginary hat. “It’s all part of the job.”
    â€œWe just wanted to say thanks,” Pea said, feeling herself getting caught in the blue depths of his eyes.
    â€œThank you, that was nice of you, and we always appreciate food around here,” Griffin said.
    â€œThank you,” Pea said, and then realized she had thanked him several times and had now begun thanking him for thanking her for thanking him. Well, hell. “Okey-dokey then. I’ll just leave the brownies. Don’t worry about the plate. It’s old. You can just throw it away when you’re done. Or keep it. Or whatever.” Oh, God. She was babbling. “Well, thanks again. And you guys stay safe out there.” Pea gave Griffin a jaunty little salute and then bolted out the door.
    Her limited edition Thunderbird was a cream-colored sanctuary, which she decided was a perfect analogy since she had about as much social couth as Quasimodo. Pea closed the door and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel.
    â€œI saluted him,” she said miserably. “I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public without supervision.”
    Â 
    Dance class, which had been Pea’s weekly escape from the annoyances and disappointments of the world for twenty-five of her almost thirty years, didn’t work its magic that day. She felt sluggish and Madam Ringwater, her ancient but timelessly competent ballet instructor, had to reprimand her sharply for missing basic movements. Twice.
    Pea couldn’t stop thinking about Griffin.
    She knew it was silly and childish and unrealistic, but she was smitten. Her year-long crush-from-a-distance had morphed into a full-blown close-encounter crush.
    She was an idiot.
    â€œDorreth! Concentration, merci . I clearly asked for battement tendu jeté and not the battement dégagé you so sloppily performed.” Madam Ringwater stamped her practice stick against the smooth wood floor of the studio and spoke sharply in her thick French accent. “ Faites-l’encore! Do it again!”
    Pea gritted her teeth and began the delicate lift of her toe from the floor, trying to focus and move in time with the classical music.
    Griffin had smiled at her and met her eyes. Twice. Stacy had even said she thought he was interested in her, and Stacy should know. She was happily married to Ken-doll looking Matt, and men still showed way too much interest in her.
    Maybe she was right. Maybe he had been interested in her.
    Then Pea remembered how Griffin hadn’t even really recognized her, for the fourth time, when he’d first seen her at the fire station, and her stomach sank. No. He was just being nice and polite like a fireman should be. What was it he’d said? It’s all part of the job .
    But if she were gorgeous…or somehow memorable…maybe then his little almost-interest would change into real interest. And how was that supposed to happen? How was she supposed to become memorable?
    Didn’t she remember how disastrous it was to try to pretend to be something she wasn’t? All she had to do was to think back to her freshman year in high school, and like it was yesterday instead of a decade or more ago, she remembered all too well that humiliation…embarrassment…failure….
    No. The past was the past. She was a grown-assed woman now. She shouldn’t let that childish stuff still mess with her. But she did.
    With a huge effort, Pea pushed the memories from her mind and focused on her reflection in the