Colleen raced up, a welcome diversion before the conversation went further downhill. “Mommy, I want more cake. Can I have more cake, Mommy?”
“May I,” Scarlett corrected, distracted. “Is Granny still over at the cake table?”
Pigtails bounced as Colleen shook her head. “No. She’s gone and I’m not allowed in the kitchen. She told me.”
“No, you’re not, so I’ll come with you.” She took Colleen’s hand and walked away.
“What was all that about?” Sean asked.
“What?” Brad stood. Lifted his plate so he could take it to the busser station.
“All this friend talk.”
“I believe it means Scarlett is in control of her future and doesn’t want us meddling.”
Sean rose, and grabbed his own place setting. “She is stubborn. Won’t see what’s right in front of her unless it hit her in the face. I only want her happy.”
“We all do, but she has to figure out what makes her happy on her own.” Brad crossed the room and placed his plate and silverware on the metal shelf that led into the kitchen’s wash area. He tossed the empty plastic cup into a waste bin. Glanced around. Scarlett had settled Colleen down at a nearby table with a small piece of cake. He approached them. “I’m headed home. Looks like things are wrapping up anyway.”
“The band has another song and then people will start to clean up,” she confirmed. Expectant green eyes looked up at him. “Will I see you later?”
“Working in the morning. Want to get some sleep tonight.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed.
“I’m off Sunday. Let’s catch up then. I want your advice on some house projects.” He really didn’t, but he had no idea what else to say and he wanted to see her. Around Scarlett he felt as awkward as a sixth-grade boy. He leaned over, kissed her cheek, headed to retrieve his coat.
Scarlett watched him leave. He had a commanding figure. Great backside. She waited, hopefully, but he never glanced back once, so she shook herself, broke the endless stare. Colleen had eaten all her cake. “Go put the plate on the counter,” she told her daughter, tracking her movements as she approached the opening in the wall.
“Scarlett? Hey!” A tall brunette held a sleeping one-year-old boy in her arms. “You and I need to still make more plans!”
The cloud of doom vanished. “Jenni! I’ve been meaning to call you. Or send you a message. I’ve been so busy. A terrible person. I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier.”
“I assumed your life was still crazy. Figured if I hadn’t heard from you by the end of next week that I’d hunt you down. Was that Brad Silverman who just left?”
“He’s my landlord.” Scarlett realized she kept saying that, but really, what else was he?
“You’re going to have to tell me how you managed that. If I weren’t happily married…”
“It’s nothing like that,” Scarlett said, coloring. “He was best man at my wedding.”
“Well, I wouldn’t let that stop me. Here comes my husband. Call me tomorrow, okay? Do not forget.”
“I won’t,” Scarlett promised, watching them leave.
“Look at you,” her mom gushed, coming up. “Now aren’t you glad you came? You’ve already reconnected with a lot of people. See, I knew moving home would be good for you.”
“So you said,” Scarlett mumbled.
“I saw you talking to Tommy Rourke. He’s a good catch.”
“Mom!” Scarlett protested.
But Bernadette had no shame. She charged full-speed ahead. “What? He is. He’s a day trader. Works from home so he can stay home with his son. Isn’t that awesome? He also has two employees. Makes megabucks. Has an in-ground pool. Colleen would love to play in that.”
“Who?” Maureen asked. She and Sean had rounded up their kids and joined the group.
“Tommy Rourke,” Scarlett’s mom said.
“He and Scarlett plan on doing a playdate,” Sean filled in. Scarlett shot death rays at her brother but he failed to keep his mouth shut. “They haven’t set a date yet.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.” With glee, Scarlett’s mom clasped her hands together. “He lives in one of those mansions on Hawthorne. You and Colleen can walk.”
“How nice,” Scarlett replied, irritation growing. The man who made her weak at the knees had walked out without a backward glance. The one who didn’t owned a mansion. “Stop picking out china. It’s a playdate. Nothing more.”
“It’s a gorgeous house,” Maureen gushed. “Totally redone. Huge yard. Rory plays with Kyle. The attic is this huge room with bay windows and…” She stopped, stricken. “Sorry. Makes Sean think I don’t appreciate what we have when I go on like this.” She gave him a quick kiss.
“I like Kyle’s house,” Rory said. He’d been silently listening. “We can ride our trikes inside.”
“The third floor is one huge open playroom,” Sean said. “Indoor climbing things, a place for tricycles. Well, you’ll see it, I’m sure.”
“Brad’s building me a playroom.” Colleen, not to be left out, inserted herself into the conversation. “It’s pink. I like our house.”
“I do too,” Scarlett said, deciding to get moving before her daughter began talking about how her mommy and Brad had “spilled” paint. “Let’s go get your coat. It’s time to go.”
“Can we come again?”
“Of course.”
The drive home took less than five minutes and Scarlett pulled into the recently cleared space next to Brad’s SUV. She could see a faint glow of lights coming from the studio apartment windows. Her phone beeped, but she ignored the device in favor of getting Colleen ready for bed. She followed suit, and it wasn’t until she climbed into bed herself that she checked her text messages. As it had beeped when she went by the garage, she assumed it was from Brad. Instead, the number was foreign. Great seeing you. You are in my phone. Get me in yours too and I can’t wait to see you again. Jenni.
Scarlett pushed aside her disappointment. What was that about the one you wanted wasn’t the one who wanted you? Brad wanted to get to know her, yet he’d walked away. She leaned back against her bed, lifted the book she’d been reading and set it back down. She thought of Jenni and the warm welcome. She had to concentrate on those things, she told herself. Making friends was what was important.
As for Brad, what was that saying about men? That the answer to what they really were thinking was nothing? That women spend hours analyzing every minute detail and nuance of a situation and the guy in question hadn’t even given what happened a second thought? Yeah, that sounded about right. She probably wasn’t on his mind like he was on hers.
Then there was Tommy. He’d given her his business card. Made it very clear they should get their kids together. His interest had been clear—he’d hoped they’d get together too, sans kids, for a movie or a play. But Tommy didn’t make her heart race the way Brad did. Still, she’d be a fool to not at least follow up and see if they were compatible. Houses on Hawthorne started at half a million, and that was an as-is property in need of renovation. He seemed like a stable, stay-at-home guy with a profitable business. The complete opposite of Todd. If nothing else, they could just be friends. Heck, she wasn’t going to kiss every man she met.
She sent Jenni a text back with a Me too.
Then she took a deep breath. Found the business card and sent a text to Tommy with one line. This is my number. Scarlett.
She experienced an odd mixture of adrenaline and anticipation. This was it, the next step. She stared at her phone for a moment. The text read delivered. Then she put her phone on silent, turned it over on the nightstand and turned out the light.
* * *
Frustrated with his behavior, Brad had known he wouldn’t get any sleep without working off some steam. While he’d still craved that beer, he’d avoided pulling a bottle out of the refrigerator. Back when Todd had first died, Brad drank a little too much. He’d let that precarious control he always held slip away. While he
’d not crossed into needing twelve steps, he’d reined himself in. Given up women. Limited the booze.
He hated being out of control. So he locked up his studio and went for a head-clearing walk. He’d been walking back up Victor Street when he’d seen the light in Scarlett’s bedroom go out.
He stopped out in front. He remembered the first time he’d seen this house. After leaving San Diego, he’d moved home, gone through the fire academy and gotten a job. While living with his parents hadn’t been a terrible thing—after all, their house on Flora was huge and he’d had his own entrance—he’d wanted his own place. He’d been searching for the perfect apartment when, while out on a run, he’d noticed a For Sale sign. He’d turned down Victor and taken a look at the hundred-year-old diamond in the rough. The front porch had been sagging. Paint had been peeling. The brick tuck-pointing had looked forlorn. Yet instinct told him that he needed to see the inside.
That had been worse. Sixties appliances. Water stains from where pipes had leaked. But as Realtors like to say, the bones were solid. As the market was in a downturn and the house had become one of those forgotten, languishing listings, he’d gotten the place for far less than the list price. Not a steal, as he’d had to gut it to make it livable, but definitely worth the investment when coupled with the historic tax credits.
Then he’d heard Todd had died. Flown out for the funeral. And begun to plan.
Low-voltage lighting lit the exterior, giving the red brick a cheery glow. The porch no longer sagged, paint no longer peeled and new mortar brightened the entire façade. What had been an endless renovation had become a home.
Scarlett’s home. Brad exhaled and watched his breath form a misty cloud. He had no idea how you pursued a woman, but damn it, he wanted a relationship with her. He’d never wooed anyone before, but he could figure it out. Hell, he’d never wanted a woman long enough to make any investment, or put in any real time, and all because he’d met the woman he knew was meant for him. And now she was inside.
So he stood there, staring at his house. He’d already made a big commitment—he’d committed to a house. He’d poured every spare minute into bringing something back from the dead.
A police car drove down the road and Brad exhaled a whoosh of breath, creating a second, small vapor cloud. One had to love Mrs. Boggiano, queen of the neighborhood watch and nosy neighbor extraordinaire.
The officer didn’t put on his lights, just pulled over to the curb and opened the door. “I live here,” Brad told him, taking his hands out of his pockets. “Just out for a walk. If I could get my ID?”
The officer nodded and Brad retrieved his wallet. Keeping the car between them, he tossed it onto the cruiser’s hood. The officer grabbed it, flipped it open, read Brad’s address. Saw his firefighter ID. Tossed it back. “Sorry,” he said. “We got a call.”
“Mrs. Boggiano, I’m sure. I don’t think she ever sleeps. But she keeps the neighborhood safe and we all love her for it.” Brad pocketed his wallet.
“I’ll let her know it was nothing. So what firehouse?”
“Marine unit. Out of Station Eleven. Near Seventh and Broadway. I’m on duty tomorrow.”
“Your face seems familiar. I’ve probably seen you around before.”
Brad shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Well, I’m in that damn calendar.”
The officer laughed. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. My mom bought one as a gag gift for my wife.”
Brad said nothing and the cop’s radio crackled. “Gotta go. Take care.”
“You too,” Brad said. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Just doing my job.”
Brad knew exactly what that meant. The officer slid back into the patrol car and drove off, and Brad walked between his house and the neighbor’s using the concrete path he’d added last summer. He opened the gate and moved into the backyard. The motion detector he’d installed brought the floodlight on, and he made it to his garage apartment long before it flashed off.
He stripped his clothes off. Wedged himself into the water closet. Washed his hands in the tiny sink before dropping into bed. Tried to let the weight of the world drop away as he closed his eyes.
Instead he saw Scarlett’s face when he’d walked out in a towel. At first she’d stared at him in shock. Then he’d watched how her irises had darkened. She hadn’t realized it, but her nipples had pebbled. His body had hardened even though he’d worked out some sexual frustration in the shower. Not that it had helped. Thinking about her right now was making him hard. But he couldn’t do casual sex. Not with Scarlett. He wanted to be with her long term. Saw their budding relationship like he had the house—a big commitment he was willing to make. He had to go all-in, and if he failed, learn to live with nothing.
He just prayed he wouldn’t fail.
Chapter Eight
Brad’s firehouse was a modern, three-bay structure that faced South Seventh. Running on battery, Scarlett’s Prius made no sound as she found the parking lot off Shenandoah and pulled in. “Are we here?” Colleen asked from her car seat.
“Yes.” Scarlett’s nerves tingled as she pressed the power button.
“Do you think Brad will like our cookies?”
“I’m sure he’ll love them. He suggested we bring them, didn’t he?” The latter part was more to calm her nerves than for Colleen to answer. Earlier that morning, Brad had texted her and asked what she was doing. She’d told him she and Colleen were baking sugar cookies, and he’d asked them if there were extras. She’d said yes, and he’d suggested she bring them to the firehouse.
“Will I get to see the fire truck?”
“I’m sure you will. You may unclip.”
Scarlett came around and let Colleen out of the car. She reached inside and removed the Tupperware container full of cookies. Brad must have been watching for them, for he opened the door when they arrived, and led them inside.
“We brought you cookies. I put the sprinkles on myself,” Colleen told him proudly.
“I can’t wait to try one. I bet they’re delicious. Come on in. Meet my crew.”
He led them into the bay, where a few guys stood around polishing the truck. “Scarlett, this is the crew I work with. Lewis, Roger and my lieutenant, Chris. She brought us cookies.”
“Nice to meet you,” the men chorused, and Scarlett peeled back the lid and held them out.
“Oh, those look good,” Chris said. He reached for one, took it out and popped it in his mouth. “Mmm. Delicious.”
That seemed to be the go sign, for the other three men also reached for cookies. “These are great,” Lewis complimented.
“Thanks.” Scarlett felt some of the tension ease. She’d been nervous coming here to Brad’s work and meeting the guys. None of them had been at the Mayor’s Ball. Yet pretty soon everyone was munching cookies, including a few guys from other crews. The container of several dozen emptied fast, and afterward, Lewis, who was older than Brad by over a decade, told Colleen she was about his granddaughter’s age and lifted her into the driver’s seat. Scarlett used her phone to take a picture, and then she and Brad stepped aside as Lewis began to show Colleen the rest of the truck and Chris and Kyle inspected some equipment. “We’re not bothering you, are we?”
“No, you could never be a bother. We had some cleaning and the morning’s been slow. The guys saw me texting you and I told them I’d get some cookies. This way you could meet them. See where I worked. And they’ll think you’re awesome since you brought treats.”
“So that’s all it takes? Baked goods?”
His grin warmed her insides. “What can I say? We’re easy.” Brad placed his hand on her back and guided her a few more steps away from the truck. He wore a long-sleeve blue T-shirt with the fire department logo and blue work pants. Turnout gear was scattered around in strategic places, ready for when a call came through.
“How about we spend some time together tomorrow?” Brad asked. “I went for a walk last night to clear my head and have a few things I�
�d like to share. I’d rather do them face-to-face. And maybe we can do dinner. A movie. Something?”
“Sure.”
He smiled. Touched her arm. “Good. I’d like that. And it’ll give me something to look forward to.”
A loud buzzer sounded, and Scarlett jumped. Brad froze. Listened as the speaker blared out the call details. “I have to go. I’ll text you later,” he said.
Across the way, Lewis helped Colleen out of the quint truck. She ran over. “Mommy, what’s that noise?”
“We have a call, pumpkin,” Brad told her. “We have to go help some people. You’ll be safe over there while we pull out.” He gave Scarlett a quick kiss on her cheek, jogged over to his gear and suited up. She moved Colleen over to the spot he’d indicated and they watched as Brad pulled on his bunker pants and drew on his coat. He then climbed into the driver’s seat, gave a quick wave before he pulled out, siren blaring. The other quint truck followed suit, and in the middle of the bay, the empty Tupperware sat as a lonely reminder that they’d all been eating cookies only moments before. An eerie silence fell.
“Time to go home,” Scarlett said. She went and retrieved her container. Reached for Colleen’s hand.
“When will Brad get back?”
“I don’t know. He has to go help people.”
“Is he a hero? Grandma says people who help others are heroes.”
“He’s a hero,” Scarlett said.
Colleen nodded. “Our hero.”
“Yes,” Scarlett said, bundling up Colleen’s coat and guiding her to the door. “That’s exactly what he is.”
* * *
“So that’s your girl,” Lewis said over the headphones as they rode to the scene of a two-alarm fire.
“She’s my tenant,” Brad shot back.
“Uh-huh,” Kyle replied. “When have you ever invited a woman to the firehouse? And don’t count those crazy calendar stalkers either.”
“Never,” Chris filled in the correct answer.
Luckily they’d reached the scene of the blaze, which meant work began and idle chatter ceased. The fire took a while to put out. But there was no rest for the weary. By midafternoon, everything changed. The calls came in one after another. Another cold front arrived, shooing away the calm weather and instead blanketing the area with freezing rain, making for slick, icy roads and lots of people playing bumper cars. They’d put out two space-heater fires, luckily minor and caught in time. Now they’d finished putting out a one-alarm fire at a local greasy spoon, which would be closed for quite a while after flames had gone up the back kitchen wall.
Fan The Flames (Man Of The Month Book 3) Page 13
