“Hey, you’re not the first person to notice, believe me. You should run away from me as fast as you can.” She pushed his hand away and looked him square in the eyes. “Because I’m just like my mother.”
Geez, the expression on her face. He’d never seen her look so...so shattered.
Before he could deny it, she raced down the stairs. Joe went after her, called to her, but she didn’t wait. He caught up to her at the curb but she’d already flagged down a cab and opened the door. She glanced back at him with a pleading look. “I’m so late. I need to go, okay?” Without waiting for him to answer she hopped in and it drove off.
He stood on the sidewalk trying to decide what to do. Had he been too hard on her, telling her she wasn’t good at relationships? He wished now he’d never said anything.
All day he texted her, but she didn’t reply. Without knowing her schedule he’d never find her. He thought about waiting at her apartment, but maybe she needed some time. But by the next day she still hadn’t answered any of his texts. When he called, it rolled straight to voice mail. He left another message as he sat on the couch at the station with the other guys watching some show on TV. He must’ve sounded like a real sap but the guys didn’t razz him for calling her every hour. They just gave him worried looks and kept silent.
He couldn’t concentrate on the TV show, and he was less than worthless playing foosball. He kept thinking about Carly and everything that had gone down yesterday.
Had he blown it? Expecting too much? He’d rushed things. When he thought about it, he realized they’d only known each other a few weeks. It seemed much longer.
All he knew for sure was that he wanted to see her again. That he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How brave she was, and smart and creative, and determined in spite of her mother. Joe knew she’d always be successful no matter what she’d been through with her dad. He wished she was here right now. With him.
He clutched the phone in his hand, but he wasn’t going to call again. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d text or—
The alarm clanged and Joe jumped up with the rest of the guys. He sprang into firefighter mode, throwing on his gear and hopping on the truck.
As it rolled out, some of the guys were calling their wives, letting them know they might be late getting home. Joe pulled up a picture of Carly on his phone. For the first time since he’d become a firefighter, he had someone he wanted to call.
But she didn’t want to hear from him.
16
CARLY CLOSED HER laptop and then curled up on the sofa, rubbing her feet. The blog was done for tomorrow. She stretched and yawned. Yesterday had been a long day. Followed by an even longer day today.
But the phone call from Modiste had given her a jolt of energy to last a week. Evidently Joe’s popularity with the fashion world had overshadowed any concerns they had about being associated with the name Pendleton.
She owed him such a huge debt of gratitude.
Thankfully, she hadn’t heard from her mother again. Maybe she’d finally managed to tick her off so badly she’d stay away. Which seemed like a horrible thought to have about one’s mother. Joe was so right about her. She was selfish, just like her mother. Her throat tightened just thinking of Joe.
She grabbed the remote, clicked on the TV and flipped through the channels. Anything to take her mind off his messages, especially the voice mail.
She’d played it back four times today just to hear his voice. Why he was apologizing to her she had no clue. He was the best guy she’d ever known. The best person, period.
Too nice for her to mess up his life, that was for sure.
He must’ve finally given up on her since she hadn’t replied. The last text she’d received from him had been early this afternoon. He’d said they needed to talk and to please call. But this was for the best. She had no idea what to say, anyway.
Her eyes were stinging again. It was after two in the morning. She had another designer studio showcase in less than seven hours. She should go to bed.
As she started to click the power button on the remote, a news report caught her eye and she clicked the power back on. A video of a multistory building on fire played in the upper right corner while the newscaster talked. The words Firefighter and Critical Condition scrolled across the bottom.
The newscaster was reporting on a fire in an office building in—she quickly turned up the volume—Brooklyn. He was talking about several firefighters being treated for smoke inhalation, and how the office building had been empty except for a cleaning crew. “The blaze appears to have been caused by faulty wiring and required the joint efforts of several companies to contain the inferno.”
Inferno? The television swam before her. What Ladder was Joe a part of? And why didn’t she know that? She didn’t even know where he lived in Brooklyn. Geez, she really was self-centered, wasn’t she?
The weekend news anchor continued. “The fire, which started around six this evening, was updated to seven alarms by ten o’clock, and raged through the entire five-story building in the South Slope neighborhood, leaving three New York firefighters seriously injured. All three were transported to Park Slope Medical Center and are still in intensive care.
“And in other news, Vice President...”
Seriously injured. Critical condition. Carly muted the TV and grabbed her phone. She scrolled to Joe’s name and pressed Call. He was probably fine. There was no reason for her stomach to squeeze so.
It rang twice, and then rolled to voice mail. No. She texted him.
Just heard about fire in Brooklyn. R U OK?
The next couple of minutes passed in slow motion. She jumped off the sofa and paced, dividing her attention between flipping to a different news channel and watching for mention of the fire, and checking her phone.
Forget this. She wasn’t waiting for a reply.
She darted to her bedroom. Where were her snow boots? And she needed a cab. What hospital had the newsman said? She panicked. No, she remembered. It was Park Slope. She grabbed her coat and purse and raced out the door, already a flight down before she realized she was wearing old, ratty sweatpants and a sweatshirt from college.
And she didn’t care.
She hailed a cab and directed him to the Brooklyn hospital. As the cab bounced over icy ruts in the road, she stared at her phone, waiting for a reply.
Nothing.
It was almost three, now. His shift started at five yesterday morning and he worked twenty-four hours, so he should still be on duty at the station. If he hadn’t been called to the fire, why wouldn’t he answer?
Still no reply.
If anything happened to him, she’d... Her heart thumped. Panic made her catch her breath. She didn’t want to lose him. What if she’d missed her chance?
No one had ever treated her as if she mattered until Joe. And, an astonishing realization, no one had ever mattered as much to her as Joe did. In just a few weeks he’d grinned and protected and cared his way into her heart.
Now, she was hyperventilating. The cabbie was looking at her as if she might fall apart before he could drop her off.
Take deep breaths, Carly.
She straightened in the seat. Tried to think about how the city skyline looked from this vantage point on the Brooklyn Bridge. She twisted to look out the back windshield. This is what Joe saw every day. He’d grown up in Brooklyn. Right across the river from her. But they might never have met...
The longer she went without a reply from him, the more convinced she became that something bad had happened.
By the time the cab pulled up to the hospital, she’d composed herself. She wasn’t going to fall apart or make a scene. She paid the cabbie and walked in with as much dignity as someone wearing old sweats and clunky snow boots could muster and asked at the information desk for the names of the firemen who’d been brought in earlier.
“Are you a family member?” the elderly volunteer asked.
“Uh, no.”
The
volunteer gave her an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information to anyone but family.”
“Then, can you direct me to the ICU waiting room?”
The lady gave her directions and Carly thanked her and managed to not break into a run until she was out of the lady’s sight.
She raced down the corridors until she saw the sign and darted to the left, down another endless hallway that ended abruptly at a set of double doors with a sign that read ICU Waiting. Carly pushed through them and headed for the nurses’ station, hoping somebody would tell her something. But no one occupied the desk. Frustrated, she whirled to scan the room, hoping to find a firefighter’s family member who might give her information.
An older couple. A woman with her arm around a child. An elderly man. Her search stopped on a firefighter’s yellow pants with suspenders over a white undershirt. Joe. He was bent over in a chair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was sooty and disheveled.
And so very much not hurt.
She cried out, and clamped both hands over her mouth.
And then she fell apart.
* * *
JOE HEARD A feminine cry and looked up. What the... “Carly?”
Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her cheeks were wet from tears. Her shoulders shook. He stood and rushed to wrap her in his arms. “Hey, don’t cry now, it’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head as she buried her nose in his chest and sobbed.
“I thought you were hurt.” She choked out between sobs. “I saw it on the news.”
He had to smile. “And you were worried about me?”
“You didn’t answer! I called and I texted.”
He pulled his cell from his pocket and checked. It was still turned off from when he’d gone in to see Wakowski in ICU. “I forgot to turn it back on, I’m sorry.” His shirt was getting wet from her tears. And he loved it.
“Stop apologizing.” She cried harder and tightened her hold around his waist.
She cared about him.
She dug into her purse, fished out some tissues, and reached up to wipe his face, blackening the material with soot. “You’re not hurt?”
The worry in her eyes put a big lump in his throat. He shook his head. “Nah. I’m fine.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“It’s my buddy, Wakowski. He fell through the floor. Got a lot of internal injuries.”
“I’m so sorry. Is he going to be okay?”
“We don’t know. We’re waiting to find out.”
He’d been sitting here in the waiting room alone. So worried. His thoughts going to dark places.
He’d tried to comfort Wakowski’s wife, but her mother was with her and they’d been allowed to sit in his ICU room. Her sister had taken their kids, and the rest of the guys had gone home to their families; relying on him to let them know when he heard any news.
Carly used another tissue to dry her eyes, but she only smeared the black makeup worse. He’d never seen her in these baggy old sweats, looking so sloppy. And she’d never looked more beautiful.
She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Can I... Is it okay if I wait with you?”
Damn. He was a goner, his heart another casualty from tonight’s fire. He nodded. “I’d appreciate the company.”
Several hours and cups of coffee later, Carly’s head rested on his shoulder. Joe held her, cherishing her body’s weight against him.
Tightening his arms around her, he was bursting to tell her he loved her, but was it too soon? Was he rushing things? Maybe right now was just a vulnerable time for her. Between her mother’s visit, and the fear that he’d been hurt, she wasn’t her normal, confident self. And he shouldn’t take advantage of that. He wanted her to be clear about her feelings.
Well, maybe the same could be said for him.
“Joe?” Wakowski’s wife, Sheila, called from the ICU doorway. She looked worn-out.
Joe shot to his feet, hopeful, scared. Carly stood, too. Her hand slipped into his. He swallowed. “How is he?”
A smile trembled on Sheila’s lips. “He woke up. The doctor just checked him. He’s going to be all right.”
He was hugging her before he realized he’d crossed the room, picked her up and swung her around, grinning. As he put her down, Sheila laughed and patted his arm, then turned and disappeared back into ICU.
Wiping his eyes on his shoulder, he glanced behind him at Carly and then she was in his arms and he lifted her against him. “Let me text the guys, then I’ll take you home.”
She shook her head. “Let’s go to your place.”
“Don’t you have to get to a Fashion Week thing pretty soon?”
“I’m not going.”
“But what about your blog?”
“Oh! I can tell you my good news now.” She fidgeted with excitement.
“What?”
“Modiste called and changed their minds. They’re bringing my blog in-house.”
He picked her up and swung her around. “That’s great! Congratulations.”
“And it’s all because of you.”
“Carly, your blog is your accomplishment.”
“Yes, but it was your fame that made them forget who my father was.”
“Fame?” He gave a look of skepticism. “I’m going to let the guys know Wakowski’s okay.”
While she gathered their coats and her purse, he texted the rest of the ladder about Wakowski, then they walked out into a brisk morning. The sun was trying to fight through the clouds, sending patchy rays of warmth. A cab pulled up, but Joe held back when she would’ve opened the back door. An idea was formulating.
“What is it?” She waited, poised to slide into the backseat.
“Thank you for staying with me tonight.”
She smiled. “You can make me breakfast.” She climbed into the cab and he followed, directing the cabbie to his apartment. When he sat back and put his arm around her, she snuggled up to him, her eyes closed.
How should he phrase this? The subject needed delicate handling. “Carly?”
“Hmm?”
“Come to my parents’ for dinner next Sunday.”
She bolted away from him, all signs of drowsiness vanished. “Are you crazy?”
Okay, so, not the response he’d hoped for. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m sorry, but were you not present when my mother paid me a visit yester—Saturday, whenever that was?” Her sarcastic tone lost its punch as she fumbled on the last few words.
“Carly, you are not like your mother. And I want you to meet my family.”
She shook her head. “Not a good idea.”
He took her hand, turned it over to brush his thumb over the soft flesh of her palm. “I care about you. And I want to see where this thing between us might go. Don’t you?”
She stared at him so long he figured she wasn’t going to answer. He couldn’t tell if the indecision in her eyes was good or bad. Then she turned her hand to clasp his. “What should I bring?”
17
CARLY’S FISTS WERE clenched so tight that when she forced herself to loosen them she couldn’t open her fingers all the way.
Joe pulled up at the curb of a tidy, two-story brick house with a small front yard. The street was tree-lined, with a neatly shoveled sidewalk, and up and down the block kids were playing in the snow. Add a horse-drawn sleigh and the scene could’ve popped right out of a picture postcard.
Why had she agreed to this?
This past week she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. Even the rest of Fashion Week had taken a backseat to being with Joe and worrying about meeting his family.
Joe came around the hood to open her door and then frowned when she didn’t get out. “You all right?”
Carly sat frozen. She couldn’t make herself move. Or answer.
“Carly?”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” Her voice trembled. She couldn’t breathe.
> He looked taken aback. “Be...cause you like my mother’s cooking?” He flashed a grin.
“I’m serious, Joe. They’re not going to like me.”
He glanced behind him at the house, then heaved a sigh and leaned in, resting his forearm on the truck door. “They’re going to love you.”
Carly avoided his gaze, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “What if they don’t?” Her stomach churned.
“Listen, my family needs to get to know the woman I love. But if it’s going to freak you out this mu—”
“What did you say?”
“I said if it’s going to freak you out—”
“No. Before that.”
He grinned and leaned in until their lips almost touched. “You mean the woman-I-love part?”
She smiled. “Yeah, that.”
His mouth covered hers in a slow, meaningful kiss. Her body relaxed, coaxed into his...and then he was straightening and stepping away. “Come on. Quit stalling.” He offered his hand.
* * *
STALLING? HE’D JUST told her he loved her! That deserved at least a moment or two of consideration. He should be glad she wasn’t running down the sidewalk screaming in terror.
And why wasn’t she?
Before she could think of an answer he cleared his throat, crooking the fingers of his outstretched hand.
She took it as she stepped out, carefully avoiding the pile of slushy snow with her Manolos. With a deep breath, she smoothed down her pencil skirt. It was probably too formal. She should’ve worn something more casual. She reached up to pat her hair. Now she was rethinking her French roll, too. Maybe she should’ve left her hair down. But it was Sunday dinner. Didn’t people dress up for Sunday dinner?
She had no clue. Her family had never done Sunday dinner. Or any family dinner for that matter. Unless one counted dinner parties.
“You look beautiful.” Joe smiled and put his arm around her waist to escort her to the door.
She pasted on her smile as the door opened and a short, plump, black-haired woman holding a baby threw her arm around Joe.
“Joey! We missed you last week. Oh, we were so worried about that fire. Good thing you texted Ma you were okay.” She kissed his cheek with a loud smack and then stepped back and regarded Carly. “You must be Carly.” Her smile dimmed as her gaze traveled down to Carly’s shoes and back up again.
Cabin Fever Page 13
