And maybe that was the purpose of saying things out loud, of speaking them in words, rather than confused thoughts that bubbled beneath the surface. Because as soon as he said them, something fell into place.
“Oh,” he said to the headstone. “Oh.”
Tenderly, he traced the letters of Maureen’s name, then sat back on his heels. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
Roman and Luke headed back to California fully stocked with certain essential items such as black olives and his favorite brand of Parmesan. When they stepped off the plane, the warm, smoggy air embraced him like a long-lost friend. The snowless streets, inhabited by smiling passersby who weren’t wearing winter coats and elbowing each other out of the way, welcomed him kindly.
Surprise, surprise, San Gabriel had become home.
They barely made it back in time for Luke’s first day of school and Roman’s first shift. He swung by Sabina’s house before his shift started, but it was far too early to knock on the door. He’d have to wait, which seemed impossible. The need to see Sabina drummed in his blood. But maybe it was better. He had something to do at work first.
At the firehouse, the early relief guys were reminiscing about the Christmas ski trip to Big Bear and boasting about the record-breaking sales of Cooking with Heat. They weren’t the only ones talking about it. Chief Renteria had left a message on his voice mail.
“Every time I turn on the TV, I see another story about those cookbooks. Good job, Roman.”
“Hear that, Stan,” he said to the dog, who’d been flatteringly glad to see him. “I finally did something right. Even though I had nothing to do with it.” Stan wagged his tail and held his Christmas present, a ball in the shape of a cartoon bomb, between his jaws.
At lineup, Roman dropped his own bombshell. “Where are we on the dinner rotation?”
“Stud’s up.”
“Stud, mind if I fill in?”
Everyone’s jaws dropped.
“You, Chief? I mean, sure, of course,” said Stud.
“Good.”
“Chief, if you need ideas about what to cook, we have some copies of Cooking with Heat left. Only a few, though, we’re practically sold out, if you can believe it.”
“I’m good. I have cooked before, you know.”
No one seemed convinced, and he got a lot of funny looks throughout the day as he did his prep work in between calls. It was an unusually busy day at Fire Station 1. Usually they fielded an average of three to five calls per twenty-four-hour shift. This time, they got called out eight times before dinner. The cannellini soaked a little too long thanks to an electrical fire at a local hardware store. His Parmesan cheese grating got interrupted by a San Gabriel High linebacker’s broken leg. Then there were the mushrooms to soak in white wine, which meant bending the rules against alcohol in the firehouse just a tad.
Stan kept him company the whole time. Roman convinced himself it was out of love and not the bits of pancetta he occasionally dropped in the dog’s vicinity. Stan had good taste, he figured, until he saw the mutt get equally excited about a bit of Styrofoam packaging.
Finally, it was time for dinner. First, he set out plates of bruschetta made with Italian bread he’d brought back from New York. The guys had never tasted anything like it.
“Dude, how can bread, garlic, and tomato taste so freaking good?”
“Where’d you learn to do this?”
“We gotta reprint the cookbook, man. Special edition.”
Stan didn’t care for it, but then he’d never been a big fan of garlic.
“Now for the soup course,” said Roman with a flourish. He unveiled the magnificent pot of pasta e fagioli con rosmarino that had been simmering most of the day.
“I had to turn it off during that car fire. Hope it’s okay.”
“That wasn’t a car fire,” said Vader. “That was a Mustang fire. Had to have been the ex-girlfriend. Who else would set fire to a 1978 Mustang convertible? Hell, this is great, Chief.” He slurped a big spoonful. “What are you, like the Iron Chef or something?”
“That’s it!” Fred pounded his fist on the table, making the plates rattle. “The chief’s nickname. Iron Chef.”
“Finish the meal first,” said Roman. “Tonno con caponata.”
“Con who?”
“Just try it.”
A reverent silence descended as the firefighters dug into their tuna steaks with caper-garlic-vegetable sauce.
“Good golly, Miss Molly,” said Double D, who seemed to be forgetting all about his new diet.
“Holy Mother of God,” breathed Psycho. “Who are you? How did you make this? This is—”
“Un-fucking-believable,” said Vader. “And I don’t even like French food.”
“It’s Italian,” corrected Roman, who was otherwise completely enjoying the crew’s reaction. “This recipe is from Southern Italy, as a matter of fact.”
“Is that where you learned it?”
“It’s a family recipe, mostly. I changed a few things. Little less olive oil, little more capers.”
“What the hell are capers?” Vader frowned at his fork.
“Little fish,” said Fred.
“No, they’re flower buds,” Roman corrected again. “Pickled flower buds from the caper shrub. Did you guys really put out a cookbook?”
“Yeah, but our hardest recipe was fish tacos. How come you been holding out on us, dude?” Psycho took another bite and moaned with appreciation.
“Well, that’s a good question.” Why had he kept his tenderhearted side to himself? Maybe he’d been waiting for this moment. Roman took a deep breath, the kind required when one is about to jump off a cliff, and rose to his feet. “I’m leaving the station.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
While Sabina was in the shower, her phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Then another one. And another. Something big was happening. Extracting herself from the shower was no easy feat, and she was swearing by the time she grabbed her phone off the edge of the bathroom sink.
All the texts were from Vader.
Holy fuck. Roman’s out.
He’s ditching the station.
Can’t believe you’re missing this.
Dude can cook.
Sabina didn’t know she could move so fast on crutches, but before she knew it she was out the door, her hair in a wet tumble down her back, and diving into Annabelle’s car.
“Take my car if you need it,” she called to her mother, who stood in the open doorway, her phone forgotten. Two producers wanted her for their next movies, and she had to hire a new agent, fast.
Then Sabina was flooring the accelerator with her good foot, zooming toward San Gabriel Station 1 as if a fire had broken out on the premises. Roman couldn’t leave, not like this, not until she told him the most important thing in the world.
When she reached the station, she swung her way through the side door that opened onto the apparatus bay. She stumped down the corridor, the familiar scent of diesel and varnish and bleach mingling with something absolutely heavenly. Something savory and rosemary-flavored and mouthwatering. Something that could only have been created by Roman.
When she burst into the kitchen, the crew was sitting around the long table. Roman stood at the head, his back to her, his powerful form towering over everyone else. A blur of faces turned in her direction—Vader, looking from her to his cell phone, mystified, as if she’d time-traveled her way here. Stud, a spoon halfway to his astonished face. Double D, in the middle of loosening his belt.
“Roman,” she said loudly. “No. You can’t.”
He swung around. She ate up the sight of him—how long had it been, a couple of weeks? Too long, far too stupidly long. Never let that happen again. His black eyebrows swooped upward in astonishment. “Sabina?”
“You can’t leave San Gabriel,” she repeated, tightening her grip on her crutches. The feel of his eyes on her, that smoldering black gaze, made her wobbly in the legs. “I have to tell you som
ething first.”
The kitchen went utterly quiet. Everyone was looking at her, of course. What else should they look at when a still-wet woman in denim shorts, tank top, and an ankle cast stormed into the room? A drop of water plopped onto the floor, then another. She was dripping all over the firehouse.
Roman waited, a slight frown denting his forehead. He made no move to invite her into his office to discuss this privately. Then again, he had no idea what they were about to discuss. She opened her mouth to suggest retiring to his office, but suddenly . . . it didn’t matter. So what if the whole B shift was watching? She’d had enough of keeping everything hidden. No more wariness. No more arm’s-length. And no more delay—not one single second more.
She squared her shoulders, took a long breath for courage, and laid bare her heart. “Roman, I love you.” There, it was out. Like diving into a cold lake, not so bad after the initial shock. “So you can’t leave. I should have told you before, because it’s been true a really, really long time. But I’m a stubborn idiot. Ask the guys. They’ll tell you.”
But no one said a word. The silence felt excruciating. Another drop of water plinked into the growing puddle at her feet.
“You were right about me, before. And about my mother. But it only took me two weeks to figure it out, unlike my mother, who waited thirteen years, but I’m not going to be like that.” What was she talking about now? She had no idea. Neither did anyone else, judging by the puzzled looks they were exchanging. “The point is, I love you. And you said you loved me before, but maybe you changed your mind after I was such a jerk, and maybe that’s why you’re leaving, but please, don’t . . .” She trailed off because Roman was now striding toward her. He crossed the room in three long steps and swooped her into his arms. Her crutches clattered to the floor.
“No one in the apparatus bay for the next ten minutes,” he growled over his shoulder to the crew.
A chorus of “No, sirs” and “Go get ’ems” followed them down the corridor. Sabina clung to Roman’s broad shoulders, wondering dizzily what she was in for. Was he angry? Overcome with lust? Unwilling to reject her in public? But right now, it felt so good to simply inhale his scent, breathe in the all-male, rosemary-infused aroma of Battalion Chief Ricardo Roman.
He opened the door of Engine 1 and plopped her on the seat, her legs dangling over the edge. Bracing his hands on the vinyl on either side of her, he leaned in so she was completely encompassed by his passionate gaze. “First of all, I’m not leaving San Gabriel. Second, when I say, ‘I love you,’ it doesn’t change overnight. Or in two weeks.”
“It doesn’t? I mean, you do?” A supernova expanded in her heart. She was sure beams of light must be radiating from her chest. “You still do?”
“I still do. Ask me in five years, you’ll get the same answer. And in ten. Twenty. Thirty. I love you, Sabina. For good.”
She gave a breathless hiccup of sheer relieved joy. “I didn’t screw everything up then?”
He smiled, a sheepish, almost boyish expression. “I thought I had.”
“No. No. You didn’t. You couldn’t. But . . .” She grabbed on to the twin iron ridgepoles of his arms. “Vader said you’re leaving.”
“Leaving the station. Yes.”
She shook her head, not getting it.
“I’m leaving the force. I’m not going to be a firefighter anymore.”
“What? But firefighting is your life . . .”
“No. My life is Luke. And you, I hope.”
She drew in a long, astonished breath. “I don’t understand.”
He ran one hand up her arm, raising a trail of goose bumps. “I’m not very good at explaining things like this. After 9/11, after Maureen died, everything went dark. The whole world sort of . . . collapsed in on me. Nothing made sense. All I knew how to do was keep going to work, keep doing the job, keep being there for Luke. Luke was it, the only thing that mattered, the only thing I could see.” He paused, flicked a glance up at her. She waited, breathless. “Luke’s real name is Lucio, which means ‘light.’ It was supposed to be a play on fire.” He shrugged one massive shoulder, glancing around the gleaming engines in the apparatus bay. But Sabina couldn’t drag her gaze away from him, this powerful, beautiful man telling his story.
Roman cleared his throat and forged ahead. “But he was my Lucio, in every way. After 9/11 he was my light in the tunnel. He kept me going through all that darkness. But it was still a tunnel. A bleak, sad, one-step-at-a-time tunnel. Until I met you and the tunnel . . . crumbled away.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, but he wasn’t finished yet.
“And there I was, in the light. With you.”
“Oh, Roman.” Overwhelmed, she cupped her hand around his cheek, feeling his jaw muscles work. He turned his head to drop an infinitely tender kiss into her palm.
“I love you, Sabina. I want to marry you. I want to live with you and look at you and talk to you and be with you and touch you. I’d like to have more children, if you’re interested in that.”
Tears spilled over onto her cheeks.
“But I don’t want to be part of a two-firefighter family again. It works for some people, but not for me. At first I thought I couldn’t bear to love another female firefighter, ever again. I nearly lost my mind when you were under that staircase. But that’s who you are. You’re a firefighter and I fell in love with you and I can’t change any of that. You deserve to keep your career. I know what it means to you.”
“Not as much as—”
“Stop. You don’t have to choose one or the other. I’m choosing. For many good reasons.”
Her voice caught. “Oh, Roman. I love you so much. I’ve been so lost without you. Just . . . empty and awful. I know I’m stubborn and hold people away, but I don’t want to do that anymore. Especially you, because, God, Roman, I love you so, so much. When I thought you were leaving . . . and me on crutches . . . I would have stumped all the way to New York if I had to.”
“Oh, cara.” Then they were kissing, and it felt like no other kiss in the world, impossibly, rapturously glorious. Touching him again, after all that time apart, felt nothing short of miraculous. With Roman, she’d never be alone again, never be one stubborn woman against the world. With Roman, she’d be loved, through and through, and even better, she could open her own heart and let all her piled-up love pour out. She put every last bit of gratitude and passion and sheer, shivery delight into that kiss.
When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, the expression on his face sent a jolt of awareness shivering down her spine. He looked outrageously lustful, as if he’d ravage her right there in Engine 1, although their ten minutes of solo time must be up now.
Which reminded her . . . “If you’re no longer going to be a firefighter, what are you going to do?”
The entire B shift of San Gabriel Fire Station 1 came to the grand opening of Lucio’s Ristorante Autentico Italiano, formerly known as La Piaggia. So did Luke’s baseball team. Carly’s mother brought her; she’d left rehab a few weeks earlier and hadn’t relapsed yet.
Anu and Sabina greeted each customer while Roman turned into a raving lunatic in the kitchen. With all the banging of pots and clanging of knives, there seemed a strong chance of blood being spilled tonight. The kitchen staff was used to Roman, but now that he owned the place, he demanded the kind of instant obedience a fire crew gave him. Sous-chefs, it turned out, were a different story.
Some of the arrivals were confused. “Wasn’t this always an Italian restaurant?”
“Yes, but now it’s a real Italian restaurant,” answered Anu, who had agreed to stay on to help run the place. “Autentico, that means authentic. I can personally vouch for the wonderful creations you are about to experience.” She lowered her voice. “And if you do not like the new dishes, I will secretly heat up some SpaghettiOs for you. I used to do that, you know, when I was feeling particularly lazy,” she confided to Sabina.
“So are you glad your parents sold the restaurant to Ro
man?”
“Quite, quite glad. They’ve purchased a taco truck but they promise to sell naan as well. Now, tell me. Are you glad you became engaged to Roman?”
Sabina smiled. “Oh yes. Although my mother’s terrified I’ll embarrass her with some grandchildren.”
“Is she here?”
“Yep. Camera crew in tow.” She indicated Annabelle, radiant in a gold lamé dress, on the far side of the room. A cameraman and soundman were at her heels.
“Cameras! Have you broken your policy on privacy then?”
“Call it an engagement present. She’s in the running for a great role and needs a little publicity. Harmony for the Hatfields . . . good story, right?”
“Certainly harmony is quite desirable. But what’s in it for you?”
“Oh Anu. So cynical. I worked it out with Chief Renteria. We agreed that the best use of my newfound, thought-I’d-gotten-rid-of-it, now-it’s-back-again fame is to make a few public service announcements for Big Brothers Big Sisters.”
“How wonderful!”
The arrival of Vader interrupted Anu’s ecstatic clasping of hands. A pretty redhead wearing cat’s-eye glasses and a vintage fifties sweetheart dress hung on his arm. “Two, meet Cherie. Cherie, this is Two, also known as Sabina or Sally Hatfield or Taffy—”
“Call me Sabina,” she interrupted, smiling at Cherie. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into here?”
“With Vader, you mean?” She ran a hand along his bulging biceps. “Oh, I’m just peeling back the layers, right, hon?”
Vader’s brow jutted, his jaw clenched, his pectorals quivered through his muscle shirt. “Layers? You talking about getting laid?” He winked at Anu, who was already backing away, looking slightly horrified.
Sabina and Cherie burst out laughing. “He’s a keeper, Cherie. Just keep him away from Anu.”
Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel Page 31
