“I can see how that would be a difficult decision. How about we order one of each and share? Best of both worlds.”
“Do you even want those ones? They have twenty-four different flavors to choose from. Lemon meringue, coconut cream, peach, apple cinnamon—”
“Too many options for my tastes. Let’s get the ones you like. I’m sure they’re delicious.”
He didn’t wait for me to give him the okay. Instead, he went up to the order window on the truck and ordered and paid for both crepes. As he paid the guy inside the truck, I walked over to the table they had set up at the back of the truck and grabbed plenty of napkins and plastic cutlery because these crepes were messy business. Then I walked over to one of the tables and took a seat.
Derek sat down across from me moments later. “Shouldn’t be too long. They said about ten minutes.”
I smiled. “My mouth is watering already.”
“So, you have a sweet tooth?”
“You have no idea. Chocolate is my kryptonite. What about you, sweet or savory? Or neither? I imagine with the work you do, you have a pretty strict diet. I’m sorry if I’m poking holes in it.” With his body, he probably never ate sugar. The man was fitter than anybody I’d ever seen in real life.
“I eat treats. Anyone who doesn’t can’t be trusted. Who says no to something like this?” He waved his hand at the food truck.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Would that have been a deal breaker for you?”
I grinned. “On top of your bad attitude and poorly timed jokes? Maybe.”
Derek threw his head back and laughed. What a glorious sound—and sight. He closed his eyes as he laughed, and his whole body shook. I was tempted to crawl into his lap right now, straddle him, and make out with him until our crepes were done.
But I wanted to take things slow. We had agreed that was best. And, given my history, rushing into things was always a bad idea.
People could blindside you when you moved too fast.
“What did you think of the motorcycle ride?”
I looked up at him. “Honestly? It was a lot of fun. But I think I would have enjoyed myself a bit more if you had a helmet, too. I kept worrying about it.”
“I have spare helmets at home. Mine was too big for you so if the opportunity presents itself again, I’ll make sure I have one on hand that will fit you.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
I had enjoyed being on the back of Derek’s motorcycle a little more than I expected to. Having my arms wrapped around his waist and being so close to him was pleasant, comforting, and almost therapeutic in a way. The way the wind blew over my knees and shoulders and through my visor was refreshing. I enjoyed the rumble of the engine, the vibration in the seat beneath me and under my foot pegs. It was strange, but I felt closer to the road, and I liked it.
“Maybe I should get my own bike one day,” I said.
He blinked at me.
“Kidding.” I held my hands up innocently.
“You scared me.”
“Why? You think I’d be a bad rider?”
He shook his head. “No. I think everyone else on the road is a bad driver, and on a motorcycle, you’re exposed. I’d worry about them hurting you.”
I chuckled. “How cliché.”
He shrugged.
One of the workers in the food truck came out with two white paper plates filled with goodness and placed them in front of us. Derek’s eyes widened a little as he stared down at the layers of crepe, chocolate, fruit, and whipped cream. Then he looked at me. “You didn’t tell me they were this big.”
“Don’t be a baby. I can eat one of these bad boys all by myself.”
“I like a woman with an appetite,” he said.
“That’s good because I eat like a pig.”
We dug in. The first bite was almost the best. The sweet, decadent, creamy flavors exploded in my mouth, and I closed my eyes to savor the moment. Derek enjoyed it too, and we switched back and forth between both plates until, a short ten minutes later, both were empty.
Derek leaned back and patted his stomach. “All right. You weren’t wrong. Those are delicious. Thank you for introducing me to my newest addiction.”
“You can tell the guys at the firehouse about it. That way, you can all get fat together.”
Derek smiled at me. It was dark now, almost full night, and the twinkle lights from the food truck cast just enough light for me to make out the outline of his features. I knew he was looking at me, but I couldn’t see his eyes. I knew he was smiling, but I couldn’t see his lips. I couldn’t explain it. I just knew.
“So,” he said at last, clasping his hands behind his head, “has your mother lost her cat again this week?”
“No. Thank God. He’s a good cat, and he would never run away. She just gets worried when she doesn’t see him for more than an hour.”
“That doesn’t seem like a long time.”
“It’s not. Especially for a cat. Give them twelve hours and then get worried.”
“Besides being the definition of a crazy cat lady, what’s your mom like?” Derek asked. Now he was leaning forward on the table. I could almost see his hazel eyes now that he was closer.
“My mom?” I considered his question. We said we were taking it slow. Did taking it slow mean lying, too? Or did it mean coming clean about my past and how I’d grown up? I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk with him about that just yet. The only person who knew all my dirty laundry was Emily, and for now, that’s how I wanted to keep it. “My mom has had a rough go of things lately. My dad passed away from cancer four years ago. That’s why I got her the cat. My mom had a hard time adjusting to life alone, and watching her struggle was… hard for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Derek seemed like he was about to ask another question. Maybe one about my father. But he didn’t. He left it alone. He was taking it slow. I smiled to myself and looked down at my lap. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked.
“What are your parents like?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t have much of a memory of my mother. I was really little when she died. And my dad wasn’t always around. My aunt raised me, and as soon as I was old enough to move out, I did. And then I joined the academy.”
“Aren’t we both poster children for happy households,” I said dryly.
He was quiet for a moment. I wondered if maybe, for once, I was the one to make the inappropriate joke at the wrong time. But then he asked, “How did your father die?”
“Cancer. Pancreas.”
“Shit.”
For some reason, I was compelled to be honest with him. “I wasn’t close with my father. It wasn’t as hard on me as it was on my mom. How about you? How did your mom die?”
“Drunk driver.”
“Oh.” That was harsh. “I’m sorry she was taken from you so young.”
Derek shook his head. “She was the drunk driver.”
“Oh,” I said again, a little lamely. I chewed the inside of my cheek. “That’s still horrible. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long, long time ago. Nothing to be sorry about. We both made it this far in one piece, right?”
“Right.” I smiled. I almost wished we each had a glass of wine or something in hand so we could make a toast. It would have been fitting. But we didn’t.
I got up and collected our napkins, cutlery, and plates and brought them over to the garbage can before thanking the people in the food truck one last time. Derek rolled to his feet and asked if he should take me back to my car at the pier.
“Maybe in another half hour or so?” I asked.
Derek offered me his arm, and I hooked my elbow in his. “Sounds good to me. How about a walk around the park?”
I nodded. At this time of night on a weeknight, Searing still had plenty of things to offer downtown. Local artists sat at booths to paint your portrait or sell ones they�
��d already completed. The local tarot card reader had a table set up as well. You could order coffee or hot chocolate and even candy-coated apples. I loved my little town.
The last table was not a table at all, but rather a man sitting in a collapsible chair, cutting the ends off of roses. He had them in several colors: red, white, yellow, and pink. All were beautiful and dusted with a bit of glitter in the middle. I was reminded instantly of the magic rose from my favorite Disney movie.
Derek plucked a yellow one from one of the displays and paid the man, who pocketed the cash with a friendly smile. Then Derek turned to me, a smile of his own playing on his lips, and held out the rose.
A little wave of anxiety rolled through me.
Derek insisted I take it and rubbed my shoulder. “Don’t make it weird, Katie. It’s just a flower. A friend rose.”
“A ‘friend rose’?” I asked as I fell into step beside him again.
“Yeah. You know, a rose with no strings attached? No expectations? Just a pretty flower for a pretty girl.”
I smelled it and stroked the petals. Little pieces of glitter came off on my fingertips. “Why did you choose yellow?”
Derek pointed at a crack in the sidewalk and told me to mind my step. I stepped over the uneven pavement and looked back up at him as he looked ahead at the trees bowing over the sidewalk along the edge of the park. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it, really. Yellow just seemed like the right fit. Was I wrong?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Yellow roses were my favorite.
17
Derek
When I woke up on Saturday morning, it was to my phone buzzing. With still blurry vision, I fumbled around to find my phone on my nightstand and answered with a thick voice.
“Hello?”
“Are you still asleep?” Allen asked.
“I was,” I growled. It was only seven in the morning. “Why the hell are you calling me so early on our day off?”
“It’s not that early.”
I tore my blankets off and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “It is for me, jackass.”
Allen chuckled. “The weather is perfect for a ride. You up for it?”
I went to my bedroom window and opened the blinds. Sunshine streamed in, and cool air made its way inside through the two inches I’d cracked the window open last night. He was right. It would be ideal riding weather.
“Yeah. I’m in. Meet at your place?”
“Sure thing,” Allen said.
“Give me an hour. I need to eat and shower and shit. Text me your address.”
“All right.”
Allen hung up the phone, and I raked my fingers through my hair and then over my chin. I was also going to need to shave. I’d pushed my luck by not shaving yesterday, and if for some reason I had to go on a fire call and needed to wear an oxygen mask, I’d be interrupting the seal with my stubble. I didn’t need another reason to have the chief mad at me.
I shaved, showered, and made myself a full breakfast of eggs and bacon, which I enjoyed along with a piping hot cup of black coffee. I left my dishes in the sink and changed into a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and my leather riding jacket. Before I stepped into my Blundstones, which were the perfect riding boot, I checked my phone for Allen’s address. I knew where his house was immediately. Just at the end of Dover Avenue. I slid my phone back in my pocket and went out into the garage where I got on my bike, opened the door, and rode out onto the street as the door closed behind me.
I was pulling into Allen’s driveway as he opened his garage doors. They weren’t electric, like mine, but mechanical. He rolled them up and waved at me in greeting as I swung my leg off my bike and put the kickstand down. I took off my helmet and hooked it on the handlebars as I slipped into his garage.
His bike, a FZ-S Fi Yamaha, was sitting in the middle of the garage. “Holy hell,” I breathed, walking around the thing. It was a beast that was built for speed and cornering. It was all sharp lines and angles and had the look of an angry wasp—but it was military green and matte black. “Nice bike. I didn’t expect this.”
Allen was tugging on a pair of leather gloves. “She’s not bad, right?”
“Beautiful,” I said.
“Don’t drool on her.”
“Hey, give me a little credit. I can show self-restraint when I need to.”
Allen smirked. “Like you did with Katie?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Katie is a girl. This is a bike.”
“Right.”
“So, it’s easier to control your urges around a motorcycle than it is with a beautiful girl. Get off my back.”
Allen laughed and shook his head at me. “I noticed you two seem to be back on speaking terms. Did you work that shit out with her?”
I gave him a smug smile as I dropped to a crouch and inspected the exposed internals of the bike. “I did.”
Allen had finished putting his gloves on. He walked over to his work bench that was built up against the back wall of his garage and picked up his helmet. It was military green, like his bike. The guy definitely radiated ex-military. “Good to hear you guys will be keeping it strictly professional going forward.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s not what I meant by worked shit out.”
Allen turned to me, and his shoulders slumped. “What?”
“We’re sort of, I don’t know, seeing each other?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what you think it means. No labels. No pressure. No expectations. Just enjoying each other’s company for now and seeing where things go from there.”
Allen shook his head at me. “It’s your funeral, I guess.”
“Why so pessimistic?”
“Nothing. It’s just that in my experience, dating a girl you have to work closely with never goes over all that well. You say there’s no pressure, but you wait. The pressure will come the deeper into this thing you get. Mind you, I could be just putting my experience on you guys. You might be able to work through it. Katie is a smart girl.”
“And I don’t get any credit?”
Allen laughed. “No.”
I rolled my eyes at him as I got back to my feet and peered around his garage. It was extremely tidy and well organized. I noticed a cage on the left wall between the two windows that hosted all of his military weapons. I nodded at them. “So, what exactly did you do in the Marines, Allen? You never talk about it.”
“Nobody has ever asked.”
“I’m asking now,” I said.
Allen hesitated before answering. “A little of everything.”
“Wow. How concise.” Allen started laughing as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw Rinehart’s name flash across my screen. “Hang on, I gotta take this. It’s the chief.”
Allen nodded and busied himself with something on his work table as I answered the phone.
“Hey, Chief.”
“Janson. Where are you?”
I swallowed. Fuck. Had I missed another commitment like I did with the fundraiser? I racked my brain, trying to think of what I could have possibly forgotten, but nothing came to mind. “I’m at Allen’s place.”
“You and Yellich are spending recreational hours together?”
“Uh. Yeah. You could say that I guess.”
“Well bring his ass down here with you. One of the trucks won’t start, and I’m not interested in paying a mechanic an arm and a leg for something you can probably fix in a couple hours.”
I almost groaned and said, “but we were about to go for a ride”. I would have sounded like a child. Instead, I said, “We’re on our way.”
Allen looked up at me as I hung up the phone. “What did you just volunteer me for?”
“One of the trucks won’t start.”
“And you think I’m a mechanic?”
“You just told me you did a little bit of everything in the military. And you have a pristi
ne shop with a shit ton of tools and a damn engine hoist. You know your way around under a hood.”
Allen picked his helmet back up. “God damn it.”
I got on my bike as Allen rolled his out of the garage. He left it in the driveway, propped up on its kickstand, and went back inside to roll down the garage door. He had to come out the side door, which he locked behind him, and then he hurried over to his bike and got on. We started our engines and pulled out of the driveway onto the street.
I let him take the lead.
The guy rode like a fucking madman. Which was awesome. It had been a while since I had a bit of a challenge.
I kept up with him decent enough, and he reduced his speed when we were close to the firehouse. He was playing it smart. Rinehart would have a fit if he saw how we were riding and weaving through traffic. We left our bikes tucked off to the side and went into the garage, where we found Rinehart and Trace scowling at Gerty, one of our fire trucks.
Allen tugged off his gloves, and I went and stood by the others. “So, what’s her issue?”
Rinehart continued to glower at the truck. “Won’t start. Checked the battery. It’s got a full charge. Everything under the hood looks fine. We went through it all. Fucking truck is going to cost this department an arm and a leg.”
“Let’s try to turn it over and see how it sounds,” I said.
Allen plucked the keys off the wall and climbed up into the driver’s seat. He tried to turn it over. The truck tried to start, and there was a soft sound before it tried to crank over.
“Hold on,” I said. “Try that again.”
Allen did as I said, and we both strained our ears.
“I bet it’s the fuel line,” I said.
Rinehart folded his arms over his chest. “Is that an expensive fix?”
“Not bad. I have an account with that parts dealer down the road. If I can take one of your cars, I’ll go pick one up, and Allen and I can have it done in a few hours, give or take, as long as we don’t run into any speed bumps.”
Set the Night on Fire: A Bad Boy Firefighter Novel Page 10
