“Just drink it,” she encourages, waving a hand in front of me. “It’ll calm your nerves and all that.”
Knowing I’m a jittery mess, I take the bottle and bring it to my lips. The alcohol slides down my throat easily and two sips later the bottle is empty.
“It tastes like vanilla extract,” I comment, licking my lips.
“It’s vanilla vodka,” she points out as she takes another tiny bottle from her bag. “Here shove this in your purse in case you get cold feet.”
Declining her offer, I shake my head. “He’s going to think I’m crazy,” I mutter, spinning around to meet my reflection in the mirror again.
“You open the door wearing a prom dress he’s going to think your certifiable,” Amber asserts as I hold the dress out in front of me.
“It’s not a prom dress,” I argue, pressing the fabric to my form.
“Look,” she starts, tossing my clothes onto the floor as she takes a seat on the foot of the bed. “I think you need a little sisterly pep talk.”
“What I need to do is call Jimmy and cancel,” I amend, tossing the dress on top of the pile of the clothes. Releasing an exasperated breath, I run my fingers through my hair and meet Amber’s scrutiny. “This is a mistake. I’m not ready—”
“You’re one hundred percent ready,” she interjects. “You’re nervous which is understandable. I for one am just happy it still works,” she notes, pointing a finger below my waist. “It’s good to know she still has a pulse. Yes, in case I wasn’t clear enough, I am absolutely talking about your vagina.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her mouth yet there are times I question how we’re related. Surely, the hospital made a mistake somewhere. I bet my real sister is off living a quiet life in the mountains and is relatively shy.
“You’re impossible.”
“I bet she’s saying the same thing about you.”
“Stop talking about my vagina,” I order, moving toward the dresser. “It’s weird.”
“Fine, I’ll stop,” she says, rising to her feet. “But, you have to promise me to give him a shot. I’m not telling you to marry the guy. Hell, I’m not even asking you to see him again. However, if there’s an opportunity to have an orgasm, one that isn’t self-induced, then you need to do jump on it. Literally, jump on it.”
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I barely know him.”
“Perfect!”
I’m about to ask her when she became this promiscuous when my phone chimes alerting me of a text message. Of course, Amber reaches for it before I have a chance to and she takes it upon herself to read it. She doesn’t read it out loud and before I can snatch it out of her hands, I watch in horror as her fingers move across the screen.
“What are you doing!?”
“Relax,” she orders, raising the phone high above her head and out of my reach. “Your fireman is waiting outside.” Once she’s satisfied with whatever it is she’s done, she grins and hands me back my phone.
“What did you do?”
“I changed his name in your phone.”
Glancing down at the screen, I swipe my thumb across it and bring up his last text message.
“You changed his name to Jimmy the hose Casale?”
“You’re welcome,” she says, spinning around to face the door. “Now, go. Me and my godson have some serious bonding to do.”
Once she leaves the bedroom, I give myself another once over in the mirror. The nerves aren’t the only thing eating away at me. I can’t help but feel guilty and my gaze wanders toward my nightstand, to the photograph of Chris and I.
“Don’t be mad at me,” I whisper softly.
There is so much I can say. So much I thought I wanted to say. I could tell him I never asked for this. That I don’t want to date and that it’s him I’ll always love but, I leave it alone. I leave Chris’ photograph behind and reach for my purse. One foot moves in front of the other and I take the first steps needed to move on with my life.
Before I make my way out the door, I lift our son into my arms and kiss him soundly. The best part of Chris lives on and it lives on in the eyes of this perfect little boy. The thought that once brought me such sadness, now is a form of comfort. It gives me peace and allows me the courage I need to walk out the door.
To walk straight to Jimmy.
Leaning against the passenger door, he lifts his head and stares at me. A smile spreads across his lips, causing the lines in the corners of his eyes to deepen. The five o’clock shadow he normally wears is gone and I can’t decide which version of the man I find more attractive, the clean shaved gentleman or the rugged hero.
He pushes off the truck and advances to me, closing the distance between us. The few times I’ve seen Jimmy he’s either been in bunker gear or dressed casually. I wasn’t prepared for the black tapered slacks or the blue button-down shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, displaying his corded forearms.
Nor was I prepared for the dormant butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
“You look beautiful,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes sweep over me thoroughly, burning me through my clothes and I force a smile.
“Thank you,” I murmur, tipping my chin. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”
The smile on his lips spreads wider, and he opens the door for me. Climbing into the truck, I silently thank God, I didn’t go with the dress. Once I’m seated, he closes the door and makes his way around the front of the car to the driver side. I fight not to stare at him, keeping my eyes trained out the window.
“I hope you like Italian,” he says, peeling away from the curb.
“Sure,” I reply.
“Your sister was watching from the window,” he says once we’re on the highway. “She’s a trip that one.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to describe her,” I agree, stealing a glance out the corner of my eye. With one hand on the steering wheel, the other, the one closer to me rests on his knee. Sensing my stare, he turns his attention.
“Just dinner,” he murmurs. “No need to be nervous.”
“I’m not,” I lie. “Do I look nervous?”
“You look like you want to jump out of the car,” he says with a smile. “I don’t bite, Melissa.”
The sound of my name paired with the sincerity in his eyes makes me relax and I lean against the leather seat.
“Unless of course you give me the green light,” he teases, as my eyes snap back to him. He winks and those butterflies jump inside of me again. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” he adds.
“Shame on you,” I say, smacking his arm playfully.
Big mistake.
His arm is like a boulder and instantly I envision what it might feel like to have both of them wrapped around me. The sound of his laughter brings me back to reality and I decide to change the subject.
“Does Gabriela know you’re with me?”
“She does,” he admits, tearing his attention away from the road. “Is that problem?”
I think about it. Ideally it would be best if she didn’t. The last thing I need is for everyone at work to know I’m dating my student’s father. They already talk enough behind my back, pitying me and my situation. On the other hand, it’s just dinner. One night. One meal.
‘”No, it’s not,” I say, deciding it’s innocent enough.
“She was happy,” he adds. “In fact, she chose the restaurant.”
The rest of the ride is relatively quiet until he pulls up to the restaurant. Getting out first, he hands his keys to the valet attendant and opens the door for me. Taking my hand, he guides me into the dimly lit restaurant where the hostess takes us to a candlelit table in the corner. I go to sit but, he stops me.
“A man should never have his back to the room and a woman shouldn’t face the door,” he explains, pulling out the chair in which he wants me to sit.
“Why is that?” I ask curiously. Taking my seat, he slides the cha
ir closer to the table before making his way across from me.
“A man should always be made aware of his surroundings when he’s with a woman. That way he can keep her safe should anything unexpected occur,” he replies, taking the menu from the hostess.
“Spoken like a true hero,” I tease.
The waiter comes to the table reciting the specials and takes our drink order. Jimmy orders a bottle of wine for the table. With our glasses full we mull over the menu. Once we decide, I reach for my wine and realize I’m not nervous anymore. The conversation starts to flow freely as we get to know one another.
“So, I’m going to ask you the million-dollar question,” I begin, watching the dimples in his cheeks as he butters a piece of bread.
“Have at it,” he says, placing the bread on my dish before reaching for another.
“What made you become a fireman?”
Lifting his head, he smiles.
“My mother made me take a bunch of city tests when I graduated high school. At the time, I had no idea what I wanted to do and took on some construction jobs. I met Lisa, we got married and two months later she was pregnant with our first daughter. Odd jobs here and there weren’t going to cut it anymore, and I enlisted in the navy. I did three before I came back home,” he says, taking a bite of bread.
When did watching a man chew become sexy?
“For a while I worked with my uncle and then the fire department called. With one daughter and another on the way I was eager to start my career. By the time I graduated the academy Lisa was seven months along.”
“Was she supportive?” I ask, recalling their argument in my office and her blatant disgust for Jimmy’s job.
“In the beginning Lisa was the epitome of the perfect wife. Not only was she supportive, but she was understanding of the job, the sacrifice and the brotherhood.”
“So, what happened?” I question curiously as I lift my wine glass to my lips. Jimmy leans back against his chair and seems to contemplate his answer. It’s almost as if he’s replaying the story of him and Lisa in his head trying to pinpoint the exact moment their love grew stale.
“A few years on the job and it started to take its toll. On me, her and our marriage. She went from laying my boots by the door to never asking how my tours were. I’d come home after not being able to save someone and I’d try to talk about it with her but, she shut me down. Her famous line was, you can’t save everyone. I should’ve read between the lines. I should’ve listened closely when she told me not to get bent out of shape because I couldn’t get to the old lady trapped in her bedroom or the little boy who was hiding in a closet,” he continues, releasing a sigh. “I became to absorbed in losing people I didn’t know to realize I barely recognized the woman I married or that I was losing her.”
“I suppose it isn’t easy being married to a first responder. Always worrying if they’ll come home or if they’ll lay it all on the line,” I say thoughtfully, pausing to study him. “Though in hind sight it seems like a miniscule hardship compared to what the man sent to rescue people in dire situations must feel. I mean you’re the guy people call when they’re in danger. As citizens we don’t think about your life or your family when we’re dialing 9-1-1. We just expect you to show up and make it better. No one thinks about the man beneath the uniform and if they do it’s not until he’s already done his job. Until he’s already risked his life to save yours.”
The heavy weight of my words drags me down and I think back to the heroic stranger who saved Chris so many years ago. So much time had already passed before we met and yet, anytime he talked about it there was so much appreciation in his eyes. It made me sad to think I never got the chance to meet him and thank him myself. I can’t imagine how different my life would be if that fireman hadn’t saved Chris that September day. I may have lost the man I loved, but I still had him for a little while. I still experienced a beautiful love and was able to give life to an amazing little boy.
“I think we’ve talked enough about me,” Jimmy says, pulling me away from my thoughts. Startled I turn my attention back to him and watch as he reaches across the table for my hands.
“Tell me about you,” he murmurs.
My eyes divert to our joined hands and I watch in fascination as he intertwines his fingers with mine. Immediately my mind wanders back to the first time Chris held my hands in his. I remember thinking there wasn’t another pair of hands on this earth better fitted for mine yet here I am staring at the colorful inked hand and it fits perfectly with mine.
It’s too much.
The easy flow of the conversation.
The interest in getting to know a man.
The hands.
His.
Mine.
Ours.
It’s too much.
Quickly, I snatch my hands away and push my chair back.
“Excuse me,” I say, rising to my full height. Bending down, I grab my purse and steal a quick glance at Jimmy. “I have to use the ladies room,” I lie already detecting the disappointment in his brown eyes.
Once inside the bathroom, I lean against the door and close my eyes. My time with Jimmy flashes before me like a movie reel. The way his eyes burned into me when I walked out of the house, the quiet car ride here, the sweet way he held out my chair and filled my empty glass. All he shared with me and the twinkle in his eyes as he leaned forward asking me to give him pieces of myself. If Chris wasn’t on my mind, I would’ve likely continued the conversation. I would’ve told Jimmy anything he wanted to know… the good, the bad and everything in between.
Pushing off the door, I make my way to the sink. There is a blush to my cheeks and the lipstick I was wearing earlier is gone probably staining the glass I was drinking out of. My hair is as perfect as it was when I left the house. To the naked eye, I look like a normal woman on a date with a man.
I’m not broken, bent or expired.
I’m alive.
There is a pulse beating inside of me.
At that thought, I’m reminded of my sister and her antics. If she was here she’d tell me to put on my big girl panties and go back out there. Or she would slap me. It really could go either way. With a sigh I dig through my purse for my lipstick and decide I owe it to both Jimmy and myself to get back to our dinner. However, instead of a tube of lipstick, I find two tiny bottles of vodka identical to the one Amber gave me before I left the house.
It helped calm my nerves before and they are really tiny.
Like a shot.
I can totally handle two shots.
Then I can handle Jimmy.
Er—maybe handle is the wrong word.
Unscrewing the top of the first bottle I knock it back in one gulp. It goes down just as smooth as it did before.
Thank God for vanilla extract!
After the second bottle is empty, I throw both back in my purse and reapply a fresh coat of lipstick. Smacking my lips together, I smooth down my shirt and flip my hair over my shoulders. The alcohol warms me and I plant a smile on my face as I make my way back to Jimmy. Reaching the table, my heel catches on something and I go down…
I’d like to say it’s a graceful descent but, my mother didn’t raise a liar.
A lightweight who can’t walk in heels? Well, that’s another story. My mama broke that mold when she made me.
Like a lead in a bad romantic comedy, I fall right into Jimmy’s lap. We bump heads and he steadies me by wrapping one of his arms around my waist.
“Are you okay?”
Mortified, I blink and meet his concerned gaze. In an attempt to pull myself from his lap, I grab a hold of his arm.
“I’m fine,” I croak, squeezing his arm. “There must be something wrong with the floor.”
His lips quirk slightly.
“Must be.”
“You work out a lot, huh?” I ask, sounding like a total fool. For extra emphasis, I squeeze his bicep again because… well, it’s a lovely piece of a muscle and let’s be serious, I don’t remembe
r the last time I squeezed anything other than an eggplant.
“A little,” he replies modestly.
Helping me to my feet, he glances down at my shoes and the unruly floor.
“Let me help you back to your chair,” he offers. Quickly, I wave a hand dismissing him and make my way back to my seat, sashaying my hips ever so subtly.
Amber would be so proud of me.
Once my ass is planted safely in the chair, I take the full glass of wine and bring it to my lips. Jimmy raises an eyebrow as he smiles back at me.
He really has a great smile.
Aside from his arms, it might be my favorite part of Mr. Fireman.
“So, tell me, have you taken part in one of those sexy firemen calendars?” The moment the question escapes my lips, I slap my palm to my forehead. “Forget I asked that. I bet you get that all the time.”
Jimmy laughs and for some reason that encourages me to make more of a fool of myself.
“I’m also willing to bet you’ve had your fair share of woman. I mean a fireman walks down the street, and it’s like Moses parted the sea. The only difference is, women of all ages throw their panties at him,” I pause, taking another sip of wine. “Occupational hazard I suppose.”
“You didn’t throw your panties at me,” he points out. “Want to give it another shot? I’ll walk out, come back in and we can test your theory.”
“Ha! You got the wrong Moscato sister,” I reply, snorting a little. “Now, if you were out to dinner with Amber, she would be all over that. She loves firemen. She’s not a slut or anything like that but, my sister is definitely more promiscuous than me. Not that I’m promiscuous at all. You have to have sex to be promiscuous and I don’t remember the last time I’ve done that.”
“That long, huh?”
“Jesus,” I groan, fanning myself. “Let’s just say, my hymen may have grown back.”
Jimmy covers his mouth as he chokes on his wine and my eyes bulge.
“Oh, please don’t die,” I tell him. “I have no idea how to save a life. I flushed my son’s fish down the toilet last week because I forgot to feed it.”
It’s not funny but suddenly I start giggling like a hyena.
“Besides,” I start, struggling to get the words out through the laughter. “You’re 9-1-1.”
Burn Me Anthology Page 10
