by Debra Druzy
Before heading home, she returned the shopping cart to Ray’s, then power-walked to the firehouse to tack her ad on the community bulletin board.
Circling back to get her car, she passed the red mailbox and dropped her little folded Christmas list in the slot with some big wishful thinking.
Chapter Two
“Where the hell have ya been?” Squinting through the haze of cigar smoke, the chief of the Scenic View Fire Department sat behind his big wooden desk. He checked his wristwatch then pointed to the calendar on the wall. “You know you’re a late, dontcha?”
Belated was better than reneging to come at all.
Nick set the big bottle of scotch on the desk. A thank you gift for the position and an apology for being two weeks behind schedule, all wrapped in a brown paper bag.
“I meant to check in sooner, but I’ve been kinda busy taking care of some personal stuff.”
“Have a seat, Captain Knight.”
“Call me Nick.”
“You got it.” The man needed no introduction with the shiny silver nameplate on the door: Chief William Maresca. “Sounds like Fresca, you know, the soda.” Wafting one hand to break up the sweet-smelling smolder curling in the air, he lifted the window with the other, the movement making the buttons on his white collared shirt strain against his protruding belly. “Want a cigar?”
“No, thanks.” Nick pulled out a stick of gum from his jacket pocket, folded it into his mouth, and rolled the thin paper between his restless fingers.
“I spoke to your chief in Star Harbor, and we set up this arrangement because it was mutually beneficial. This department is short-staffed. And you need a change of scenery—whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” Maresca sat back, making the chair squeak beneath his weight. “Mind filling me in?”
Nick tried keeping it short.
But it was hard to keep it sweet.
Basically, the Star Harbor Fire Chief forced the issue of the transfer. Special assignment. Temporary relocation. However the hell headquarters wanted to file it. The town closed one of the sub-stations. His sub-station. They could’ve transferred anyone. But everyone else had roots. Wives. Kids. Mortgages.
Nick had nothing. Just himself.
And a crazy ex-wife who was taking a permanent vacation in his neighborhood.
The pretext of it all was Nick could use a change of scenery to escape his early mid-life funk. Might as well ship him some place he’d like so he’d never want to return to Star Harbor.
“The only reason I came to Scenic View is because my chief made me. He found a bunch of letters sent to the firehouse addressed to me from an attorney here in town.” Nick pulled out an envelope and flashed Maresca the label on the flap. “Being how I don’t have any business around here, I just chucked the letters every month without even opening them, figuring it was junk mail. His secretary thought they were thrown away by accident, so she picked them out of the trash and gave them to the chief. The day he dropped the bomb about the transfer, he pulled out a wad of envelopes. Opened one of them. Read it. Showed it to me. I thought it’s gotta be a joke. He figured it’s worth looking into.”
Maresca leaned on his elbows, inching closer with Nick’s every word. “Ya killing me with the suspense.”
Hesitant to admit his wondrous windfall aloud, like saying the words would be a gigantic jinx, he slid the paper out of the envelope and handed it to Maresca.
“Well, I’m not being sued like I figured. And no one’s looking for child support.”
“Ah-ha.” Maresca scanned the paper and nodded. “I should have put two-and-two together by the last name. You’re the one the town’s been looking for. Your uncle was a good man. If you don’t mind the pun, we considered him a regular knight in shining armor around here. He passed away a few years ago. You’re just coming around now to claim the estate?”
“Great uncle,” Nick said. “I never met him. Guess it took the lawyer some time to track me down. Glad to know the old man was a nice guy.”
“A regular saint. When the church burnt down, he paid for everything—from the building to the new Bibles. He was responsible for the community clubhouse. The upgraded playground in Rocketship Park. The expansion to the hospital. Even founded the Secret Santa Society we operate outta the firehouse. Helluva guy he was. God rest his soul.”
No saint himself, Nick wasn’t ready to accept the honorable challenge of filling the dead man’s shoes, although accepting the money had been pretty painless so far.
Maresca handed back the letter, and Nick folded it carefully, putting it away like it was something sacred. It was, after all, the million-dollar letter.
And if it weren’t for the Star Harbor Fire Chief forcing him to read it, he never would have known about his great, big, fat inheritance. He hoped the bottle in transit was enough of a thank you until he could do something more, like pay off the guy’s mortgage. Or the grandkids’ college careers. Something major like that.
With ten million in liquid cash, plus numerous real estate assets dotting Long Island, Nick went from getting by, to being able to buy anything. His first major purchase was a special order custom camper so he could cruise through his impending mid-life crisis in style. He was still a few years away from forty, but when it hit, he’d be ready.
“Well…I guess that’s it then?” Maresca sighed.
“What’s it?”
“You’re here to tell me you’re retiring now, aren’t you?”
Caught off guard, lost in a daydream, he half-nodded, half-shook his head, and shrugged in an awkward motion. “Wait—what?” Old guys retire. I’m old…but not that old. “I’m not retiring.”
“Well, that’s good, ’cause I need the help. Two guys are out on paternity leave ’til the new year. Headquarters is a little slow processing your paperwork, so you’re on limited duty for now. There’s plenty to do in-house. We’re a municipal department. Things are quiet for the most part. I need someone to handle the Training Officer slot and the Fire Marshal’s office. And we have Fire Prevention Day coming up…”
Nick was familiar with it all. “I can do that.”
“And the town can always use a few extra hands when it snows. The department helps whenever we can. Independent contractors get paid pretty good for plowing, not that you need the money.”
“No problem. I’ve got a plow for my pickup. Is that all?”
“Well, there is something else.” Maresca pulled up the vertical window shade. “See the red mailbox across the street?”
Next to the standard blue USPS box stood a twin painted red with white lettering—NORTH POLE. He’d spotted it yesterday on his way to the liquor store where he met that cute little redhead.
Lily.
He and his libido had a hard time resisting the rarity of a sexy Pippi Longstocking. Too bad she looked about half his age, with the creamy complexion and youthful spray of faint freckles. Her skin lacked the fine lines he noticed creeping into his daily reflection.
How young could she be if she was old enough to buy booze?
Still, he didn’t dare go back to see her at the barbershop. Not after her boss waved his pointy shears in his direction.
“If you’ll collect the letters, I’ll sort them out. I like to read them first before giving them to the Ladies Auxiliary. They give them back to the parents. Or if it’s too big of a request—like medical issues or families in crisis—the Secret Santa Society gets involved. We’ve installed wheelchair ramps for the elderly. Bought computers for kids. Paid the electric bill for out-of-work residents. That kind of stuff.”
Nick nodded. “Sounds like a good system.”
“It was your uncle’s idea.”
“Well, count me in on the Secret Santa stuff. Besides money, I’m pretty handy, I can donate my time.”
“Speaking of your time…” Maresca wavered, and Nick sensed the anvil coming. “I was hoping—since you’re new around here, and none of the kids know your face—you might be interested in play
ing Santa for them at the Christmas party.”
Wham! There it was. If he agreed to play Santa, he’d probably get suckered in being the Easter Bunny, too. He fumbled for a viable reason to say no.
“I’d do it myself,” Maresca explained, “but I had a knee replacement last year, and I’m still working out the kinks. I can’t handle all those kids.”
Yeah, good excuse. Feeling the guilt mounting, Nick gave a silent sigh, and said, “Yes,” without flinching.
“Good. Now that we got Santa squared away, you have a CPR class to give.”
“Now?”
Maresca checked his watch. “In about twenty minutes. I was gonna do it, but since you’re here…” He tore off a yellow page from the legal pad with To-Dos scribbled during their conversation and handed it to Nick as he limped around the desk. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour to the basement.”
Compared to the modern Star Harbor firehouse, Scenic View’s was a relic. Faded red brick on the outside with dark wood and brass trim on the main floor inside showed its age but looked well maintained. Memorabilia from yesteryear adorned the walls. Pale photographs and shiny plaques with names of past officers glinted in two lines along the narrow hallway.
They rode the creaky elevator down one level because Maresca’s knees couldn’t handle the stairs.
“Where ya staying while you’re in town?”
“My uncle’s bungalow. Thinking of making some renovations in the spring.” If it doesn’t collapse first.
“Geez.” Maresca recoiled. “Don’t tell me you’re living in that abandoned shack on the beach, way down from the boardwalk.”
“I was. But the attorney just told me this morning the town condemned it for fungal mold. And the electrical system wasn’t up to code. Is there a decent motel around here?”
“You can try the Hideaway Hotel. They rent rooms by the hour if you catch my drift. Then there’s the Scenic View Inn overlooking the marina. That’ll run you three bills a night. Or you can check the community bulletin board.”
Tacked to the wall was an array of handwritten and professionally printed signs. Nick scanned them all. Car for sale. Babysitter wanted. Dog walker. Dog sitter. House cleaner. House sitter. Landscaper. Room for rent/Roommate wanted.
“Perfect.” Maresca plucked the last one and handed it to Nick. “Someone’s looking for you.”
“I don’t think that’ll work for me.”
“Hang on to it. You never know. Maybe you’ll change your mind. In the meantime, stay in the bunkroom as long as you want.”
Maresca pushed open a steel door labeled Training—by virtue of a piece of silver duct tape printed with black marker—and flipped on a wall switch. “The supply closet is back here.”
The room was a blank space, except for the perimeter of folding chairs set up like a horseshoe against pale paneled walls facing a movie screen and a plain metal desk in the corner.
“Everything you need’s in here.” Maresca led them to another door within the training room and flicked another wall switch, turning on the overhead fluorescent bulbs inside a storage closet bigger than Nick’s tiny bungalow.
“Heads up!” Maresca called, and Nick turned in time to catch the soft packages. A pale blue button-down shirt, navy blue standard-issue pants, and a one-size-fits-most clip-on tie. “We’re pillars of the community. Gotta look the part.”
Nick made a quick change in the locker room before schlepping cumbersome plastic torsos from the closet, setting them in neat rows on the industrial-carpeted floor.
“Here they come.” Maresca stepped in the hallway at the sound of footsteps clattering down the metal staircase.
Nick couldn’t avoid eavesdropping on the chief having a helluva time coaxing an unwilling female into the room.
“But I took the class last year.” Her gentle protest bordered on whining. “Why do I have to sit through it again?”
“They changed the guidelines,” Maresca said. “Plus, you’re gonna need training on how to use the AED machine. Just get in there, Lily.”
Lily! The redheaded girl with the shopping cart in the liquor store—that Lily?
Nick backed into the supply closet and peered through the crack in the door. His focus fell on the petite figure tucking red strands into a loose wind-blown braid. Every inch of him throbbed, from his heart to his hard-on. He adjusted the inseam of his stiff new pants to suppress his arousal before it raged out of control.
She will not get to me…she will not get to me…she will not get to me…
When the mantra failed to do its job, he counted backwards from a thousand…then stepped out of the closet ready for business with newfound clarity.
Although he kept Lily in his peripheral vision, he paid her no special attention, not even bothering to say hello.
She probably wouldn’t recognize me anyway.
Or would she?
A new self-imposed challenge set him off again, but Nick curtailed his runaway thoughts by counting the stack of informational material.
She will not get to me...
He handed a pamphlet to each person with a quick, generic greeting.
By the time he got to Lily, his rebellious libido was feeling frisky, and the mantra slipped his mind.
She reached for brochure blindly, not bothering to lift her head.
Nick refused to let it go, even when she tugged, forcing her to look up. “Hello again.”
She blinked hard before the startled expression faded into a wry smile and a blush bloomed on her fair skin.
Electricity rippled from his eyes to his thighs. It happened so fast no one else could have noticed the invisible energy between them.
What the hell am I doing? She’s too young for me.
Instead of feeling like a dirty old man, he felt nothing but hot and bothered.
“Hi.” Her powdery voice floated past glossy lips. A wide, million-dollar smile lit up her lovely face, brightening the entire world as far as he was concerned, making it impossible to tear his eyes away.
“What about me?” The woman one seat over huffed with impatience that jolted him back to reality.
What about you? Nick glowered at the occupant in the next chair, dressed like she was going to the bar rather than here to learn CPR. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a consolation grin that seemed to satisfy her for the moment.
“I’m Britney. And you’re a new face, aren’t you?” A knock-off of his bottle-blonde ex-wife wasted no time making casual conversation. “Call me anytime if you wanna go out for a cocktail. I’ll show you ’round town.”
“Okay everybody,” Maresca said, “Settle down. Let’s get started so we’re outta here on time.”
Nick shuffled the certificates on the desk, putting Lily’s at the bottom of the pile on the clipboard. And Britney’s on top.
“I’m Chief Maresca, as most of you know. This is Captain Nick Knight, our newest member, on loan all the way from upstate New York. He’s gonna take you through CPR, which stands for cardiopulmonary resuscitation.” He winked at Nick. “They’re all yours. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
Nick turned on the video, giving him ten minutes to regain his composure.
Even if Lily might be into older men…
Well, he didn’t wanna think about it. Although he couldn’t forget the nineteen-year-old hottie he’d scored with on his thirtieth birthday—not the noblest of choices, but he had been still drinking heavily at the time.
Things were different now. Better. Because he was living sober. And he wasn’t looking to mislead any more little girls into thinking he was some kind of Prince Charming for the night. Although being in love with the right woman might be the answer to his prayers and problems.
When the video segment ended, he asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”
Britney raised her hand, wiggling red-tipped fingers in the air. “Where upstate are you from? ’Cause I know people up there.”
“He means questions about CPR,” a wo
man cackled, and the class burst into laughter just as Maresca limped back in and mouthed to Nick: What the hell is going on in here?
Nick shrugged, grateful for the chaos that turned his rigid flesh into Jell-O.
The chief rolled his eyes, grabbed whatever he was looking for, and stepped out again.
“I’m from Star Harbor. Across the Long Island Sound, by Connecticut,” Nick said over the ruckus.
A man’s voice interjected, “Come on already. I wanna get outta here on time. You’ll probably find him at the pub, Brit. You can pick him up there.”
Britney hissed at everyone. “Oh, shut up.” Then she flashed her eyes at Nick with a coy smile. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Look folks,” Nick shouted over the chatter, “this course doesn’t make you an automatic doctor or anything. What you learn today will help you in case your family or friends have a heart attack. Situations you might encounter at the dinner table. A wedding. Your kid’s soccer game.”
After finishing the two hours of stop-and-go videos, he did a quick CPR demonstration with the mannequins.
When it was time to let the class try, he couldn’t take his eyes off Lily, down on all fours in front of her victim, with palms in perfect nipple-alignment, arms in good form, ready to push on the chest cavity. A magnificent vibration flowed through him at the sight of her heart-shaped bottom raised high in the air. He wanted nothing more than to get behind her and rock the stiff pillar in his pants into her…Nine-hundred-ninety-nine…Nine-hundred-ninety-eight…Nine-hundred-ninety-seven…
“Good job everyone. Let’s move onto the Heimlich maneuver…” He roved the room, eyeing the students, sizing them up, looking for a victim.
Squelching any guilt, he hovered over Lily with the zipper-fly of his Dickies in direct alignment to her pouty lips, making him twitch like a compass needle pointing at the North Pole. This might be his only chance to get this close to her, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “How tall are you, miss?”
“Um, five-ish.”
