Amie Denman - In Love With The Firefighter

The twentysomething server parked a steaming basket of french fries in the middle of the table. “They’ll keep you company while you decide what to order,” she said. “Kitchen’s a little backed up tonight and we hate seeing people go hungry.”

They were definitely staying.

CHAPTER TWO

NO MATTER HOW much fun the other guys were having, the accident was a dark cloud over Kevin’s day. He had no choice. He knew that. Kid not breathing, life or death. He couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t hit those teenagers on bikes. And who the heck had asked that red car to park right there in the street and leave the door open?

But still. He felt bad about it. The two-year-old lying on the sofa in the house where a panicked father had flagged them down was, technically, breathing. But he was unconscious due to a febrile seizure. It was the kind of thing Kevin had seen a number of times, but the child’s parents had not. And the terror in their eyes made Kevin wonder if he was ever brave enough to have children of his own.

But everything had worked out. The boy would recover once the hospital got his fever down. The damage to the front bumper of the ambulance was minimal. The department’s insurance agent had chalked it up to one more statistic, one more example of the 10 percent of emergency vehicles involved in scrapes and accidents every year. The chief had talked to him, and the write-up in his employee folder declared it not his fault, unavoidable. No disciplinary action assigned. The chief had even congratulated him on following the department’s mantra: life over property . No exceptions. Ever.

But he was never going to hear the end of it from his fellow public servants who were currently buying him drinks. They weren’t impressed by his life-saving defensive driving. They all did that kind of thing every day. The firefighters and cops leaning on the bar were raising their beers over the gritty details.

“Did the door actually get airborne or was it more of a twist-off?” Rick asked. He punctuated his question by twisting the cap off his beer with his bare hand.

Kevin’s cousin Tony slid a basket of fries down the counter to Kevin. “No air,” he declared. “Saw it all in the side mirror.”

Kevin stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth and hoped desperately for a kitchen fire. A false alarm. Anything to change the subject.

“Kev here had his eyes on the road, so I’m the one you should be asking,” Tony added. “Barely even felt it when the bumper tore off that door and dropped it right in front of the car. Like roadkill. Glass shattered to hell.” He paused and swigged his beer. “Great story for the Wall of Flame. Hope one of the hundreds of tourists who witnessed it got it on video. Maybe they’ll put it on social media.”

Kevin cringed. The Wall of Flame was likely to be misunderstood by normal people. People who were not in the business of responding to accidents, digging through gutted houses for the cause of the fire, and facing some of the truly lousy things that happen to people. Every day. The Wall of Flame was just a bulletin board with an attached shelf. It hung in the bunk room at the station, where they posted newspaper clippings, photographs, thank-you notes and the occasional artifact. It was a daily reminder of what they did, but its goofiness took the edge off the seriousness of the job. Department humor. It meant survival in a tough field.

Currently the wall had a picture of one of the lieutenants swearing in the newest firefighter, but the lower half of the new recruit’s body was a chubby baby wearing a diaper. A picture printed from the internet of Smokey Bear lighting a fat cigar was stapled in the upper corner. A before-and-after photo of the chief as a young recruit with hair, and the current bald version was tacked up next to a colorful photo of a training fire. The house was destroyed by fire on purpose, but the large caption drawn in marker said it all: Oops .

“This is not going on the Wall of Flame,” Kevin grumbled.

“My cousin drives the tow truck,” Ethan said. “He saved the side mirror of the door you took off. We’ll put it in the Stupid Tourist section of the board.”

Kevin groaned and shook his head.

Rick left his bar stool next to Kevin and headed for the restroom in the back of the restaurant. A gorgeous blonde slid onto the stool, an empty glass of wine in her hand. There was something oddly familiar about her.

“Moscato,” she said to the bartender, handing over the empty glass.

She swiveled and faced Kevin, her eyes the color of new plants in spring. He froze. There was definitely something about her.

She had the full attention of the men assembled at the bar, but she was only looking at Kevin.

“I’m Nicole Wheeler,” she said.

Could this be happening? Other guys attracted women, even used their badges and uniforms to negotiate themselves into a night in bed. But Kevin’s last girlfriend took off eighteen months ago, leaving him an ancient dog and no apologies.

Maybe his luck was changing.

“Kevin Ruggles,” he said. “You must be new in town. I’d remember you if we’d met before.”

“I’m definitely new. Just arrived this afternoon, in fact.”

Something in her tone signaled a warning, but Kevin forged ahead. She was sitting next to him at the bar, waiting for a drink. He should offer to buy. She was beautiful. Her fingers tapped on the bar, with no wedding ring in sight. What could go wrong?

“I’d like to personally welcome you to Cape Pursuit,” he said.

Her lips formed a cold line. “You already did.”

“Uh-oh,” Tony said.

Silence replaced the friendly banter at the bar. Kevin’s comrades in arms were sharks, waiting for blood they sensed was coming.

The bartender popped a cork and filled Nicole’s empty glass, taking his time. He stood still, also waiting.

Kevin felt heat rise up his neck and set his ears on fire. He had a better chance escaping a burning building alive than surviving the next thirty seconds.

He remembered. It was only a glance in the side mirror of the truck. A blonde woman standing in the street staring at the wreckage of her car. The wreckage he had caused.

“You don’t happen to own a small red car,” he said slowly. “Do you?”

“I do.” She sipped her wine, never taking her eyes off his.

“And...I almost hate to ask...but...is it missing a part? Maybe a door?”

“It is.”

The silence was how Kevin pictured people waiting tensely in the eye of a hurricane. Hunkered down, knowing the worst was coming, thinking perhaps they should have evacuated when they’d had the chance.

Where is that kitchen fire?

“I’d also like my mirror back,” she said, directing her words to Ethan. “So don’t bother to add it to your asinine tourist museum.”

She picked up her wine glass and returned to her table, only ten feet from the bar and easily within earshot. Close enough to make everyone uncomfortable.

Kevin sat on his bar stool like someone had soaked his pants in superglue. Even if she’d given him the chance to explain, what would he have said? Sorry, lady, but your car was in the way. Life over property.

But she had no use for him or his explanations. She’d made that clear.

* * *

JANE SMILED AND waved at the firefighters now silently holding on to their beer bottles as if they were lifelines.

She leaned forward and whispered to Nicole. “I think you ruined Testosterone Night.”

“I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight,” Nicole said quietly. “I know they’re your friends, but I just couldn’t sit here and listen to their bravado.”

“Don’t blame you a bit. They’ll live.” Jane grinned. “It’s good for them to get a reminder once in a while that not every female on earth finds them irresistible.”