Amie Denman - In Love With The Firefighter

“Since you weren’t making that easy for him, you should have asked him to let you drive his truck while your car’s in the shop,” Jane commented, grinning. “Would have been fun to see what he said.”

“It’s probably a stick shift,” Nicole said, disgust in her voice. “I never learned to drive one of those. He seems like the kind of man who would drive a standard. It’s all about the ego. And why should I have made that easy for him anyway?”

Jane shrugged. “Coming in here was a nice gesture. He wanted to explain himself.”

“He probably just felt guilty and wanted to make himself feel better,” Nicole huffed. She kicked the trash can for emphasis.

“You need lunch,” Jane said. “Go back and sit down, take your time.”

“I’m fine.”

Jane leaned one elbow on the glass counter. “If a garbage truck had taken out your car, would you feel better about it?”

“No.”

Jane nodded. “So if a sanitation worker came in here in his uniform exuding sweetness and vulnerability, and he told you a sad story about swerving the trash truck to miss a kitten and how sorry he was he’d knocked your car silly, you’d give him the cold shoulder.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Nicole said, a small grin turning up the corners of her mouth.

“But you see my point.”

Nicole sighed. “I hate the fire department.”

Jane gave her a hug. “I know. And you have a right. But you have to admit fire trucks are sexier than garbage trucks.”

“Everything is sexier than a garbage truck.” Her shoulders sagged and Nicole felt like crying. “I just thought I would get away and start over. And bam. First thing that happens is I get knocked on my butt by the same guys who took Adam from us.”

Jane held her friend by the shoulders. “Not the same guys. Different place. Different situation.”

Nicole bit her lip and focused on breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth.

“I know you,” Jane said. “When life knocks you down, you get up and dust yourself off.”

Nicole swallowed. “I’ll have some lunch and then get to work,” she said.

* * *

“UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, HUH, ARNOLD?” Kevin said, scratching his dog’s head between shifting gears on his aging F-150. “That’s what everyone says dogs are good for.”

Arnold scooted over and surrendered to the temptation of the open truck window, sticking his nose out.

“Fine,” Kevin said.

Arnold sneezed and the wind blew snot back into the truck.

“Maybe I should take you to live at the station. You could be the mascot.”

Kevin drove to the house he was currently painting on his days off from the station. An irregular schedule of twenty-four on, then thirty-six or twelve on gave him time to work in the sunshine on outside projects. Even if it meant sacrificing sleep.

Charlie Zimmerman stood in the driveway, holding a hammer. He walked up to Kevin’s open window as soon as the truck stopped.

“Just got the for-sale sign put up,” he said. “The house looks lousy now, but once you get it painted it’ll sell fast. Especially with summer coming up.”

The house was constructed exactly like the others on the street. Originally beach rentals, they were all one-story, wood-sided, with single-car garages and tiny front yards. Some of the houses had acquired character over the years with brightly painted walls, redesigned front entrances, creative landscaping. This house was like a wallflower cousin asked to the prom out of obligation. It needed color and life.

“Decide on the paint?” Kevin asked.

Charlie nodded. “Come see.”

Kevin got out, walked around the truck, and opened the passenger door for Arnold. He lifted the beagle down.

“He doesn’t get any better looking with age,” Charlie said.

“Neither do you.”

“So,” Charlie continued, ignoring the insult, “the homeowner thought white was the best choice because it’s a standard and it wouldn’t scare off any potential buyers. My office thought color would make this place pop. At least that’s what the ladies said. So we compromised.”

“How?” Kevin asked.

“White with green shutters.”

Charlie showed Kevin the buckets of paint stored in the garage, a swipe of color on each lid identifying the contents. The spring green shutter paint was a perfect match for Nicole’s eyes. Not that she liked what she saw out of those eyes, at least not when she was looking at him.

He’d blown it. He just didn’t know how, aside from the obvious business of wrecking her car.

“While you’re here, I wondered if you’d want to think about a little business venture with me. You’re a good painter and pretty handy with other stuff. And I’ve got the inside track on Cape Pursuit real estate.”

“No, I don’t want to buy and flip houses with you,” Kevin said, his tone implying they’d talked about this before.

“You’d make some dough.”

“I have enough money. And I’m taking classes this fall to get my fire science degree. So thanks, but no.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

Kevin unloaded a wooden ladder from the bed of his truck and set it next to the paint cans in the garage. He planned to go home and get a few hours’ sleep while the sun was hot and then come back in the evening and start in. The house was already pressure washed, the loose paint scraped off. Covering ugly wood with fresh paint was one of Kevin’s favorite things. It was just as satisfying as dousing a fire, but the paint lasted longer.

He’d been painting houses in Cape Pursuit since he was a teenager, and he remembered them all, always noticing them when he drove by and evaluating how well their paint was sticking.

“I thought I might see about getting Jane’s friend a place to rent,” Charlie said, helping unload painting supplies from the truck bed. Drop cloths, brushes, a bucket of paint thinner. “The blonde.”

Kevin felt heat under his collar. It was hot in the garage, but that wasn’t the only reason. “Did Jane mention how long her friend is staying?”

“Nicole,” Charlie said. “Jane implied Nicole was here to stay. Permanently. Making a big move of some kind.”

“Good for her. Nice place to live,” Kevin commented.

“That all you have to say?”

“At the moment.”

“She gave you a hard time at the restaurant. And nobody’s seen the mirror that was supposed to go on the wall at the station.”

“I think we should leave her alone. She’s new in town. She’s Jane’s best friend. Maybe she’s off-limits,” Kevin said. “Like Jane is,” he added, waiting for a reaction from Charlie. Everyone knew Charlie protected Jane as if she were a little sister.

Arnold bumped into a table in the crowded garage and knocked over a stepladder leaning on it. The ladder clattered to the floor and Arnold stared at it for a moment before lying down and putting his face on his paws.

“He’s going blind,” Kevin said. “It’s worse when he’s tired. We’re headed home for some sleep, but I’ll be back this evening to start in. If I get a coat of primer on before the sun goes down, I can start putting paint on tomorrow.”

“Make fun of me if you want, but this place will make me a pile of cash. Think about it, Kevin. You can only fight fires for so long, and the real estate business is a great fallback plan.”

Kevin shrugged. “Fighting fires is in my blood. If I ever get too old to do it, I’ll hang around the station and bore the young guys with stories about how we used to do things back in my day.” He grinned and scratched Arnold’s ears while he talked. “Maybe they’ll let me toss my walker in the back of the truck and drive them to the fires.”