Firecracker: A contemporary romance

by Kelly Jamieson

  She bumped him with her elbow. “Don’t mock me. It’s a nice childhood memory.”

  “Wasn’t mocking you, princess.”

  “Argh!”

  He laughed.

  When they got upstairs outside their apartments, he followed her into hers to unload her purchases. “I’ll just go put my stuff away, and then we can head out again.”

  “Here.” She thrust her arms out. “Don’t forget your flowers.”

  “No, those are for you.”

  She tilted her head and pursed her lips, looking like she was going to argue with him. She glanced at the flowers, then her mouth softened. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “Be right back.”

  He quickly put his own things away, then returned to her place. “Let’s shake it, babe. You have to work at four.”

  “We’re not going to spend two hours at Whole Foods!”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Much as I love food, and don’t even mind shopping for it, I can’t handle that much. In and out. Let’s rock and roll.”

  They ended up being at the store longer than he planned. Arden walked around with big, bright eyes, smiling and exclaiming over the olive bar, the baked goods, the huge selection of wines and produce and chocolate. “Oh God, I’ve missed shopping here.” She sighed, clutching a wedge of cloth-bound cheddar cheese. “I have to try this.”

  Again, she was careful in her purchases, and a lot of the things she bought were snacks and appetizers like she’d served the other night, as if she expected to feed people again. It seemed like she loved doing that.

  Usually, he was happy to buy what he needed and get out, but watching Arden drool over prepared salads and pizzas and unique crackers was enough to keep him entertained for hours. He ended up driving Arden to work since they’d run out of time, plus she’d done a lot of walking and would be on her feet all night.

  “I’ll pick you up when you get off,” he said as he pulled up in front of Shenanigans.

  She blew out a breath and turned to him. “No. You won’t. You work in the morning. And…and…”

  “What?”

  “Tyler.” She bit her lip and met his eyes. “I don’t…you’re…aw, shit.”

  “Spit it out, princess. What are you trying to say?”

  “I just…”

  Wow, she was really stumbling. He cocked his head and waited.

  “My husband died,” she said in a near whisper.

  His head jerked back. “I know.”

  “I’m not interested in…in anything…in dating…you know.”

  He kept his face neutral despite the feeling of being punched in the gut. But hadn’t he already thought that? Wasn’t he supposed to be taking things slow, showing her that they could be good together?

  Had he pushed too fucking hard today? It was the flowers. Had to be the flowers. “Okay.”

  But he wasn’t giving up that easy.

  “You don’t have to look after me all the time. You don’t have to drive me to work and pick me up. I’m a grown woman and I’m trying…I’m trying t-to…” She stalled out. “I have to do this on my own. It’s…important.”

  “Arden. I know you’re a grown woman. Believe me.” Oh hell. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say. “Okay, let me be frank here. I don’t like playing games. I’m attracted to you.”

  She stared back at him.

  “And I have the feeling it’s mutual.”

  She swallowed.

  “I get that you’re maybe not in a place to explore that right now. So I’m not gonna push it.” He held her gaze. “But I’m not giving up either.”

  Her eyes remained big and unblinking. Then she hopped out of his SUV and disappeared into the pub.

  Shit.

  Arden rushed into Shenanigans, her face hot, her hands shaking.

  What the hell was that?

  She couldn’t believe what Tyler had just said.

  I’m attracted to you.

  She hurried into the staff room where she stored her purse in a locker, and set her hands on her face. Okay, okay, it’s not like that was a huge shocker. Yes, she’d felt it too. But it was out of the question for them to act on it.

  She’d brought up the issue of Michael’s death, but that wasn’t really the problem. She’d fallen out of love with Michael before he’d died; he’d changed so much. Nonetheless, she had grieved his death, of course she had. She’d also grieved the loss of so many other things…the life she’d thought she had, the future she’d thought she would have, the friends she’d thought she had, her home. Not to mention the loss of her innocence. Maybe innocence wasn’t the right word for it…naiveté? She didn’t like to think she was stupid, but she’d certainly been blind to what had been going on.

  And that was the problem. She’d been an oblivious idiot. Michael may have not been a model husband, but as his wife and partner, she’d failed him. Never again would she risk doing that to someone else.

  It had been a long time since she’d had sex, and damn Tyler for making her feel that hot, achy knot of need low down inside her. For making her imagine his big naked body moving against her…inside her…his hands on her skin…gah.

  She sucked in a long breath and let it out, then straightened her shoulders. She was stronger than that. She could ignore those thoughts, those feelings. She could be around Tyler and remember the geeky, tongue-tied kid who’d hung out at their home. Not the sexy firefighter with big muscles who saved dogs and ran to find a little old lady’s lost wallet.

  She headed out to start her shift, focusing on the things she needed to remember…menu items, table sections, what was in the Irish Breakfast.

  “Liam hired another waitress,” Sorcha told her as they stood next to each other at a counter in the kitchen.

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  “Yeah. Maybe now I can have a day off.” Sorcha grimaced.

  “I guess you’ll need to train her.”

  “Yes.” She sighed and picked up a stack of menus. “Hopefully she catches on as quickly as you did.” She disappeared.

  Arden blinked. She’d caught on quickly? She still felt like a bumbling fool most of the time.

  Was there anything she could do to help Sorcha?

  As everything was quiet at the moment, she walked over to the bar where Liam was. “Hey, I heard the good news. When does the new waitress start?”

  “Not until next week.”

  “You know what would be good?”

  “What?”

  “A service manual.”

  “A what?”

  “A service manual. Some kind of guidelines in writing. Service goals, steps of service, performance expectations.”

  Liam gaped at her. “Well, sure and good, but where am I going to get something like that?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Sorcha is the one who knows the most—”

  “Hey. This is my place.”

  “I know.” She smiled at him. “You know a lot too, but she’s the one who trains new waitresses.”

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s so busy working and training new people, I’m sure she doesn’t have time to work on something like that. The thing is, if you had a service manual, it would make training new people so much easier for her. I can tell you, it would have helped me when I was starting.”

  “This would be your business degree coming out.”

  She laughed. “I guess so.”

  “I’ll consider it. Maybe you could help her?”

  “I don’t think I know enough.”

  “You’re a smart lass.”

  “Thanks. Well, I better check my tables.” She walked away, warmth spreading through her middle. Two compliments in one night! Maybe this job wasn’t so bad.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tyler arrived for his shift Sunday morning, early as always. After the morning briefing, he readied his bunker gear, then worked with the rest of the crew on maintenance things, stocking medications, checking the equipment on the
trucks—air masks, EMS kits—to ensure it was all operational before the shift got going.

  He was on rotation with dipshit Evan Crenshaw. He’d never liked the dude, who was one of those assholes who talked like he knew everything but really didn’t. Tyler’s low opinion of the guy had been reinforced on one of their first calls together when Tyler had first started at Engine 25 as a firefighter candidate. Crenshaw had a year of experience on him.

  They’d been called to a home in Ravenswood where a thirty-five-year-old man had had a seizure. They’d gotten his legs and waist strapped to the gurney when the dude had punched Crenshaw in the mouth. To Tyler’s horror, Crenshaw had punched him back, calling him a “fucking retard.”

  He still felt a knot in his gut every time he thought of that. He’d stopped Crenshaw from hitting the guy again, and later, after they’d left the man at the hospital, back at the station when they were alone, he’d laid into him about it, despite the other man’s seniority.

  “I was subduing him!” Crenshaw had said. “What the fuck, man, he punched me!”

  “He was having a seizure! I should report you for that.”

  “Try it.”

  And why hadn’t he? Crenshaw’s dad was the Chief of Battalion 5, and possibly next in line to be a deputy fire chief.

  The CFD was an insular organization, with many family members working there, sons and even daughters often following in their parents’ footsteps. Tyler hadn’t had any family or other connections; he’d worked his ass off to get where he was. And it pissed him off that Crenshaw got away with bullshit like that because of who his old man was.

  Even worse? They’d both taken the last lieutenant examination. They’d both passed, although Tyler knew he’d gotten a better score on the exam. But Crenshaw would likely get there first because of seniority, despite the fact that Tyler knew he was way fucking better at his job than Crenshaw was.

  This morning, Tyler and Crenshaw checked all the tools and equipment while Tyler’s buddy, engineer Tremon Jones, checked the truck/engine and Lieutenant Cliff Murkowsky checked the MDC—mobile data computer, the onboard laptop that linked to dispatch.

  He made himself act professional around Crenshaw, but man, the asshole made it a challenge sometimes. Like now…Crenshaw was hanging around paramedic Ronda Norris as she washed windows, one of the regular chores that had to be done. He wasn’t helping, he was just being a jerk, pointing out the window she’d just finished wasn’t clean. Crenshaw pressed his hand to it as if showing her, of course leaving a fucking smear on the glass.

  Ronda glared at him. “Jesus, Crenshaw, what the fuck?” She tossed her cleaning rag at him. “Here. You fucking clean it.”

  “Hey, hey.” Crenshaw caught the cloth. “What’s the matter? You on your period? You’re supposed to let us know when that is so we can be prepared.”

  Ronda gritted her teeth. “Fuck you.”

  “Shut up, Crenshaw.” Tyler walked up behind them. “Either help her or find something else to do.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Crenshaw glared at him.

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a douche.”

  Crenshaw stalked off.

  “Thank, Ty,” Ronda said quietly. “But I can handle him myself, you know.”

  “I know.” Taken aback, he set a hand on his chest. “I do know that. I was just trying to help.”

  She smiled wryly, shaking her head. “You always are.”

  Shit, wasn’t that a good thing?

  He headed to the kitchen, debating whether to cook pancakes for everyone, or make a run to Sabroso, a nearby Mexican restaurant that made fantastic breakfast burritos.

  He was the one who mostly did the cooking on his shifts. He remembered one of his instructors telling them that whoever did the cooking was the most popular crew member. He didn’t set out to be the most popular, but he liked food and liked finding ways to put it together, so he’d just kind of slipped into it. Which also meant he did the supermarket runs to pick up shit to cook.

  After inspecting the contents of the fridge and cupboards, breakfast burritos won out. A short time later, over soft tortillas wrapped around scrambled eggs, sausage, peppers, and cheese, they discussed plans for the day and what other chores needed to be done.

  He managed to get in a workout before they got called to a structure fire. Over the radio, they learned that cops were already on the scene and reported smoke coming from the garage of the home.

  There were about five cop cars parked on the street in front of the house. Tyler jumped off the truck as soon as the air brake was set and started toward the back of the property.

  “I don’t see any smoke,” Tremon stated.

  “Me neither.”

  “Pair of underwear burning in the garage,” one of the cops told them.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tyler shook his head and made his way into the cluttered garage. Sure enough, there was a pair of men’s underwear smoldering away. He glanced around, found a rake, and used it to lift the garment. He showed it to Captain Maxwell.

  “Great,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Use the thermal imager to make sure there’s nothing else burning in there.”

  Turned out that one of the cops had showed up at the house to arrest a parolee for not checking in. The dude had been in the garage and lit the tighty whities on fire in an attempt to get away. When he ran out of the garage, another cop had been there, waiting for him. So much for that great escape.

  That evening, Tyler made dinner, a big pot of chili, which he served with garlic cheese buns. His chili was one of his more popular menu offerings, and he made lots so they could stash it in the fridge, and the shift tomorrow could have some.

  As they sat around the scarred wooden table eating, Tremon said, “Holy shit, this is spicy chili.”

  “It’s not that spicy,” Tyler objected. He tasted another mouthful. Maybe a little more heat than usual.

  “Hot enough to set your underwear on fire,” Cliff said, and they all busted out laughing.

  Tyler went over to his mom’s place the next evening. She’d invited him for dinner, and he hadn’t been there for a while, plus he loved her roast beef. Despite the disappointment she never hid, he loved his mom and knew there would be things at the house that needed taken care of.

  He pulled up on the street in front of the red brick house in North Center where he’d grown up. The house was bigger than his mom needed now she was alone, but she refused to sell. It was a solid house, a decent neighborhood, and it was all paid for thanks to insurance on the mortgage, but it was too much for Mom to look after.

  “What’s new with you?” Mom asked as Tyler set the table and she filled a platter with slices of roast beef. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No.” He wanted to be. But he wasn’t going to tell Mom that.

  “I still miss Claire.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” Just another way he’d let Mom down. “It just wasn’t working for us.”

  “She was such a smart girl. She’s probably going to be a partner in that law firm she works at.”

  “I’m sure she is.”

  Claire was just the kind of woman his mom wanted for him—smart, together, with a high-powered career that was on track to make her lots of money and prestige. In fact, that was what Mom wanted for him.

  Mom set the platter of beef next to him and he loaded up his plate, snitching a piece to pop in his mouth. Then she brought out a bowl of mashed potatoes, along with a salad and a bowl of green beans—the kind with butter and almonds that Tyler loved—and some carrots.

  “This is a lot of food for two people, Mom.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I can never get it right.”

  They sat, Mom said a quick prayer, and they began passing the food back and forth, filling their plates.

  “You know, Rachel Bronstein just broke up with her fiancé,” Mom said, referring to the daughter of one of her friends.

  Tyler repressed a sigh. “I’m not intereste
d in Rachel, Mom.”

  “She’d be perfect for you!”

  He had to get the subject off his love life. Too bad Mom wasn’t interested in his job at all. “Remember Arden Lennox?”

  Shit, why had he brought up Arden? He cut a piece of roast beef with his knife and fork.

  “Yes…Jamie’s sister. Didn’t her husband die?”

  “Yeah. She just moved back to Chicago. She moved into the empty apartment in our building.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. How is she doing? What a sad thing, to be a widow so young.”

  “She’s doing okay. I think Jamie’s glad that she’s closer now so he can help out.”

  “Jamie’s a smart boy.”

  “Yep.”

  Mom admired Jamie and the success he’d made of his business. “Maybe Jamie can convince you to go back to college. Look how he’s done.”

  Tyler’s chest tightened. They’d had this discussion so many times. “I’m not going back to college. Not full-time anyway. I took some courses to help me do better on the lieutenant’s exam.”

  Mom had been happy he’d obtained top marks on the exam. “I just think you could be doing something better with your life. Something with more of a future.”

  “I want a future with the fire department, Mom. Everyone I work with is dedicated to this profession. Willing to risk our lives to help others.” He met her eyes.

  Her face tightened and she dropped her gaze. “I know.”

  “And like I said, I plan to move up. Also, I’m not into a nine-to-five kind of job. I like the flexibility.”

  She was never going to get it. She was never going to get that he wasn’t going to be the one to live up to her hopes and dreams, the hopes and dreams that had been shattered when her daughter had died.

  His parents had never blamed him for Tara’s death. Not overtly, anyway. But he’d felt the survivor guilt. The feeling that if he hadn’t been hanging out playing basketball after school, Tara wouldn’t have been walking home alone that day.

  They’d never really gotten over that, and he’d become the focus of their world. The one they pinned all their aspirations on. The one they’d pushed to do more, to do better, to get into a good college, to have a career and a beautiful, perfect girlfriend that he’d marry, and to give them beautiful, perfect grandchildren.