Carole Buck - Three-Alarm Love

“I really appreciate your driving me home, Fridge,” she said quietly

“My pleasure.” It was the same response—the same inflection—she’ d heard after she’d thanked him for dancing with her.

She took a long, deep breath, inhaling the soft, sweet fragrance of the night air. Atlanta had once again had a very early spring. There’d been pansies blooming at the beginning of February, trees budding in mid-March. It was now the second week of May, and Mother Nature was putting on a fullscale flower show. The beauty wasn’t entirely without cost, however. Keezia knew that emergency services had had dozens of 911 calls from people thinking they were having heart attacks when their problem was actually an allergic reaction to airborne pollen.

“I appreciate your calling your friend from the garage, too,” she added after a moment, slanting a glance up at Fridge. He was a very striking-looking man, with the legacy of his African forebears clearly imprinted on his face. She could picture him in the colorful robes of a tribal chieftain, exuding an authority based on moral strength as well as physical prowess.

You can trust him, something deep inside her suddenly whispered.

Keezia wanted to believe it. She wanted it with all her heart and soul. Her body wasn’t averse to taking the leap of faith, either. Not after the dance they’d shared. She could still feel a hint of sexual heat simmering in her bloodstream. It would take very little to bring that simmer to a full, rolling boil.

But wanting to believe wasn’t enough. Something deep inside her had once whispered that she could trust a man named Tyrell Babcock, and he’d nearly destroyed her. Until she could be absolutely sure...

Fridge smiled, his teeth bright against his dark brown skin. “Jamal’s one of the best mechanics I’ve ever met. I know some of the comments he made about your car weren’t very respectful, but he’ll have it up and running by the end of the week.”

They reached the front door of her building. Keezia eased herself out from under Fridge’s powerfully muscled arm and turned to face him. She nibbled on her lower lip, debating whether to raise the point that had been troubling her since she’d watched Jamal hook her pitiful car to his tow truck and haul it away.

“Jamal was a little hard to pin down when it came to getting an estimate of how much this repair job is going to cost me,” she finally remarked, selecting her words with great care.

“He’ll give you a good price, Keezia.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Well...actually...it probably was, given her limited financial resources. She certainly wasn’t looking to get overcharged or cheated by Fridge’s friend! But she wasn’t looking to be handed some kind of bogus bargain, either.

“It better not be too good,” she emphasized after a moment, staring directly up into her companion’s dark eyes. She needed him to understand that she was dead serious about this. “I heard what he said about owing you for delivering his son—”

“Simone did all the hard work,” Fridge interjected with a shrug. The bunch and release of his shoulder muscles was clearly visible beneath the fabric of his jacket. “I just caught Jamal Junior when he popped out.”

“Maybe so,” Keezia conceded, although she sincerely doubted it. While Jamal Senior hadn’t gone into detail, she’d gotten the impression that his son’s entrance into the world had been a very dicey matter She suspected the scenario had been one of those forget-trying-to-make-it-to-the-hospital-this-baby-ain’t-gonna-wait types of medical emergencies that every firefighter heard about during training and secretly prayed he or she would never have to face in the field. “The thing is, I saw those looks you and Jamal were giving each other. I don’t want him doing me any favors because of you.”

Fridge expelled a breath, his features tightening. “Because that’d make you feel like you owed me.”

She stiffened, uncertain how to interpret his tone. He’d sounded—what? Offended? No. Not exactly. He’d sounded closer to ..to... hurt.

The possibility that she’d bruised Ralph Randall’s feelings shook her. The man had been nothing but good to her from the day they’d met.

“Fridge—”

“It’s cool, baby,” he interrupted, his expression altering with breathtaking swiftness. He brushed the tip of one finger against her mouth. Her heart somersaulted at the feather-light caress. “Forget what I just said ”

“But—”

“It’s cool, baby,” he repeated firmly. “I heard what you were tryin’ to tell me. I’ll explain the way things have to be with Jamal. He’ll understand. ’Course, he’ll probably end up chargin’ you double for parts and labor just to make sure you don’t think he and I are conspirin’ to do you a friendly turn—but, hey. Sometimes that’s how life works out.”

Keezia gaped. Was he serious? Was he actually threatening to have his friend stick her with an outrageous bill if she didn’t let him cut her a sweetheart deal?

Then she saw caught a wicked glint of humor in Fridge’s eyes and realized he was getting a little bit of his own back. Profoundly relieved, she started to laugh. Her companion quickly joined in.

“Would you like to come up for a few minutes?” she found herself asking as their mutual merriment finally petered out. It wasn’t an invitation she’d intended to issue. But now that she had...

“To your apartment?”

She nodded, wondering at the wariness she thought she heard in his voice. “I could, uh, fix you a quick cup of coffee before you head home.”

Fridge regarded her silently for several seconds, his dark eyes searching deep into her topaz ones. “You don’t have to, Keezia,” he said at last.

It was the perfect opening for a retreat from her impulsive invitation. For reasons she was nowhere near being prepared to articulate, Keezia didn’t even contemplate the possibility of taking it.

“I know,” she said evenly, sustaining Fridge’s penetrating gaze. After a moment, she returned to him the words he’d given her earlier when she’d tried to brush aside his offer of an escort out to her car. “But I want to.”

There were lots of reasons Fridge accepted Keezia’s obviously unplanned invitation. Not the least of them was her coffee. He knew from experience that the brew she served was strong, black and sweet—just the way he liked it.

“Hard to believe this is the same place Jackson and I moved you into last month,” he commented, glancing around approvingly. They were sitting in the living room of her one-bedroom apartment in Virginia Highlands. He was ensconced on a comfortable, pillow-strewn sofa. She had kicked off her shoes and was curled up in an armchair angled off to his right. The earthenware mug that had held his coffee sat on a small, tile-topped table in front of him. Keezia’s cat, a marmalade-colored feline named Shabazz, was sprawled across his upper thighs, purring contentedly.

“It’s coming along,” Keezia agreed. Although her words were modest, they were laced with pride. “I got those—” she nodded toward a collection of shallow baskets hung on the cream-colored wall opposite her “—the other day at that gallery across from the High Museum. Handmade in Zimbabwe and marked down 50 percent.”

“Impressive,” Fridge said with a chuckle, scratching lightly beneath Shabazz’s chin. He’d known the cat almost as long as he’d known Keezia. She’d rescued Shabazz’s very pregnant mama from a tree during her first week as a probie, succeeding at the task after several veteran firefighters had failed. A month or so after this episode, the mama cat’s owners had turned up at her station house with a boxful of mewing kittens. After being assured by her captain that the prohibition against firefighters accepting gratuities did not apply to things like home-baked cookies or helpless, homeless little animals, Keezia had happily taken her pick from the litter.