He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be such a close friend to her that she was comfortable with casual hugs and touching his shoulder. So how did he break up with her when there was never anything like that between them to begin with?
“I’m not good,” said JFK. “Whatever this is, isn’t working for me. Your family is nothing like you, and I can’t imagine spending any time with them. Besides, I’m better on my own. I’ve got all the friends I need at the fire station.”
They were in front of her home. JFK hopped out without killing the ignition, and opened Mercy’s door. When she climbed down, he held out his arms, offering a hug, and made it a quick one, saying, “I’ll see you around, huh?” A clean break was the best way to end things. JFK loved being around her, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep failing in the worst ways and embarrassing them both over and over. He was not made for someone like her.
Mercy seemed a bit stunned, but that was better than talking and trying to convince him of something that would just confuse him in the end. Or even worse, hugging him again and making him want her so bad all over again.
JFK climbed into his truck, his castle, his mobile fortress where it was just him and whatever he felt like doing, and headed toward Pineapple’s.
He needed a drink.
CHAPTER
JFK stared down into his drink. He still didn't understand why he’d said what he did to Mercy, but he kept telling himself he'd done the right thing. Saved them both from a lot of suffering down the road and all along the road. Maybe next time he met someone it could work out. Maybe next time he met someone she would be more in his league.
“You know what they say about people who drink alone,” said a voice over his shoulder.
Without looking up, JFK said, "Their friends are worthless?”
Emily pulled out the other chair at the two-seater table and had a seat.
"Oh, I guess I was supposed to help you sit down there,” said JFK. "I mean, we aren't at the station or anything so you are technically a girl, right?"
“Nah, just a friend today. And hopefully not a worthless one. "
“What are you doing here?” JFK hadn't let anybody know he was coming. He'd just wanted some time alone to think.
“A little birdie.”
JFK looked around the room recognized a couple of guys, and thought about two or three other firefighters he'd seen since he been in there. Then again it could have been Pineapple himself who had outed him by calling her. Well, she was here, and it didn't really matter how she got there, she would want to talk.
“I broke it off with Mercy,” said JFK, just putting it out there.
“You did what?” Emily's jaw dropped.
“Told her I didn't think things were working for us. Told her I had plenty of friends already.”
“Well that second part was a big lie,” said Emily immediately. “But what were you thinking with that other part?”
If JFK could answer that question, he wouldn't be sitting alone looking for answers in a short glass of dark liquid.
"Poppy says Mercy is crazy about you.”
“That's impossible. Poppy must be delusional. She spends too much time with animals.”
Emily was silent and just stared at him as if she had something obvious to say but for whatever reason didn't want to say it. JFK matched her stare. He'd already been through this issue in his head; no way was Emily going to push him around about it.
Finally Emily spoke. "What's so crazy about the idea?”
“Just look at me, and look at her.”
"I look at your face plenty. You want to know what I see? "
JFK shook his head. He didn't want anybody stroking his ego or telling him lies about how great he was, which was why he'd sat down alone.
Apparently Emily was going to tell him anyway. "You are a new man. You don't swear, you hardly drink, you've lost what? Forty pounds already? "
That was pretty close. JFK hadn't realized anybody noticed.
Emily added, "You even went to church. No one could have predicted that. "
“Someday I'll find somebody,” said JFK. “Here's how I see it—I helped Mercy get her car going, introduced her to some decent people in the field that she wants to work in, and maybe even helped her stand up to her d—dipstick of a brother at church. She helped me want to change, and even made me believe that I could. I think we both got a pretty good deal.” JFK was even considering going to church again. As hard as it was to listen to the sermon and think about all the things he was doing wrong, there had been a message of hope there as well. He wasn't about to admit that to anybody.
Emily slammed a flat hand down on the table which made JFK's drink jump ten inches and about knocked him out of his chair.
"Any time you actually have a chance with a woman, you do anything you can to keep her at arm’s length! You act like a jerk or you put yourself in the friend zone or you just overall act annoying until you get her to reject you. I think it's easier for you to do that than to actually work towards a relationship, or even act like yourself.” Emily was talking fast and staring him down. “It's you that won't let this happen.”
Sabotage? She thought he was sabotaging himself? “That's a nice theory, M, but come on. We all know two people so unevenly matched will never work out.”
“Do me a favor,” said Emily.
“No.”
Emily threw her hands up. “You don't even know what it is!”
“You’re going to try to get me to keep bugging the most perfect girl in the world—”
“Who's madly in love with you!” interrupted Emily. “Heaven knows why.”
“Funny.”
"You think I didn't feel the same way about Dom?”
“That he's the perfect girl?”
“Really?” said Emily. "You're going to slam the guy who taught you how to change your life?”
JFK smirked. "He shouldn't be such a perfect target if he doesn't want me making fun of him. And still, the answer is no. No favors.”
"Why not? What do you have to lose? "
"It's not that I have a lot to lose, it's just that I don't want to. I don't want people telling me how to live my life. And maybe I don't want the perfect little love story like you and those other losers at the station have.”
“See? Sabotage!” Emily spread her hands as if it was obvious.
“You should write a book,” said JFK in a flat tone. “I bet firefighters around the country would be lining up to read about how they shoot themselves in the foot.”
“Please, JFK! I'll pick up your tab today if you just go talk to Dom’s niece Clover. I don't even care how many drinks you're having. "
JFK picked up the small glass and swirled it a little. “I gave up drinking.” He'd asked for his drink in a small glass because he thought maybe it would make him feel like he was actually getting a buzz from his virgin drink. Plus, he still had a reputation to uphold even though he was sitting around drinking boring old Coke.
"What's that, then?”
"Coke.”
Emily raised one eyebrow. "Rum and Coke?”
“Yep. Rum and Coke, hold the rum. No, that’s a lie.” Emily nodded as if she’d known, but he said, “It’s not even real Coke. It’s Diet. Why do you think I’ve barely touched it?”
"Honestly I thought you were on number three or four by now.” Emily leaned forward with a suspicious look on her face. "Wait. What about your homebrew? "
"Sold it.”
"Look at you! If you would stop telling yourself what a piece of crap you are and just honestly look at yourself for one minute, you and Mercy could have something really special.”
“If you would step back and stop sticking your nose where it wasn’t asked for…” He didn't want her help. He didn't need her help. He had this figured out, and he knew himself better than she did, despite what she might think.
“I'm not going to stop bugging you about this.” Emily folded her arms and sat back in her chair.
/> JFK stood up. "Yeah, well there are a lot of other places that serve Diet Coke.” He pulled a fiver out of his wallet, slapped it down on the table, and walked out of Pineapple’s.
Chapter
Mercy walked nervously to the Two Hearts Rescue mailbox. It was still early to expect results, but the fundraising envelopes she had distributed might just start coming back today. In two weeks working with Poppy, Mercy had been given more hours, better pay, and much more responsibility. Not much in the pay department, but a little bump didn’t hurt. Poppy’s husband Slade had mentioned the possibility of hiring her on a freelance basis to review some grants he was writing. It hadn’t happened yet, but any lead was good.
So much good had come from her too-brief relationship with her own personal Tarzan. Her Iron Chef. No, relationship wasn’t the right word. Friendship? That was better, but it had felt like more than that. She’d texted him a few days after he broke it off, and received an unsatisfying brief reply. A couple days later she asked if he wanted to go out with her Saturday night or if he was feeling really brave and wanted to go back to church the next day. He simply told her that he had to work. That was it.
Yeah, meeting him had made her life better in so many ways, but she wanted more. It looked like she wasn’t going to get it.
At least she still had her sobriety. And there was some hope in the mailbox.
Mercy drew in a cold breath. Steam filled the air as she let it out and clouded her view as she pulled the door of the mailbox open.
A stack of white envelopes waited for her. The one on top had the Two Hearts return logo that she had used in the fundraiser distribution materials. Quickly she thumbed through the stack but the rest of it was mail for Poppy. It was barely 48 hours since the fundraiser had started. They’d asked for small donations—between two and twenty dollars—and this one could be anywhere in that range. They needed to top $250 to cover the cost of putting it together. No, closer to $270 including what Mercy had been paid for those hours. Anything over that would be gravy and would be put to excellent use with the rabbits, dogs, cats, pot bellied pig, and yak that currently made up the Two Hearts roster, but Mercy was beginning to worry that she might have to send in anonymous donations to get them over that hump.
Mercy slunk back into the warm, animal-scented air.
“Well?” asked Poppy. Daria popped her head out from behind the computer.
Mercy held the stack of mail up. “We got one.” Even this early that was a little embarrassing.
“How much?” asked Poppy.
“I don’t know,” said Mercy.
“It’s a start,” said Poppy. Mercy could read the concern on Poppy’s face. She’d been reluctant to spend the money on an unproven fundraising method.
“Keep your head up, kiddo,” said Daria. “Check this out.” She turned the screen so Mercy could see it. “The Amazon Smile donations are starting to come in already.”
That had been the first fundraising idea of Mercy’s and had been going for about a week. The account balance showed a total of $52.41. It wasn’t going to pay for the addition to the shelter, but for an hour’s worth of work to sign up for the Smile program and another hour to send out an email to the Two Hearts mailing list, the return on investment had the potential to be phenomenal.
Who was she kidding? Phenomenal was the wrong word. Two hundred bucks a month was piddly for an operation this size. It didn’t even cover Mercy’s salary once you factored in payroll taxes.
“You’re a genius,” said Poppy. “Who knew signing up and spreading the word could bring in free money like that?”
Daria said, “The girl knows the game. Time for a raise.”
“I’ve already given her two raises,” said Poppy. “She’ll be making more than either of us if I keep throwing more money at her every week.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Mercy. It was nice of them to gush, but fifty bucks and one micro-donation would never get her near what she needed to be making. “I mean, you’re a great vet, but non-profit work is what I’ve been living, eating, and sleeping since I got sober.” She wouldn’t complain about eleven bucks an hour, but she’d gotten serious about casting her net wider and results had started to come in at more than twice the pay and double the hours with great benefits on top of that. The offer from Water for the World was the most promising. That was in Seattle. It appeared her chosen field of employment was too narrow to expect to stay close to home.
“No raise today,” said Poppy, trying to suppress a grin, “but I do have a reward for you.”
“Let me guess,” said Mercy. “I still get to clean the dog cages.”
“You got it! The volunteers will be here any minute to exercise the pooches so you can get in there.”
“I’ll get my shovel and hose ready,” said Mercy. She handed over the mail. As anxious as she was to find out the donation amount in the envelope, she also didn’t want to seem too important to do the main job she’d been hired for.
“Hey,” said Poppy before Mercy reached the door. “Daria might be nervous about you taking her job and her raises, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Daria chuckled and said, “Daria’s ready for you to add accounting and payroll to your fundraising duties. Heaven forbid I actually spend my time care-taking animals like I was trained for.”
Mercy laughed along and backed through the swinging door. Shadow, a black lab mix, barked at her, but when Mercy came up to the cage, he changed his tune and ran up to the gate to lick her finger.
“Why can’t I get the guy I like to be half as interested as you?” she muttered to Shadow. A hundred times a day thoughts of her Iron Chef intruded in her life, and he still baffled her.
It wasn’t that she had delusions of being the most desirable woman in the world or anything like that. But there had been a connection. And he’d done so much on her car and transformed into a gentleman overnight and made comments that Mercy was sure meant he was interested. Then he’d proceeded to make one brief romantic move and let her push him away. The chance to explain it all to him had never come up, and now that they were estranged, she couldn’t do it.
After the incident at church, Mercy had bared her soul, and it had made him even more of a stay-away guy. It was hard to be rejected like that. Back when she’d been deep in her addiction, pretty much any hot-blooded human she offered herself to would accept her. Sure, they’d used her and discarded her, but everyone got what they wanted at the time. Through all that she couldn’t remember ever being so thoroughly rejected by a guy who seemed interested in the slightest.
I have plenty of friends. What a stupid thing to say.
Maybe it was a good thing that they hadn’t gotten serious. More and more it was looking like Mercy would end up far away, and a guy back home would just make the transition to the next phase of her life harder. Going through recovery herself and seeing dozens of others fail or succeed at it had shown her that the last thing any of them needed was a harder life.
The family get-together was a couple days away. By then Mercy would know for sure if Seattle was her future. More and more it felt like the gathering would be her chance to say farewell to everyone. Mercy had plenty of friends in the Jewell family. Who needed a guy?
Justice wasn’t back on that list of friends yet. They’d seen each other from across the nave once, but Mercy had moved past allowing someone else to permit her to worship, and so she barely made eye contact.
Yet another thing her Iron Chef had taught her. She was starting to figure out that he would forever be the one who got away.
Chapter
JFK used a pry bar to carefully remove the last bit of trim from the rotten sill and frame in Mrs. Walker’s sun room. Sunny weather had aligned with his days off to give him more than enough time to get to the project that should have been done years ago to prevent the moisture from sitting snow to penetrate the wall.
It was in the 40s outside but felt like 90 inside. The outside trim had come off clean, an
d everything above the sill level he would be able to reuse. Now it was just a matter of taking the time necessary to get the inside trim off without ruining it so that he could get the window off and get some cool fresh air.
“I brought you something to drink.”
JFK glanced over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Walker at the entrance to the sun room with a large glass of what looked like lemonade. She was in her late 80s and moved like it. Putting his pry bar down, JFK stood up straight, and hurried to take the glass out of her hands before she tried to navigate the step carrying that big glass. It had to have at least 250 calories.
“It looks delicious,” he told her, “but I’m off sugar, remember?”
Mrs. Walker held on to the doorframe with one hand and took the hand that JFK offered with the other one.
“Oh, all these new carbo fast purges.” She shook her head. “My granddaughter tells me about a new diet every time I see her.”
None of Mrs. Walker’s family visited her more than a couple times a year, so she couldn’t tell her about new diets all that often. He eyed the glass suspiciously.
Mrs. Walker said, “I bought some new sugar-free sugar to make it with.”
“Sugar-free sugar? That sounds fishy.”
“They call it Splendid I think. Go ahead, taste it. It even tastes like it’s not real sugar.”
JFK gave it a sip and could tell it was fake sugar. It had been a couple weeks since he had gone off sugar and artificial sweeteners just didn’t meet his hankering. But the drink was cold and he was hot so he chugged more than half of it before coming up for air.
As Mrs. Walker settled into a patio chair, she said, “You keep dropping pounds, I’ll have to get me a good stick to beat the girls off when you start going around my yard again.”
“Let ‘em come,” said JFK.
“No way, no how,” said Mrs. Walker. “You need to keep yourself for that girl. The special one.”
JFK downed the rest of the fake drink and asked, “What girl?”
“What girl?” Mrs. Walker swatted the air in front of her. “I was married for 55 years. You think I don’t recognize a man working off frustration with a woman? Frustration was the fuel my Robert built this house on.”
Rescue and Redemption: Park City Firefighter Romance Page 11
