Love Resurrected (Love in San Soloman Book 5)

by Denise Wells

  I’m already running about twenty minutes late to the fire station, not that I care.

  Except, I do.

  See? Wishy-washy.

  I care too much.

  I’m late because I keep going back and forth between wanting to put an effort in on my appearance and have it not show, versus not putting in an effort but still looking good. And that’s just my hair and makeup. I still have no idea what I want to wear. Plus, I want to stop to get coffee and donuts, just to prove that I’m easy-breezy about everything and continuing on with my no biggie facade. I pace my bedroom for a few more minutes.

  This is so stupid.

  Why do women put themselves through this?

  I growl in frustration at myself and throw on jeans and a tank top. After grabbing my flip-flops, I tousle my hair to let it dry naturally, and am out the door. I do stop for coffee and donuts because I figure I’m already late, so it can’t hurt. I get cups for Brad, Nessa, and me, plus enough donuts for the entire station, just to show that I’m mature and not holding a grudge about anything at all that might be deemed grudge worthy.

  I park my car in the lot, purposefully not looking around to see where Brad’s truck is and make my way up the front walk. It’s a slight incline, past rows of bushes and commemorative benches—that no one ever sits on—then finally flattening out in the area where the building is. My heart beats faster the closer I get to the front door.

  Deep breath.

  Release.

  It doesn’t work. My pulse hasn’t slowed. By the time I’m placing my hand on the door handle, I’m convinced my heart will race out of my chest.

  Deep breath.

  I pull open the door and let my breath out slowly, focusing my gaze straight ahead, but seeing nothing. I set everything down on the table we usually use, then bring the donuts back to the kitchenette for everyone to enjoy. It isn’t until I turn back toward our work area that I realize Brad and Nessa aren’t here. They were earlier, since they set things out at two seats, but I don’t see them. In fact, I don’t see anyone anywhere.

  I’ve never been upstairs at the station, and I don’t want to do a self-guided tour now. There’s only one fire engine in the big garage space, so I know some of the guys are out on a call. Regardless, I have enough on my to-do list between phone calls and emails to keep me busy all morning.

  Another thirty minutes passes by, then I see Brad and Nessa coming up the front walk. I take a moment to observe them. And by them, I mean, Brad. He’s wearing his dark-blue regulation slacks and a snug dark-blue t-shirt that says SSFD across the chest. The shirt shows off his chest and arms to a great advantage, and when he turns to smile at Nessa, he takes my breath away.

  The simplicity of the expression, which, for the briefest of moments, is so unguarded and pure, makes him look beautiful. And I realize I’ve yet to see a true smile on his face. He’s exceptionally handsome when he’s broody, which is good because that’s his primary disposition. But when he smiles, he looks almost god-like.

  I have to scoff at my thoughts because they’re ridiculous, and I sound like a sappy romance novel. But I don’t know of another way to think that adequately describes what I’m seeing. The two reach the door and Brad, somewhat awkwardly, opens it for Nessa using his good hand.

  “After you,” he says.

  “Ah, Tenley, you’re here,” Nessa says when she sees me.

  “I am.” I sit up a little straighter. “Where did you guys go?”

  “We ran over to City Hall to turn in the occupancy permits.”

  “Fantastic. Nice work, guys.” I smile at both of them. Nessa smiles back while Brad busies himself straightening the papers at his seat. “I brought you both a coffee”—I gesture to the cups I set on the table—“and there are donuts in the back for everyone.”

  “Wow, you had a busy morning,” Nessa says.

  “That was nice of you, Tenley, thank you. For both,” Brad adds. He heads to the kitchenette and shoves over half a donut in his mouth, then takes a second and third in his good hand. “These are good,” he says once he’s swallowed. “Where did you get them?”

  “That little place on the corner of Second Street and Myerly Way.”

  Brad finishes the second and third donuts in record time and we get back to work, alternating phone calls and discussions until early afternoon. We take a break for lunch, after which Nessa leaves for an appointment and it’s just Brad and me for another hour.

  He stops and stretches back in his chair. His chest expands and I can’t help but peek at the impressive muscles both there and in his arms. I get a small whiff of his aftershave—spicy without being overpowering. I like it.

  “You got big plans this weekend?” he asks as he straightens in his chair.

  “Not really,” I say. “You?”

  “Well,” he starts. “A buddy gave me tickets to one of those mystery dinners for tonight. I asked E, but he doesn’t want to leave Sadie. I thought about asking Nessa, but then I thought maybe you’d like to go with me?” He looks hopeful and scared at the same time. And man, does his delivery ever need work. How can someone so good-looking be so terrible with the opposite sex?

  “I’m your third choice?” I smile to show I’m teasing, even though part of me is a little offended.

  “You’re my second choice,” he says. “I didn’t ask Nessa.” He throws me a half-smile and winks. It’s the wink that does me in.

  “I’ve always wanted to do one of those, it sounds fun. Thank you.” I smile for real this time, hoping for one of his genuine ones in return. The corners of his mouth turn up like he wants to smile, but it’s more of a tight-lipped grin. “What time?”

  “It starts at seven, so do you want me to pick you up after work?”

  “Um . . .” I’m still a little traumatized by Neil and having no ride of my own. “How about if I meet you here at six thirty, and you can drive us there. Does that work?”

  “Perfect,” he says. “I’ve got to go stock supplies, unless you need me for anything specific with this.”

  “Do you want me to need you?” I ask, before I realize how it sounds.

  His eyes widen.

  “I just meant . . . you know how . . . okay, sometimes people say something like that when they want you to pretend to have something for them to do, so they don’t have to do the other thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, like maybe you wanted me to pretend I need you for something, so you wouldn’t have to stock supplies. Like an, ‘Unless you need me for something, wink wink.’”

  “Oh. No, I really do need to stock supplies.”

  “Okay. Great.” I stand, feeling uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll see you later then.” I leave from the table and am almost out the door when the toe end of my flip-flop catches the edge of the welcome mat and I fly forward into the front doors.

  “Jesus. Tenley, are you okay?” Brad is at my side in a second, checking me over with his left hand while awkwardly patting me with the casted right hand.

  “I’m fine. Just tripping over nothing. Happens all the time.” I stand and try to will the blush I feel overtaking my body to stand down. No such luck. “See you later.”

  I push my way blindly out the front door and run-walk to the parking lot.

  28

  Brad

  I shower at the station after my shift, dressing in the same jeans I’d had on when I came to work, and a clean button-down that was in my locker. The shirt wears a little tight now around the chest and arms, as do most of my clothes, since I’ve been taking my frustration over life out at the gym. It’s not the nicest thing I own, but it’s also not the Van Halen t-shirt I was wearing when I got here. I’m trying, and hopefully it shows.

  I plan to be a pleasant dinner guest, and I will do my best to show Tenley a nice time. After which, she will have nothing but nice things to say about our evening out. We will each go our separate ways, outside of planning the recruitment event, and I’ll get Remi and Ethan to lay off a
bout me moving on for at least another few months.

  That said, I’m steeling myself for this evening. It was much easier to ask her to dinner than I’d expected. However, spending the rest of the afternoon thinking about it has not gone well. It’s amazing how much damage I can do to myself in such a short amount of time. Over the course of the afternoon, I’ve mentally traversed the entire course of a relationship with Tenley from beginning to end.

  Now, I’ve somehow soured myself on the entire idea of Tenley. I have to consciously remind myself I like her as a person. I like the idea of being friends with Tenley. The very edge of my brain toys with the idea that maybe she and I can find some happy medium where we friend-date. Like, go out every so often as friends, for dinner or a movie. Something low-key, with no pressure.

  I expect the evening will be tolerable, and I’ll be home and in bed before ten o’clock.

  What I’m not expecting is the visceral reaction from my body when I see her walking up from the parking lot. She stops midway to finish a phone call, and it’s when she throws her head back and laughs at something the caller says, that I feel my chest tighten and my cock jump. She reminds me of Kat when she does it. That full-throated, devil-may-care laugh that is straight-up endearing and infectious as hell.

  I can’t do this.

  I turn to walk back into the locker room, unbuttoning my shirt as I go, planning to change back into my t-shirt and leave this clean shirt for another time. I’m not ready. It still feels too much like a betrayal to Kat. Like I’m cheating, plain and simple. Ethan stops me with his hands to my shoulders.

  “It’s okay to date,” he says, as though he’s read my mind.

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “You can and you will. It’s what Kat wanted. You know that. You can’t spend the rest of your life with a ghost, man.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Yeah. I do. Is that what it will take to make you enjoy yourself and keep an open mind tonight?”

  “Maybe.” He can’t be serious about making a bet, it would be stupid. Only because I’m being stupid. Shit. “No. I’ll go. I’m going.”

  “And you’ll keep an open mind?”

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  “And have a good time?”

  “But of course, Dad. Anything else?”

  “That’s my boy.” He claps me on the back between my shoulder blades, as though delivering an accolade, only harder.

  I’m serious when I tell him I’ll try, but I’m not expecting good results from it. Kat is—was—the love of my life. There is no coming back from that. I have no problem being alone, no problem being celibate, no problem never being involved with someone again.

  I’m self-aware enough to know it’s backwards thinking on my part. Because if she was my one great love, and she’s gone, then no one else will ever have the power to hurt me like this again. But on the flip side, I’ll never have that same joy again. So, why bother? I already know how good it can be, why settle for less? Isn’t that just setting both myself and the other person up for disappointment?

  Then I remember what the grief counselor said about the different kinds of love, and how a new love can be just as potent without diminishing what you had before.

  Fuck me.

  I watch Tenley finish up her phone call and tuck her phone into her pocket. She’s wearing some kind of loose top and shorts with a wide, tight waistband separating them. The shirt appears to be cut in a V all the way to the waistband, but it doesn’t look like she’s about to pop out of it. I’m surprised to realize I’m a little disappointed by that. Her legs are bare, and she’s wearing heels that are sexy as hell.

  She looks good.

  I move forward to push the door open for her just before the reaches it.

  “Oh!” She startles. “Thank you.” She steps in the station and looks around at the empty room. “So,” she starts, and claps her hands together once. I’m relieved to see that she’s obviously as uncomfortable as I am.

  “Are you ready to go?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “After you.” I open the door again and follow her out. “This will be good, right? It’s like dinner and a show.”

  “Definitely,” she says. “That way when we tire of talking to one another, we’ll have something else to keep us entertained.”

  We both laugh at that, but I’m not sure if she’s being serious or not.

  The ride to the restaurant is quiet, with each of us alone in our thoughts. I keep accidentally looking at her legs while I’m driving, remembering back to happy hour and the bathroom, and how those legs felt wrapped around me.

  It was good.

  I need a subject change in my brain, so I turn up the radio and sing along to the song playing: “Blue on Black” by Kenny Wayne Shepherd. It’d be a good song to fuck to. God, the male mind is so fucked up. My dick is more than ready for more Tenley, and a part of my brain goes right along with it. But then there’s that other part that sides with my heart, that says we aren’t ready for that again. We may never be ready again. But thinking of not being ready for sex is still thinking about sex, which means all systems are a go to my dick. Who is now uncomfortably hard in my jeans.

  Fuck my life.

  We pull into the parking lot as the song ends.

  “You have a nice singing voice,” Tenley says, surprising me.

  “Oh, thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

  “Well, I don’t know that song, but you sounded a lot like the singer.”

  “That’s Kenny Wayne Shepherd.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t know who that is?”

  “If I did, I’d probably know the song.”

  Good point.

  “He does an amazing cover of ‘Midnight Rider.’” I rest my cast at the small of Tenley’s back as we walk through the parking lot to the restaurant. It’s either that or have her walk on the outside so I can use my good hand, which goes against everything I believe in regarding chivalry.

  “The Allman Brothers song?”

  “You know the Allman Brothers and don’t know Kenny?”

  She shrugs in response and smiles softly.

  Inside, we’re seated at a small table for two near the stage. The bulk of the lighting in the room is by candlelight, giving it an eerie quality that lends itself to the mystery vibe of the entire evening. I’m surprised to see the staff are all dressed in character and acting accordingly.

  On the table, along with the pre-fixed menu options, is the story set-up for the mystery we’ll be solving. We both take a moment to read it. It’s not super complex—murder in a jazz club, set in the 1920s during prohibition. So, any alcohol that we have with our dinner must be ordered using code words and delivered in secret to the table.

  “So, we’re helping to solve the crime?” Tenley asks.

  “I guess so.”

  “I thought we’d just be watching it all on stage. But look at this, we have clue cards and character descriptions, the entire backstory. This is awesome.”

  I order a beer and Tenley a glass of wine, and we take bets who the killer might be before knowing anything more about the crime. The show starts as we’re served the salad course. They prove my initial guess wrong within minutes, but Tenley could still be right about who the murderer is.

  “Good thing you’re a firefighter and not a police officer,” Tenley teases.

  “Is that how it’s gonna go?” I smile. “You throwin’ down, woman?”

  “Oh, I threw down a while ago, you’re just slow on the uptake.”

  I enjoy how quickly she picks up on a joke, and conversation between us continues to be easy through the main course. And I find, by halfway through the evening, I’m having a great time. I’m laughing and I’m enjoying myself. Tenley’s thoughts easily fall on the side of devious, making her a delightful mystery solving partner. I’m glad when her initial guess is soon proven wrong. I figure, this way she has nothing to hold over my head for
the rest of the evening. Or longer.

  We don’t end up solving the murder, as there’s a twist in the story no one expected, and only the actors come up with the right answer. Maybe they plan it that way for entertainment purposes. By the time we’ve finished our coffee and dessert, I’m sad to see the night ending.

  “I had a good time tonight,” I tell her as we’re walking back to the truck.

  “I did to,” she says, wrapping my arm in hers and squeezing gently before letting it go.

  I take her hand in mine, to see how it feels.

  I like it.

  I continue holding it until she’s getting into the cab of the truck, then shut the door after her and circle around the front of the truck.

  “How long do you have to have the cast on?”

  “Four to six weeks. It was a relatively clean fracture. I could have shattered my knuckle and that would have been a disaster.”

  “Is the fire chief understanding about taking time off work for things like this?”

  “We go back a long way, the chief and me. He was a friend of my father’s, and he’s given me a lot of leeway over the years. But if this wasn’t the breaking point for him, I’ll be surprised. I’m at the point now where I need to be serious about my choices. He can’t possibly keep giving me fourth and fifth chances without the other guys getting bent out of shape.”

  “Guys like Neil?”

  “Yeah, that prick.”

  “I agree. I think I called him that in my head earlier today, as a matter of fact.” She giggles.

  “Ah, great minds think alike and all that.”

  “Why do you think you do the stupid stuff?”

  “Honest answer?” I turn to look at her. In my attempts to be honest with myself, I suppose I should be honest with her.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I don’t care. About anything. I’m trying to change that, make it more of an I didn’t care about anything. You know, past tense, but it’s hard.”