Fiona's Flame

by Rachael Herron

  ‘This is where the good stuff is.’

  They peered up at a ’69 Chevelle resting precariously against a ’65 Chevy C10. Next to it one of Fiona’s favorites, a purple ’39 Nash Lafayette, rested in peace. No tires, no windows, just that gorgeous luxury body rusting where it stood.

  Abe tilted his head to see more. ‘Does he ever sell these whole?’

  ‘Nope.’ Fiona ran her hand over the rough oxidized hood of the Nash. ‘He parts them out, as needed. Only to people he deems worthy. He says he does more good in the world that way.’

  Abe shot a crooked smile at her, and Fiona’s palms went damp. He said, ‘Obviously, you’re one of those.’

  ‘Not sure why he likes me so much, but yeah, I am.’

  Abe nodded, and Fiona had to look away from him. He had no idea how much he smoldered, did he? Just standing there in those Wranglers, his broad muscles straining at the biceps of his coffee-colored t-shirt, she could barely make herself look at him. He was so good-looking it hurt. Like looking at the sun or something. Unlike the sun, though, her eyes were drawn back to him. Over and over.

  Job. She had a job here. She cleared her throat. ‘So, I’ve been working with this ’56 T-Bird. Up here, on the right.’

  Abe let out a long, low whistle when he saw it.

  ‘Right?’ Fiona said, sinking into a crouch and pawing through a zipped pocket on her tool belt. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’

  Abe didn’t answer, just walked around the eggshell-colored body, touching first the driver’s door handle, then the rounded window in the back. ‘Look at her lines. They don’t build ’em like this anymore. This looks like a porthole, over here.’

  Exactly what she always said about that window. She took out her sheet-metal snips.

  ‘What are you pulling?’ He walked around and pushed the bumper with his boot.

  She smiled. ‘The little things.’

  ‘I’ll help. Tell me how.’

  An hour later, they had a reasonably nice pile of pieces that Fiona would keep. She’d used the cutting torch to take out pieces of the already rusted floor on the passenger’s side. Never touched by sun, the metal was intact, still the most gorgeous, pale white – the exact shade of half-and-half. Fiona touched the metal reverently. Oh, the fun she’d have cutting this up. She’d put Abe on the job of removing the antenna and the narrow metal strips that held the rearview mirrors in place.

  Abe dropped another small piece on their pile. ‘I give up.’

  ‘What?’ Fiona rubbed her dirty hands on her jeans. They’d been clean when she picked him up, but they certainly weren’t now. She felt in her hair for stray bits of car parts.

  ‘You can’t be parting this out for another Benz, unless you’re building it in miniature. You do body-work, right?’

  Fiona nodded. ‘And details.’

  ‘You’re not using this stuff in detailing unless you’re shaving it up and making your own steel pads.’ He shook his head. ‘So what is this?’

  First she shoved her hat down further on her head so that her eyes were hidden. Then she put her hand in her right front pocket. Should she? Yes. She’d debated wearing the earrings when she picked him up, but she hadn’t felt daring enough. If she’d been wearing them then, it would have really looked like a date.

  Which, of course, it was. She could feel it in the flutter in her stomach, in the way the nervousness only increased as the minutes went by.

  So she slipped the first long earring in. Then the other. They felt good, the small weight of them swinging against her neck. She tilted her head slightly upward so she could meet his eyes.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said without hesitation.

  ‘Rolls Royce,’ Fiona said, tilting her head so that the earrings danced.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sometimes the prettiest things are things we’d never noticed before the right moment – long, pleasing lines of ribbing, or the sound a marker makes, slipping to its new home. – E. C.

  Abe struggled to find his breath. He’d misplaced it somehow when she’d put those long silver earrings on, and he wasn’t sure where to find it now. It was almost sunset, and they were losing the light. The woman in front of him – in her dirty jeans that showed off every curve of her body, that cute as hell pink-and-white plaid shirt, in that beat-up black cowboy hat that did absolutely nothing to hide those eyes, which were flashing deep hazel in the last rose light of the sky – was making him feel something he didn’t know what to do with.

  It was actually painful. She made him rock-hard, just standing there, one finger swinging her left earring.

  ‘You okay?’ Fiona frowned and took a step closer. ‘You look funny.’

  ‘Fine. You made those? From a car?’

  She smiled again, and Abe shifted his weight to make himself more comfortable.

  ‘It’s a hobby.’ Her words came quickly. ‘You know, everyone in this town makes things, and just because I’m not the best with yarn doesn’t mean I’m not creative. It’s fun.’

  Abe nodded, stupidly.

  ‘I mean, it keeps me busy.’ Fiona gave a short laugh and knelt to pack up her snips. Poking the smaller pieces of metal into an inner compartment in her tool belt, she sighed. Then she stood, picking up several of the bigger pieces.

  Abe snapped to. ‘Give me those.’ He stepped forward and took a twelve-inch piece of scarred metal from her hand. Their fingers touched for a second too long, and Abe felt an electric pulse that had nothing to do with static. Shit, what was he? A horny teenager? Pull it together, Atwell.

  ‘You think they’re idiotic.’ She started to tug one off.

  ‘No, no! They’re … awesome.’ Inwardly, he groaned. He couldn’t find a better word than that? Did he have to sound like a teenaged boy?

  But it worked. She brightened like phosphorescence. ‘Really?’

  He tucked the piece of metal under his arm and rocked back on his heels.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. And lord help him, he couldn’t help it. He reached forward and touched the earring. Long, thin metal, cool to the touch. His fingers brushed the side of her neck. So warm and soft, the absolute polar opposite of the jewelry.

  She didn’t step toward him. But she didn’t step back, either.

  Abe felt elated, as if someone was giving him a gift he hadn’t even known he wanted. What if he got a little old crush of his own? Right back at her? When was the last time he was really crushed out on someone? Was it Rayna? Could it really be that long ago?

  Hell, this could be fun. ‘Let’s get out of here. Does this date come with food?’

  She blinked those big eyes – they were darker now – and pushed her crushed cowboy hat lower on her head. ‘You bet it does.’

  ‘Good. Lead the way.’

  When they got to her car, she astonished him by saying, ‘You want to drive?’

  He stared at her. ‘You sure?’ The car was her baby, she’d told him so on the drive over. The Alfa had been her first purchase as a grown-up, the first thing she bought when Fee’s Fill finally went into the black.

  ‘Why not?’ She tossed him the keys over the hood of the car.

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ he said.

  And she surprised the hell out of him again. ‘Screw careful,’ Fiona said. ‘She’s meant to be driven. Open her up.’

  He followed her instructions to the letter, depressing the accelerator to its full limit out on the highway. As they twisted through the thick trees on the winding two-lane blacktop, he switched on the lights. ‘Yellow lamps.’

  ‘Stock.’

  ‘Nice,’ he said.

  ‘Faster,’ she said, rolling the window down and putting her hand out to catch the wind. It was almost full dark now.

  Abe cast a sideways look at her. God, she was hot like this, comfortable in her car, in her knowledge of what it could do, what he could do with it.

  She caught his eye and then looked back out toward the sunset. ‘There’s a curve up there, right where it meets Printz Road. You kn
ow it?’

  He did. Years ago, he’d had a motorcycle and he’d laid it out there once, right on that bend. Broke his pinky finger and had been lucky he hadn’t broken his neck.

  Fiona said firmly, ‘I hit seventy-four on it once. See if you can beat that.’

  Abe hit seventy-five, and she whooped out the window into the growing darkness.

  He couldn’t have been much more turned on if she’d started taking off her clothes.

  ‘You like hot dogs?’ She still had her arm out the window.

  ‘Does the Pope like his ring?’

  Fiona said, ‘Never been Catholic, so I have no idea. But I’m going to guess he does.’

  Curling his fingers more loosely around the wheel, still learning the feel of the car, Abe said, ‘I love hot dogs. Ketchup, no mustard.’

  ‘Well, there’s where you’re wrong, but I’ll let it slide this time. Do you like Dandy Dog?’

  The fact that at no point in the evening did it sound like he’d need to use a cloth napkin just made everything even better. This was the best date he’d been on in years. By far. Maybe ever.

  Entering the town proper, Abe took a right and then a left around the old movie theater. The street lights had come on, glowing warm in the light fog. ‘You mind if we go this way? My mom lives on this street, and I like to make sure the house hasn’t burned down in between my visits.’

  Fiona stilled. Then she nodded. ‘No, I don’t mind. She was my English teacher in seventh grade.’

  ‘Of course she was. She knows everyone,’ he said. ‘I hope she gave you an A.’

  His mother was sitting on the porch in the oversized swing, the large knitting needles resting motionless in her hands. She watched the car pull into the driveway and frowned when she recognized Abe in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Just take a minute.’ Abe got out of the car, suddenly conscious that he was bringing a woman to his mother’s house. While on a date. He really should have thought about this before taking the turn onto her street.

  ‘Hey, Mom. Just checking to see if you need anything.’

  Fiona stood next to him then, and Abe felt an irrational urge to take her hand. He didn’t.

  Hope didn’t stand but she patted the swing next to her. ‘I’m fine. Don’t need a thing.’ She smiled at Fiona. ‘Nice to see you, Fiona. Will you sit with me?’

  ‘No, we’re not staying,’ Abe hastened to say. ‘Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘He thinks I’ll drop dead every time he doesn’t have me in his sight,’ Hope explained to Fiona, who nodded. ‘You should have told me you were coming.’ She pushed at her gray hair, combing it out of her eyes with her fingers. She was wearing the same old cream Aran she’d been wearing on Wednesday when she’d been on the roof.

  ‘Student of yours, huh?’ said Abe. ‘Like everyone else in this town?’

  Both women nodded. Fiona looked at the ground. Hope, on the other hand, was staring at Fiona with what looked like open fascination.

  ‘I didn’t know you knew each other, though,’ said Hope.

  ‘Yep,’ said Fiona lightly.

  ‘The lighthouse!’ said Hope in satisfaction. ‘That’s it. You’re the one with the tearing-it-down plan. So, you’re working on a new plan together?’

  ‘Mom –’ Abe’s voice was a warning.

  But Fiona didn’t need his protection. ‘It’s something we’re going to talk about later, for sure. What are you knitting?’

  ‘This?’ His mother looked down blankly at her lap. ‘It’s nothing.’ She looked back up. ‘Did you make those earrings you’re wearing?’

  ‘I did. Do you have pierced ears?’

  Hope’s rheumatic fingers fluttered to her ears. ‘No. No, I never did that.’

  Fiona touched one of her own lobes. ‘I have some clip-on ones at the station. I’d love to give you a pair. Come by and pick some out, okay?’

  Hope looked confused. ‘You want to give me … Do you knit? I don’t remember.’

  ‘Sadly, no.’

  ‘But …’

  There was a tension between the two women, something below their words Abe wasn’t understanding. ‘Mom, I just wanted to – we’re going to go, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ his mother said, picking her needles back up.

  Abe realized at that moment that he’d wanted to show his mother off to Fiona. He’d wanted them – and he couldn’t explain this to himself at all – to get along. To be friends. He’d wanted them to chat lightly about something while he listened.

  He’d never wanted that before, not with any woman besides Rayna.

  ‘Let’s get those hot dogs.’

  Fiona said, ‘Bye, Mrs. Atwell.’

  Abe’s mother just waved.

  Well, hell. He’d figure out what that had been between the two women later. Right now, he wanted to make Fiona laugh again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sheep your wool came from was exposed to sun, rain, starlight, and moonglow. Do yourself the same favor. – E. C.

  The food came quickly, filling a red paper bag. Fiona headed toward one of the picnic tables in the parking lot, but Abe waved the bag in front of her like he was bullfighting. ‘Where should we go?’

  ‘Go?’

  ‘Dandy Dogs taste better away from the site of their creation. Come on, let’s go.’ He walked toward the car, but then passed it. Fiona trotted to catch up with him. He had such long legs.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.’

  ‘What do I get if I guess?’ Was she actually getting better at flirting?

  Ahead of her, without turning his head, he said, ‘Just follow me.’

  His deep voice sent a delicious tingle down her spine. For a blissful second, she let herself fantasize about the man in front of her, let herself wonder what it would be like to be touched by him. To be kissed by him. And then she tripped over a rock, stopping herself from falling at the very last minute.

  There was really only one place they could have been headed, but Fiona ignored the signs as they walked. Headed south on foot, going this way, Abe could only be leading them to either the old dump or the lighthouse.

  Fiona could safely assume the landfill wasn’t his first choice, though they had just done the scrapyard.

  The wind picked up. It always did here. The coastal breeze which normally caressed the rest of Cypress Hollow scoured the ground. Ice plant rusted on the dunes, turning the red-brown of blood in the cold air. Seagulls whined above, wheeling restlessly. If the birds headed north toward the marina, Fiona knew they would find plenty of scraps from the fishing boats. But here, there were usually only a few skinny gulls, relentlessly complaining. Fiona had always imagined they were the same three birds from her childhood, now older and even more unhappy.

  ‘I can’t believe you lived here. Isn’t it great?’ Abe stopped, his boots loud on the gravel. He looked up at the lighthouse with an expression of … was it longing? Happiness? Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and watched him. Just gazing up at the old pile of wood made Abe look like he’d had a delightful, unexpected thought.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. Who was she to dampen his excitement? She hoped the damn thing wouldn’t be standing much longer. And he liked the ancient wreck. What was it the mayor had said? Abe wanted to make it into a museum? God, the only thing worse than leaving the building standing would be honoring it, making it into even more than it was.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand in his. His skin was cool and his palms were callused, as she would have predicted for a man in his line of work. What startled her was how well her hand fit in his.

  It made her dizzy. Maybe next she’d accidentally fall off the side of the cliff, and he’d have to rescue her and then she could just go ahead and die of embarrassment. Get it over with.

  ‘It’s good we have the moon to guide us tonight,’ said Abe.

  ‘If we didn’t, there’s no way in hell I’d walk out here
,’ said Fiona.

  ‘Scared?’

  His hand tightened around hers, and for one second she considered putting on a higher-than-normal voice and flirtatiously saying, ‘Oh, yes, ever so frightened, Abe.’ She didn’t think she could pull it off, though. Fiona might be scared of many things – too many – but she wasn’t scared of the dark.

  ‘No. I’m just sensible. It’s a cliff. In the dark.’

  Abe nodded. ‘But no one’s ever died. Any idiot who’s gotten too close to the edge has just been banged up.’

  ‘They should at least put up a good permanent street light or two. If people are going to walk out here, they should make it safe.’ If they built a city park it would have good, environmentally responsible lights that would burn cleanly all night. They’d put up a rail at the edge so that kids could skate and rollerblade right to the edge, safely.

  ‘Or people could use better common sense and stay away from where it crumbles.’

  ‘Remember when June Hampton fell? She didn’t think she was close to the edge, but it was dark with fog and no moon.’

  Abe’s thumb rubbed against the back of her hand. Fiona’s heart rate spiked. Did he know he was doing that?

  He spoke as though they weren’t connected, as if he could still think straight. ‘June Hampton can polish off a forty-ounce faster than an eighteen-year-old doing a kegstand.’

  Fiona attempted to cover her laugh with a cough. ‘Maybe. But someone could seriously hurt themselves.’

  Now at the old bench, the one on the far side of the lighthouse, facing the ocean, Abe let go of her hand. Fiona curled her fingers into a fist, as though she could hold the feeling there a little longer.