When a 24-year-old construction worker poses as the fiancé of a comatose Cuban supermodel, she must find a way to renege her lie after falling for his firefighter cousin.
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When 24-year-old cons...
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As Molly and I stare at each other, an awkward silence stretches between us. "Are you sure you're alright?" I finally ask. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
That's putting it mildly. Her face is so pale, you'd think the Titanic and its spectral passengers just washed up on South Beach.
She gives me a crooked half-smile and eyes Sonny wearily, who's now laying on the floor by my feet. "I've just never been responsible for another living thing before. I can't even keep house plants," she says, nodding toward a petrified fern on a nearby shelf. Half a dozen crispy brown leaves lay scattered around the clay pot.
I can't fault her reservations. Caring for an animal when you're not used to having one can be a huge adjustment. Sonny requires a lot of attention, but he's pretty cool to have around. Not that I see him often. But he certainly comes with advantages. He's a loyal and entertaining companion. Keeps everyone on their toes. And because of his muscular build and intimidating features, there's no chance of an intruder breaking in. And as far as dogs go, you won't find a friendlier guy.
"As long as you keep him busy, he'll be fine. That's why Val pays the neighbor kid to walk him every day. You've got to tire him out, or he'll find his own ways to stay occupied. He destroyed Val's condo when he was a puppy."
"Awesome." Molly glances again at Sonny and swallows. "What about when I'm at work?"
"Do you have anyone who can let him out?"
She thinks for a moment. "Just my neighbor. But she's older. I wouldn't feel right asking her for help. She had a knee replacement last year and still walks with a limp."
"Yeah, probably a good call." I give her a shrug. "I could help out during my downtime. I work 24-hours on, 48 off."
She looks at me with hopeful eyes. "Really? What do you do?"
"I'm a firefighter and paramedic. It was actually my station that responded to Val's accident. I had the day off."
"I've never met a firefighter before."
"That's probably a good thing," I say with a laugh. "We're one of the last professions left that make house calls."
When Molly glances back at Sonny, I take the opportunity to check out her place. It's nice. Small, but clean. And it smells good, like lemon and lavender. Molly's nice too, with her wet hair piled high on top of her head. She's wearing gray sweatpants and a loose-fitted T-shirt that says 'Sorry I'm late, but I didn't want to come' in black bubble letters. She's cute, but not at all what I expected. Not that that's a bad thing. Val's typical tastes are obnoxiously refined. I'm not saying Molly isn't—I really can't tell. It looks like she just hopped out of the shower.
"Does he come with accessories?" she asks, interrupting my train of thought.
She's watching me. I avert my eyes from her shirt and hope she doesn't think I'm staring at her chest. "They're in my truck. Are you going to be okay if I grab them?" I say, looking from her to Sonny and back again.
