Felicia Mason - The Fireman Finds a Wife

She glanced at the other three women as if looking for validation. “Uh, sure.”

Vanessa took in the boxes neatly stacked on the receiving bench. “Did you bring those, Chief Cam?”

When he nodded, Vanessa snagged another cookie from the cooling rack then reached for a clipboard dangling under the counter on an unseen hook. “That’s something I can do—log in donations.”

“Come along, dear,” Mrs. Davidson told Samantha Burns. “Break’s over. We have quite a bit to do before our guests arrive.”

With thanks to Summer for the cookies and their goodbyes to the fire chief, the two hustled off. Vanessa went to tend to the donations from the fire department and Cameron steered Summer back toward the dining hall for a few words in private.

His arm brushed hers as he held the door open and Summer’s breath caught at the unexpected contact. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. He was probably just happy she didn’t pass out on him again.

She told herself to stop acting like a ninny. She was twenty-eight years old, not sixteen.

In the dining hall, he pulled out a chair at one of the tables and held it out for her to be seated. Appreciating the small gesture, Summer murmured a “thank you” as he settled in the seat next to her.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said.

Oh, great, she thought. He thinks I’m an invalid. Inexplicably, she wanted to explain.

“Thank you again,” she said, “for what you did the other day. It was a reflex, I think. I thought something was wrong. You all caught me by surprise.”

Cameron smiled. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The abrupt change of topic more than startled her.

“Dinner? Us. Together.”

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

She wanted to explain. Dinner meant they would be out together. On a date. But Summer couldn’t date. Didn’t date. And the explanation she’d been all ready to give him fled from her brain, right along with her courage.

“I’m...” she swallowed and got a hold of her tongue if not her suddenly racing heart. “My husband might not approve.”

Chapter Three

The stricken look on his face convicted her.

“You’re married?”

His gaze dipped to her left hand resting on the table. Self-conscious, she put both ringless hands in her lap.

Taking a deep breath, Summer decided that being open and honest about her situation was her best course of action.

“Chief Jackson, I want to explain something to you.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. But a moment later, he sighed and released the defensive gesture.

Offering a tremulous smile, Summer got her thoughts together. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to open up on this, she needed to. Enough time had passed, and moving home to Cedar Springs was her big step toward reclaiming her life.

“Seeing you and your men on my doorstep,” she began, “was a shock. A bad shock to my system. I’d truly forgotten about the new resident’s home safety check I’d requested.”

She swallowed, took a ragged breath and then offered up a little prayer for strength.

“The last time men in uniform came to my front door, it was to tell me that my husband had been killed.”

His eyes widened and he reached for her hands in a comforting gesture. But before he could offer the obligatory, “I’m sorry” condolences, she rushed on.

“It’s coming on two years,” she said. “I moved home to start a new chapter in my life. I sold our place in Macon and bought the house here, a house where I could make new memories instead of dwelling on the past. Seeing you, the three of you,” she quickly clarified, “standing there looking official, well, it just derailed me a bit.”

She took a deep breath, hoping that he understood, even while she acknowledged to herself that dumping baggage at his feet was not a good way to win friends and influence people.

There was something comforting about this man. Unlike some people who listened long enough to gauge when and where they could break in with their own words and experiences, he seemed to listen to her with his whole body.

That, Summer decided, was both comforting and disconcerting.

* * *

Cameron felt like a heel.

So much made sense now. The protectiveness of her sister at the house. The uncertainty he sensed in Summer. The almost-sadness of her eyes. He had known that she’d moved to North Carolina from Georgia, but had come to the erroneous conclusion that the move home was to be near family, not to escape her grief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and for rushing you.”

Summer shook head. “That’s just it, you weren’t rushing me. I should be,” she gave a little shrug, “I guess you’d say, ‘over it’ by now.”

This time he did clasp her hands in his. “You never get over losing someone special,” he said.

She smiled this time. Then extricated her hands from his.

“Thank you for asking me out,” she said. “But the answer is still...”

“Shh,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish. “I know.”

Summer pushed back her chair and rose, the movement graceful.

“I really need to get back to work,” she told him. “We’re shorthanded today. Vanessa and Samantha are the only two volunteers who showed up, and I borrowed Samantha from Mrs. D, who really needs her in the office.”

He rose, as well, and escorted Summer back to the kitchen, where a buzzer was going off and Vanessa was struggling to get a handle on a big pot that seemed to be boiling over.

“Oh, dear. That’s the stock for the chicken soup.”

Cameron rushed forward and gave Vanessa a hand by moving the pot to another burner on the industrial-sized stove. Summer turned off the timer that was set on a continuous buzz, then slipped on a pair of thick pot-holder gloves and went to one of the ovens. As she pulled out a pan, Cameron came forward.

“Is that a turkey?” he asked, amazement in his voice.

He spied some dish towels on the prep counter and used them to safeguard his hands as he took over the lifting for her. “Here, I’ll get that.”

“Thanks,” Summer said, relinquishing the task to him. “And yes, it’s a turkey. There are two more in the bottom ovens. Both are ready to come out, too, if you don’t mind.”

Cameron knew about the soup kitchen: it was one of four ongoing ministries operated by Common Ground, the coalition formed by three congregations in Cedar Springs. As a member of The Fellowship, he regularly contributed to Common Ground. And as fire chief, he knew the buildings where the homeless shelter, the free clinic and the soup kitchen were located, but he’d never actually been to any of them, just the recreation center where he sometimes played baseball with a youth league.

“How many people do you cook for?” Cameron asked.

“We never really know, but on average about ninety to a hundred, sometimes more, especially on Wednesdays, when there’s also the Bible study and snacks afterward.”

“And you’re cooking for a hundred people, just the two of you?”

Summer shrugged. “We do what has to be done. And reinforcements will be in closer to serving time. I came in early to get the turkeys going. They’re actually for sandwiches on Thursday.”

Cameron found himself walloped somewhere between amazed and dismayed. He’d come here on his morning off to see Summer Spencer, taking over the food donation delivery duty because it gave him a legitimate excuse to show up at Manna.

Now he realized that maybe it wasn’t just for his own selfish reasons that he was here at this time and place. He was supposed to be here today.