Raging Inferno

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Melissa looks over my shoulder and the sadness that filled her eyes a moment ago fades as she smiles at Frankie. Of course, the hound takes it as an invitation to join us. Glaring at him, I watch his eyes travel the length of Melissa. A hum of approval escapes him as he keeps his eyes on her.

  “Looks like the produce department is where it’s at,” he says with a grin. “I’m Frankie and you are?”

  “Melissa,” she replies, taking the hand, he offers.

  “What’s a gorgeous girl like yourself doing talking to this guy?”

  “Well,” she starts.

  “Frankie,” I warn.

  “He picked me out an eggplant,” she blurts, causing Frankie to chuckle.

  “An eggplant, huh?”

  “Here, take this shit and go to the checkout counter,” I order, pushing the cart in front of him.

  “Looks like you’re trying to get rid of me, Casale,” Frankie taunts.

  “I am,” I agree, clenching my jaw.

  “Such a temperamental bitch,” he teases, turning back to Melissa. “He gets like that when he’s hungry.”

  “I bet,” she murmurs. Meeting my gaze, her eyes shine as she bites the inside of her cheek and fights a smile.

  “How about you give me your number and we’ll continue this conversation without the hungry beast growling between us.”

  “No,” I grind out. Keeping my eyes pinned to hers, I watch Melissa raise an eyebrow.

  “No?” she asks.

  “Why not? I’m good for dinner and a movie too,” Frankie argues.

  The son of a bitch is playing me.

  “She’s got plans,” I grunt.

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, you do,” I tell her. “You got plans with me.”

  “Right,” she says, covering her smile with a hand. “I forgot about that,” she continues, playing along. “I’m sorry Frankie it must’ve slipped my mind. We already have plans to… what were they again?”

  “Tomorrow night I’m taking you to dinner. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “There you go,” she says, turning her attention to Frankie. “We’re going to dinner tomorrow night.” Her eyes move back to me. “Refresh my memory, did I tell you where I live?”

  Grinning, I shake my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Frankie take a step backward. His head turns from side to side, trying to keep up with the banter between me and Melissa.

  “You were just about to give me your address and your phone number,” I tell her.

  “Then I should do that.”

  “You should,” I agree, pulling out my phone. She chews her lip nervously before finding the courage to take the phone from my hands. As she types her number into the keyboard, I glance over at Frankie who is smirking at me.

  A second later she pulls her ringing phone out of her purse and hands me back mine. I end the call and store her number as she turns to Frankie.

  “Sorry Frankie, looks like you’re a day late and a dollar short,” she teases, diverting her attention back to me.

  “Well, if I had to lose you to someone I’m glad it’s this guy,” Frankie tells her before looking back at me. “I’ll meet you at checkout,” he adds, grabbing the cart from me. Once he’s out of sight and we’re alone, Melissa lifts her chin.

  “Thanks for the save,” she murmurs.

  “It wasn’t a save,” I reply. Crossing one arm over the other I scratch the scruff lining my jaw as I study her, watching her eyes widen. “I’m going to need your address.”

  “Jimmy—”

  “I know you’re not married,” I start, cutting her off. “So unless you’re in a relationship of some kind, I’d really like to take you to dinner tomorrow,” I tell her, dropping my hand from my face.

  “It’s complicated,” she says softly.

  “It’s just dinner,” I press, stepping toward her and closing the distance between us. “I promise to be a gentleman,” I add. Giving in, I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. As my hand falls my fingers softly graze her cheek and a soft whimper escapes her lips.

  “Where’s the fun in that,” she whispers as she stares back at me.

  Fire.

  It’s there in those pretty brown eyes.

  Vibrant and beautiful as it dances back to life.

  It’s the first fire I don’t want to put out.

  The first fire I want to watch spread into a raging inferno.

  And for the very first time, I want those dancing flames to burn me.

  Chapter Six

  Vanilla Extract

  I’ve lost my mind.

  Any minute now the men with the white coats are going to knock on my door and whisk me away to the padded cell that awaits me. I mean there is no other excuse as to why I agreed to have dinner with Jimmy. The temporary bout of insanity also explains why I have been texting him since I gave him my phone number and why I haven’t canceled yet. It’s the very reason I asked my sister to watch Christopher and also why I’m currently staring at every piece of clothing I own.

  Grabbing a pair of leggings and an off the shoulder tunic from the mountain of clothes on top of my bed, I make my way to my dresser and begin to filter through my underwear drawer. Trying to find a bra to match my panties becomes a chore and I wonder when I stopped buying sets. Not that it matters—Jimmy Casale most definitely will not be seeing my underwear. Still, there used to be a time when I took pride in what I wore underneath my clothes. When sexy underwear gave me a certain confidence in myself.

  Shrugging the robe off my shoulders, I start to dress. Once I’m fully clothed, I slide my feet into a pair of stilettos I’m sure are six years old and stand in front of the mirror assessing myself.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mumble, glancing through the mirror at the disarray of clothes scattered all over the bed. I’m about to grab the dress I tried on an hour ago when I hear my sister whistle.

  “How did you get in here?” I question, placing my hands on my hips.

  “The front door,” she replies, walking further into my bedroom. “Wait until the fireman sees you.”

  “I was just about to change,” I tell her, turning back to give myself another look. “Should I wear a dress? I feel like I should wear a dress. I wore one on my first date with Chris,” I ramble on.

  “You’re going on a date, not the fucking prom,” she says, stepping behind me. “You look great. Not too casual, not too dressy and sexy as fuck.”

  “Do we have to call it that?”

  “A date? Yes, that’s what you usually call it when a man and woman go out to dinner. Especially if they’re attracted to one another and there is a chance of getting it in.”

  “I never said I was attracted to him,” I mutter, watching as she rolls her eyes.

  “Why did I know you were going to freak out?” she asks as she spins around and digs into her purse. Pulling out a little bottle she turns back to me and unscrews the cap before offering it to me.

  “What is this?”

  “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 littl
e 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 cleanly 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 its 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 chair 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 g
raduated 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 too 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 hindsight 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.”