She put the battery back in and pressed the reset button. “One down.” Jeannie let out the breath she held and started unpacking the other seven devices and their respective nine-volt batteries. They needed to be changed every six months according to the detector manual, but she was planning on changing them every three months, just to be safe.
A knock at the window revealed Chad Owens, holding an aerosol can and pretending to plug his ears. It was the closest thing to humor she’d ever seen from him. Despite his rare near-smile, it felt odd to see him again so soon after her…episode…at the firehouse. He’d seen something too private in her panic. The imbalance that she knew next to nothing about him only made it worse. Stumped for what else to do she pulled the “door” open and asked sheepishly, “So you can hear it over there?”
He didn’t answer. Well, of course he heard it over there. He certainly wasn’t here to buy candy or see Nicky.
“Look, I…” Not only couldn’t she begin to explain why she’d bought all these, she didn’t in the least want to defend the purchase. Not to him, anyway.
Chad, however, didn’t seem to be here to lecture. As a matter of fact, the look on his face was almost warm. Understanding? From Chad Owens? She didn’t know what to do with that, especially on top of how nice he’d been to her this week. The whole thing made her wildly uncomfortable and not a little embarrassed.
He managed a wobbly smile and pointed to the can labeled Canned Smoke. “In case you were wondering, just pressing the button isn’t an effective test. Even a match won’t do it. You need actual smoke.”
“Well, that’s a relief because I hate matches.” Jeannie hadn’t planned on admitting to the fire marshal that the sight of even a lit match made her nervous. Then again, she’d already gone way past nervous in front of him, hadn’t she?
It was as if the green of his eyes cast a whole new color she’d never noticed before. “You know you don’t need so many of these. You must know that.” His voice was soft and careful, almost pained.
“I know that. Well, part of me does.”
“That part doesn’t always win, does it?” It was as if he somehow knew the wild impulse that had driven her to the hardware store, and didn’t think it so crazy. “Technically, you don’t even need one. The building will have a hardwired system and sprinklers.” He held her gaze, and the room seemed to shrink close around them. “You saw the plans, you know that, too.”
Yes, the logical side of her knew better, but fear wasn’t about logic, and her panic in front of the firehouse had blindsided her with a force she hadn’t felt since the fire. “I had to do something. Even if it was silly.”
“The hardwired ones won’t be installed for two weeks yet. You won’t have your occupancy permit for some time. Wouldn’t it be easier to just stay out of the building until the fire detection system is in?”
“I can’t. I need to be in here now.” Jeannie pointed toward the detectors, unable to break the lock of Chad’s gaze. “This was the only thing that came to mind.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was immediate, and she needed immediate. Immediately.
“You can’t live in here without the occupancy permit. You can’t really work here, either.”
“I know that, too. I just need to be in here as much as I can.”
An amused understanding played across his features. He gave her the first true smile she’d seen from him. A kind, you-know-better smile, the sort she’d give Nicky if she caught him doing his homework with the television on. After a long moment, he put the can down on the table. She must have done a poor job of hiding her relief, for he shook his head gently and began taking the next detector out of its packaging. “I put four in my mother’s house one year.”
How could he make fun of her like that? “I suppose you’ll tell me it was after a devastating fire,” she blurted out, agitated from feeling so exposed. “The one that drove you into a career in fire prevention or something like that?”
Where had that come from? Why had she burst out with something so flippant? Chad’s body changed instantly, every ounce of warmth disappearing in a flash. He stilled for a bristling second, and she thought he’d surely pick up the can and leave. Instead, after a sigh, Chad continued opening another package with angry precision.
“I’m sorry,” she groaned, filled with sharp regret at her outburst. She hadn’t realized how the week’s tension had worn her thin. Nicky was such a bundle of lay-off-me attitude when he came to meet her here yesterday that she’d nearly thrust him across the street to Plug rather than go home and be trapped in that tiny apartment with him. Still, nothing excused her behavior just now. “That was way out of line, Chad. Really. Forgive me.”
Without looking up at her, he snapped a battery into its place in the device. “Actually, you hit it pretty close. You’re not the first person to clean out the smoke detector aisle after a fire.” He flicked his eyes up, and the pained understanding Jeannie saw there planted a lump in her throat. “Just the most…enthusiastic.”
She sank down onto one of the store’s big windowsills—the ones that would eventually overflow with sunny yellow cushions. “What happened?”
He continued working a second detector out of its packaging, and was on the third when he finally said, “It was a long time ago. Where I used to live, in Indiana.”
She started to ask another question, but something told her to just stay silent. The size and quiet of the room seemed to soothe him as much as it soothed her. His hesitation told her this wasn’t a story he told often, if ever.
“She loved leaves,” he began, his eyes falling closed for a moment as if blocking out the pain. “She was a botanist for the parks department, and she was forever bringing dried leaves and foliage into her house.”
“Who?” Jeannie asked as quietly as she could, even though it was written all over his face.
His hands stilled and Jeannie could watch him dredge the answer up out of somewhere deep in his chest. His throat worked, his shoulders tensed even as his hands rested on the box. “My fiancée.”
The weight of those two words sucked the air right out of the room. He remained motionless for the longest of moments, and Jeannie wasn’t sure if the two words had actually echoed through the empty building, or it had just felt as if they did. My husband, Jeannie said to herself, thinking of Henry. The other half of me, the person at the center of my world. Jeannie knew the massive quality of that loss. The sorrow behind those two words made it easy to see why Chad was such a quiet man. She stared at him, aching, but he did not look up. He swallowed hard, and she saw his fingers flex briefly into fists before he reached across the table for a battery and snapped it into place.
“I’m so sorry.” The reply felt weak and useless. “I’m…” There was no point in trying to find adequate words. She, of all people, knew there weren’t any.
Chad looked up at her, and it was as if the dusty air swirled around their combined grief. She’d known him for two years, but could never see him the same way again, knowing what she knew now. What she’d mistaken for distance was really that “constant sorrow,” the songs spoke of, the sharp press of grief she knew all too well. His pain was plain as day to her now. How had she not seen it before?
All her annoyance with him at this meeting or that, cautioning a committee about potential danger, and his reputation as “a bit of a sourpuss,” as Abby put it—it seemed so petty in light of what she’d just heard. She knew, just by the way he forced the words out, that he’d told almost no one. Jeannie was familiar with that impulse, too. Half of her wanted to tell the whole world when Henry had died, to make the whole world pay attention and mourn with her, but another half of her wanted to run someplace where no one knew. Where she could pretend to be normal and whole and enjoy the lie.
He swiped his gaze away, sensing the exposure she felt so keenly, but his eyes were drawn back to the huge connection they unwillingly shared. Jeannie felt her pulse pound in her ears, felt the air scrape hard into her lungs.
How had she ever thought him ordinary before?
“Nine years,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t yet asked. She heard the near decade of loneliness scorch the edges of his voice and burn in her own chest as well.
Chad kept his attention on the last box, eventually snapping the final battery into place and then lining all the smoke detectors up on the table. “I can test these for you, but I don’t think that will really solve your problem.”
“Why?”
“Because its not really smoke you’re afraid of.” He pulled a book of matches out of his pocket and Jeannie fought the urge to flinch.
“I remember hating the minister for even lighting a candle at my fiancée’s memorial service.”
Her throat worked in a gulp. “Why use matches? You said you didn’t need them to test the smoke detectors.”
“I don’t,” he said gently, “but you need them to test yourself. Jeannie, you need to get over this. You need to light a match.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh, no, I’m not!” Jeannie blurted out her refusal, even though she was embarrassed Chad guessed her fear of flame. Did he have to strike such a nerve?
“Don’t feel bad—I’ve seen sillier reactions on much more serious people. I can help. And I won’t tell anyone.”
Why would Chad Owens do something like this for her? Jeannie couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. She just tried to think of a way out of this as Chad calmly put the matches on the table in front of her. Before she could come up with any refusal that didn’t sound just plain chicken, he picked up the first detector and popped the top off the can. Jeannie clutched the windowsill. It’s worth a try. He sprayed the substance into the detector, letting the alarm’s screech fill the hollow space for a few seconds before he hit the device’s reset button. “This one works.”
“Yep.” Jeannie gulped the single syllable out, still clutching the windowsill.
“And you’re still here, still in one piece.”
“Sort of.” She tried to smile but it clearly didn’t fool him. She really didn’t want to start lighting matches with anyone, much less Chad Owens.
“So,” he said in a voice that sounded too much like he knew what she was thinking, “step one is that you come over and just hold the box of matches while I test the next detector.”
Jeannie’s fear suddenly combined with a keen awareness of the space between them. “Do I have to?” She bit her lip. He picked the worst time to smile. “I do, don’t I?”
“I’m a professional.” He held out the box.
Slowly, carefully, cheering herself on again as she did while crossing the street, Jeannie rose and came around to his side of the table. Now she was aware of every inch between them. She couldn’t hide her flinch when she took the box from him. “Nothing but hold it. That’s all for this one.”
He sprayed the can in front of the detector, which went off just as the first one did. The loud sound was oddly relieving, as if it startled the tension out of the room. “See? One step at a time. Next detector, I’ll light the match you hand me.”
Jeannie shook, but she did it. With every detector and its accompanying match task, her pulse came down. With the next detector, Chad had her blow out the lit match, and she surprised herself by laughing.
Jeannie felt her pulse go back up for entirely different reasons when Chad put down the can and said, “Come here and hold the box with me.” They’d have to touch to hold the small box at the same time. His hands were big and warm, next to her pale hands that actually shook so much he had to place his hand on top of hers to keep the box steady.
“You can do this,” he said in a tender voice. “You need to do this.” He struck the match, and Jeannie realized her flinch wasn’t nearly as powerful as before.
“That wasn’t so bad,” she offered, even though her voice wobbled. “On to the next one.”
“Okay, but now we’re in the big leagues. I’ll help.” He tested the next detector without his eyes ever leaving hers. He’d managed to take this horrible hurdle and turn it into a game, a duel of dares that made her heart thump in her ears. As if helping her to strike that match was the most important thing he could do.
Once the detector silenced, Chad came around behind her, and Jeannie reeled with the knowledge of how close they were to each other. His arms reached easily around her small frame. His hand lingered the slightest bit on hers as he helped her hold the box and one match. “One, two…”
“Three.” She thrust the matchstick against the box. It popped out of both their hands to land unlit on the floor. They nearly bumped shoulders as they both bent to retrieve it, and for a second he was so close she could smell the slight spice of the soap he used. It struck her as clean and charismatic; memorable but nothing fancy. “Another try,” she said, looking up at him. When was the last time she felt anything this close to butterflies in her stomach? She’d had years of fear knotting her chest, but this was altogether different—a long-forgotten sensation now awake and stirring.
She hadn’t meant to fall back against his chest when they lit the match. His hand wrapped around hers, and she heard his breath catch as together they stared transfixed at the tiny flame. She felt every single place he touched her, a flurry of tingles she wasn’t ready to admit.
He blew out the match well before the flame had any chance to reach her fingers. “Your turn, solo.” His voice was just the tiniest bit unsteady, but the power of his smile surprised her when she accepted the box from him to strike the final match on her own. He clapped—actually clapped—when she struck the match, and an idea burst into her mind. She knew he’d find it silly, childish even, but she simply couldn’t resist.
Chad looked truly baffled when she began digging in her purse, but his mouth dropped plum open when she produced her box of birthday candles.
“You keep birthday candles in your handbag?”
“You never know when you’ll need to celebrate. I’d clean forgotten these were in there.” She had, until just now. “I’ve thrown out every candle—not that any survived…but well, my handbag’s one of the few things that made it intact through the…” She skirted around the word fire. She fished one of the yellow striped candles and presented it to him. “I haven’t got a cake, so we’ll just have to wing it.”
Chad raised an eyebrow as if cake and birthday candles were the oddest thing he’d ever heard of, but there was a smile hiding behind his eyes. “And we’re lighting a candle because…”
“Because now I need to light a match to something happy, that’s why.”
The smile found its way to the surface, warm and encouraging—if a bit embarrassed—as Chad stood there with a yellow birthday candle in his fingers while Jeannie struck her first happy match.
Abby stopped her forkful of Belgian waffle midair. “This is Chad Owens you’re talking about? The fire marshal Chad Owens, not some new, nicer Chad Owens who just moved into town?” Jeannie had just spilled the entire story over breakfast. She’d tried not to. Abby was the kind of insatiable matchmaker who would jump on this sort of thing. Jeannie made it halfway through breakfast without any mention of it, but Abby had brought it up. Her craft store was right next to the hardware store, and evidently Ed had “shared” news of her purchases.
Jeannie supposed the revelation was inevitable. She’d been preoccupied all week with those smoke detectors; how Chad had helped her test them, how grateful she was to him for squelching her fear of flame when nothing else and no one else had been able to do so. He’d even stayed and helped her hang all of the devices. He’d been nice. More than nice, actually; he’d been charming.
“Canned smoke?” Abby arched an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. What does it say about a man when he brings you a can of smoke?”
Jeannie grimaced. “It says he wants to test your smoke detectors.”
“That’s all?”
This was exactly why Jeanne left out the part about the birthday candle. Not only did it seem silly, b
ut it felt like a secret between them. She didn’t dare tell Abby what Chad Owens’ eyes did to her insides as she struck that final match without any help. God granted her a glimpse of the man Chad had been before the sad story he barely hinted at, the story she now knew gave him his “sour” nature.
She knew too much now. She knew the “sourpuss” everyone saw wasn’t Chad’s original true nature. She’d spied the lost layer of warmth behind his usual demeanor. It didn’t seem logical that the two of them could affect each other so…deeply. It’d been a full two days and Jeannie still had no idea what to do with any of what she’d seen and felt.
She chose a cautiously neutral reply. “Evidently our Mr. Owens is full of surprises.”
Abby peered at her and chewed thoughtfully. Then she started pulling at a blond curl, the way she did when she was planning something. Jeannie could virtually hear gears turning in the woman’s head. “He’s got his eye on you. You know what they say about ‘where there’s smoke’…”
“Oh, please, Abby, stop.” Best to halt this here and now. Jeannie hadn’t been as neutral as she thought, and that could only spell trouble.
“Why?” Abby asked. “You’ve already started.”
This was why Jeannie should never have started talking about it at all. Why she considered canceling their weekly post-church-service breakfast. Abby was relentless—and entirely too accurate—about these sorts of things. “Now you know why Nicky says we’ll need to move out of town if he ever got a girlfriend because ‘Aunt Abby will go nuts.’”
Falling for the Fireman Page 5
