Kathleen Y'Barbo - Her Holiday Fireman

Snatching up a pair in her size, she found Ima and retrieved her debit card. A sly glance out the front window told Leah that Ryan was leaning against the Jeep, arms crossed and his attention focused down the street. Mayor Murdoch was heading for the courthouse door.

The music paused then switched to the unmistakable introduction to “Strangers in the Night.” “I thought you were waiting until these went on sale.” Ima rang up the purchase then handed back the card to Leah, her heavily mascaraed eyes sweeping the length of her. “Guess you can’t go on a date in a pair of throwaways, can you?”

Leah slipped out of the disposables and then pulled the sandals from the box. “It’s not a date,” she said as she balanced on one foot to carefully slide into the shoe. “It’s just...” She paused to repeat the process then tuck the temporary sandals into the empty box. “Ryan’s new to Vine Beach and...never mind. It’s just lunch. Not a date.”

“I don’t know, hon,” she said as she turned her attention out the window. “That handsome fella? I doubt he’s thinking it’s just lunch.”

She slid another covert glance outside. Ryan had shifted positions and now watched her through the window. When their gazes met, he grinned. Oh, my, but he was handsome.

Leah looked away, collecting her idiotic thoughts. “Don’t be silly,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “He’s taking Pop’s job as fire chief. Why would I want to invite that kind of trouble? Can you imagine what my father would say if he found out?”

“Carl didn’t take it well when he had to step down, I’ll give you that,” Ima said. “And then there were the questions about...” She shook her head. “Never mind. Strictly speaking, as someone who knew your pa since we were knee high to a grasshopper, I guarantee he’d like anyone you like.”

“Miss Ima, really it’s—”

“Not a date. Yes, I know. Still your father would be pleased. Or at least he would have if that Alzheimer’s hadn’t...” Ima waved a hand that sparkled with a hefty sample of the rings and bracelets she offered for sale. “Forget I said anything. Just go and enjoy your date. And, girl, those sandals look adorable with your outfit.”

“It is not a date.” She looked down at the denim capris and plain black T-shirt she’d thrown on this morning when her entire plan was to have a pedicure then read on the beach until it was time to head over to Pop’s for the evening crowd. “But thanks.”

Ima nodded, her expression indicating the moment the door closed she’d be on the phone telling someone what she’d just seen. And heard. Though likely she’d forget to mention that Leah had indicated several times over that this was not a date.

She emerged into the November sunshine and offered Ryan a penitent look. “Sorry you had to wait.”

He opened her door, then closed it behind her. When he’d settled behind the wheel, he offered a sideways look. “Nice shoes.”

Leah couldn’t help blushing for the second time in ten minutes.

* * *

Ryan tried not to cringe. Nice shoes?

He mustered a smile as he buckled his seat belt and started the car. “So, that grocery store? Where was it again?”

Leah nodded toward the south. “It’s on the corner of Vine and Main.”

He backed out of the parking space and headed in that direction. “So you’re okay with a picnic?”

“Definitely pro-picnics,” she said with a chuckle.

“Great.” If she’d said she preferred some kind of indoor dining, he’d be back at Pop’s again. Not where he wanted to take her on their not-a-date.

Besides, Burkett had mentioned that the spot offered a good view of the burned-out ruins of the Berry home.

The Beach Mart was easy to find, situated as it was on a corner just beyond the church and nursing home. He parked the Jeep but lagged a step behind Leah as she headed inside.

He wanted to thank Leah, absolutely. But he also had become more than a little curious about the fire at Leah’s family home. After all, he was the new fire chief.

Of course, there was another reason for this picnic—a tiny spark of hope that threatened to flare into something really nice. Maybe even a friendship. Nothing more, of course. Just friends.

Because this was just lunch.

A get-to-know-each-other lunch.

A thank-you lunch.

Get a grip, he told himself.

“So,” Leah said, “where are we going for this picnic?”

“Mr. Burkett told me about a place he takes his grandkids fishing. It’s over by the lighthouse. I thought it might be nice to go take a look,” he said as they headed back to the Jeep with their food.

“I know just the place you’re talking about. Pop used to take me there. It’s perfect.”

A few minutes later, Ryan stopped the Jeep in front of the old lighthouse. According to Mr. Burkett, the place had been standing longer than any building in Vine Beach, an honor that belonged to the Berry place until a few months ago.

Ryan had tried quizzing Burkett about the fire, to no avail. Only the information about the dock’s view had been forthcoming. Apparently the subject was a sore one in Vine Beach, one a newcomer best not bring up.

But as fire chief it was his duty to investigate suspicious fires. And though he’d not seen the ruins close up, the fact that questions on the topic caused such discomfort was reason enough to suspect something was not right.

Of course, could he ask Leah about the fire without stirring things up between them again?

Snatching the bag of sandwiches and drinks, Ryan turned his back on the lighthouse to follow Leah down the sandy trail that wound between the grassy dunes. A bend in the path and suddenly there was the Gulf of Mexico lapping against a dock that jutted far out into the blue-gray water. To his left was the city of Vine Beach, almost close enough to hear the gulls begging at the marina, and straight ahead beyond the dock was what appeared to be an island.

“That’s Sand Island,” Leah said as if reading his mind. “It’s a great place to picnic, too.”

“Duly noted.”

Ryan shifted the bag and glanced to his right. Burkett was correct. From this vantage point he could easily make out the broken and charred columns—three at his count, though there could easily have been four or five.

The house sat on a ridge overlooking the Gulf on one side and, from what he could imagine, rolling fields where palominos grazed on the other. It must have been a beautiful place.

Leah came up beside him and shaded her eyes with her hand. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, silently she turned to walk toward the dock.

Ryan followed her, watched her spread the Beach Mart plastic tablecloth over the ancient boards, and then settled down beside her to place the bag of food and drinks between them.

Below the dock, waves lapped against the pilings then rushed past to break on the sandy shore. Unlike the beach, however, these waves were gentler. More motion than foam.

“There’s a sand bar about forty yards out,” Leah said as she handed him his pastrami on rye. “It keeps the surf from breaking so hard.” She found her sandwich then tucked the bag under the tablecloth. “Makes for great fishing and, if you’re a little kid, some seriously good swimming.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he said as he unwrapped his lunch. “Must have been quite a view from up at the house.”

“It was.” She said the words softly, as if she might be remembering. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, her look of nostalgia disappeared.

Ryan knew he had to tread softly.

He searched for something to fill the silence that lengthened uncomfortably between them. “Have you always worked at Pop’s?”