Denise Gore Long
In nine years of servicing swimming pools, I’d rescued frogs, snakes, one furious squirrel, and a pair of boxer shorts I still preferred not to think about. A full-grown, fully clothed man was a first.
The new account had come through a property management company, so I had an address, a gate code, and instructions to service the pool every Tuesday. I had no idea who owned the place, and that was fine by me. Pools didn’t care who signed the checks.
I’d been working about twenty minutes when I realized I’d left my test kit in the truck. On my way back, a splash suggested my mystery client had either jumped into the pool or thrown a sofa into it. I hurried around the house and stopped. There was indeed a man in the pool, but he wasn’t swimming. He appeared to be wrestling with my vacuum hose.
And losing.
The blue hose tangled around his leg while he struggled toward the steps, holding one hand above the water. In it was a tiny, dripping bird.
I rushed to the pool. “Give me your hand!”
“Take the bird!”
“I’m trying to save you.”
“Bird first!”
I grabbed the fledgling and set it on the deck, then reached for him. By the time I got the hose mostly untangled and hauled him onto the steps, I was soaked and wondering whether difficult clients were subject to a surcharge.
The man coughed before crawling over to the bird. He scooped it gently into his hands and inspected it with the concentration of a surgeon.
The fledgling chirped. His whole face lit up. “Get outta here!”
I froze.
Everybody knew those three words. Kids shouted them at zoos. They were printed on T-shirts, coffee mugs, and the baseball cap my father wore while mowing the lawn. And only one man delivered them with that combination of disbelief and pure delight.
Gavin Hart.
Host of Gavin Goes Wild. International wildlife adventurer. And thanks to a decade of viral outtakes involving everything from being pantsed by a monkey to an alpaca with boundary issues, star of television’s most famous blooper reel.
“Why would you use your catchphrase after you could’ve drowned?”
Gavin nodded toward the bird. “Because he didn’t.”
The fledgling shook itself, sending tiny droplets across his hand.
“Get outta here!”
I laughed.
Gavin glanced at the vacuum hose still looped around his ankle and closed his eyes. “Please tell me no one filmed this.”
“No one filmed this.”
“Thank goodness.”
I pointed toward the security camera beneath the eaves. “But I’d be lying.”
He groaned. “My manager will find that footage. Claire can sense my humiliation from three continents away.”
He glanced at the hose around his ankle. “I’ve been charged by a rhino.”
“Congratulations?”
“I’ve handled venomous snakes.”
“My dad’s favorite episode.”
“I once spent six hours in a tree because of a water buffalo.”
“And today you were taken down by a pool vacuum.”
He frowned. “I was rescuing a juvenile chimney swift.”
“Any relation to Taylor?”
He stared at me.
“Swift?”
“I got it.” His mouth twitched. “Chimney swifts migrate here from South America every spring. They spend almost their entire lives in the air. Eat, drink, even mate in flight.”
I eyed the bedraggled bird. “Is alcohol involved? Because this one might want to rethink the drinking part.”
Gavin laughed.
His gaze dropped to the embroidery above my company logo. “Lucy?”
“That’s me.”
“Gavin.”
I snorted. “Obviously.”
He was even better looking soaking wet than on television. Dark hair curled against his forehead, his drenched T-shirt outlined a lean, athletic chest, and laugh lines surrounded ridiculously blue eyes. Apparently, being chased by wildlife was excellent cardio.
“My dad loves you.”
His face crumpled. “Why can’t my target demographic ever include adventure seekers in their twenties?”
“He says you remind him the world is still full of good things.”
For the first time, Gavin had no comeback. He looked at the bird, then me. “Tell your dad I said thank you.”
I smiled. “I will.”
“And maybe leave out the part where I could have drowned.”
“Absolutely not.”
The fledgling fluttered from his hands into a nearby hydrangea. Gavin watched until it disappeared among the leaves.
“Get outta here,” he murmured.
“You really can’t help yourself.”
“Nope.” He glanced toward the security camera. “I have maybe six hours before Claire turns that into content.”
“Change the password.”
“I don’t know it. This is a rental.”
“Change managers.”
“Tempting.”
“Destroy the camera?”
He considered it.
“I was kidding.”
Gavin gave me a smile hot enough to evaporate the pool. “There is an upside.”
“Other than saving the juvenile chimney swift?”
“Other than that.” His gaze settled on me. “I met you.”
I blinked. “Is this how you charm the wildlife?”
“You think I’m charming?”
“I liked you better when you were losing to the vacuum.”
He grinned. “Dinner?”
I tapped the logo on my shirt. “I don’t date clients.”
“I’m not your client.”
“I found you drowning in your pool.”
“Not mine. Production rented the place.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who pays the pool bill?”
“Production.”
“Who hired me?”
“No idea.”
“Who owns the house?”
He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with the loophole he’d just discovered.
I tried not to smile.
“Technically,” Gavin said, “I’m an innocent bystander who was attacked by your equipment.”
I nodded toward the security camera. “You think Claire would approve?”
He looked up and sighed. “She’ll probably add this to the blooper reel too.”
“Asking a woman to dinner qualifies as a blooper?”
“Depends on what the woman says.”
“Hmm.” I tapped a finger against my lips. “I’ve never been part of a blooper reel before.”
His grin disappeared. I let him suffer another second.
“But there’s always next week for that. Is seven o’clock good?”
His face lit up. “Get outta here!”
I laughed. “You really need another catchphrase.”
“Not a chance.”
She lives in North Carolina with her husband, their two adult children, and dogs. Lots of dogs. Her Christian worldview is central to the way she lives her life, and she remains firmly convinced that Diet Coke is essential to the writing process.
She is the author of the Beacon Bluff series.
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