Falling for a Former Flame: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love)

by Brenna Jacobs

  Almost enough.

  When all the vegetables were in pieces and Hadley wiped her face, Rose showed her how to mix the vegetables with butter and dry bread for stuffing.

  “You’re actually going to stick this inside the bird carcass,” Hadley mused. “How is that even going to taste good?”

  Rose shook her head. “The problem is that you’re overthinking it. It’s a disgusting prospect, but you’re going to love the result. There are a few things in life like that, but I’m not going to talk about any more of them now. You’re welcome.”

  Hadley laughed, and recalled yet again how Fletcher’s sense of humor was so like his mom’s. “You’re good company, Rose.”

  “Not so bad yourself,” she replied.

  The bowl covered, they washed up and moved on to pastry. Rose had already made all the pie dough, and now she showed Hadley how to roll it out between sheets of plastic wrap until it was the right thickness. It took her a couple of tries, but within a few minutes, there were six pastry shells lining six pie pans.

  “Did you have to borrow these, or do you actually own six pie dishes?”

  Rose looked a tiny bit guilty. “I have at least a dozen. I know I don’t need that many. Nobody needs that many. But I love pie. And Paul loved pie. And once you’re making one, you might as well make three. I’m telling you this because I am likely to send you home with a few extras.” She pointed to a box of graham crackers, a sleeve of Oreo, and a tin of gingersnaps on the counter. “There are the rest of the pies, the ones that don’t need pastry.”

  Hadley put her hands on her hips. “How many?” she demanded, pretending to be cranky.

  Rose ducked her head. “Eleven, but one of them I figured we’d start eating tonight, so it’s not like we can serve it tomorrow.” She grinned. “Will two be enough for your family? Or should we send you with three?”

  Hadley laughed again. “One is plenty.”

  Without letting her finish, Rose broke in. “Two is the bare minimum, because one of the great joys of Thanksgiving is the pleasure of saying, ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly have a piece of pie,’ and then taking two because you couldn’t choose between them.”

  “I’m going to defer to your expertise on this one,” Hadley told her.

  “Apple, pumpkin, cherry, chocolate mousse, lemon custard, and key lime,” Rose said, pointing to ingredients lined up on the counter.

  Hadley felt her mouth begin to water. “This is the best story I’ve ever heard. Keep talking.”

  “I’ll talk. You peel.” She moved a stool with her foot and Hadley sat. She peeled all of the apples, sliced them, and added sugar and spices. Rose managed to direct her every move while still making Hadley feel like she was doing the work herself and would therefore deserve the credit.

  Rose mixed up pumpkin pie and put it in the oven while Hadley squeezed lemons and limes and looked over her shoulder, wondering if Fletcher was going to come in. Maybe hoping he would. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t. She couldn’t decide, so she listened as Rose told stories about Thanksgiving dinners in her childhood, about the first time she’d made a turkey for Paul and hadn’t known she was supposed to take the bag out of the bird first. Hadley made a mental note to find out what kind of bag might be inside the bird that had been thawing in her fridge for the past three days.

  “It’s so great of you to keep putting all this work into the station dinner,” Hadley said as she folded whipped cream into melted chocolate and reminded herself not to lick the spoon.

  “It’s an excuse, really,” Rose said. “I hate the thought of doing Thanksgiving alone. The idea of one pie feels kind of pathetic to me. So I go all out, but I need someone—a lot of someones—to eat it for me. Well,” she said, reaching over to stick her finger in the bowl Hadley was mixing, “to eat it with me.”

  “Thank you for including me,” Hadley said. She wished she could say more. Something about how she always felt more at home here than she ever did anyplace with her mother, something about how glad she was for all the years she was together with Fletcher because they had made possible her friendship with Rose.

  Before she could decide on the right way to say any of that, the front door flung open and Fletcher shouted, “Pie night!”

  Hadley felt nerves bubble up in her stomach. How would he respond to finding her there? She was determined to be pleasant. She hoped he would be, too.

  She heard him kick off his shoes and throw his coat on the chair. “Tell me you made chocolate mousse, please, or I’ll have to move out of town again.”

  Hadley raised her eyebrows at Rose when she heard this threat, but Rose only nodded. Apparently, this kind of behavior was expected.

  When he jogged into the kitchen, Hadley turned and gave him what she hoped was a friendly but not desperate smile. He stopped in front of her, his face a mix of every emotion except the cheerfulness she’d heard in his voice. There was some kind of battle going on in his head that made his body go tense but couldn’t hide the longing she saw in his eyes.

  “We only made one, and that one is going to dinner with the Booths,” Rose said, an air of unconcern in her voice.

  “Let me see,” Fletcher demanded, and Hadley pointed to the bowl she was holding, filled with pillowy folds of chocolate mousse. He looked from the bowl to her, the longing in his eyes growing more intense. Unsure whether the look was for her or the pie filling, Hadley held out the bowl. Fletcher reached for it, cradling it in his arms like he would love it and protect it from harm.

  “One? One chocolate pie? Woman,” he said to Rose, his puppy-dog eyes blinking at her, “do you not know me at all?”

  “You’re going to have to fight Hadley for it,” Rose said, unaffected by his face. Hadley wished she could say she felt the same. She was undoubtedly affected by his face.

  Fletcher glanced at Hadley, and she could have sworn she heard him let out a sigh of resignation, but before she had time to think about it, he’d set down the bowl and taken her by the arms.

  “Wait—what?” Hadley asked just as Fletcher maneuvered her out of the kitchen.

  “You know I’ve always held you in the highest regard, Hadley Booth,” Fletcher said, the look on his face completely serious, “but if you take my chocolate pie, you’re not going to live through the night.” He picked her up and tossed her onto the couch, then stood over her and said, “If you want it, you have to beat me to it.”

  She jumped off the couch at the same time he sprinted toward the kitchen. Hadley ran after him, but he beat her to the bowl and had it back in his arms by the time she got there.

  “How can you live with yourself, calling it your pie?” Hadley planted herself in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Your mom bought the ingredients. I made it with my own hands. You wander in here and demand your pie? Seems to me you’re going to have to earn it.”

  Fletcher scooped a finger full of filling from the bowl and stuck it in his mouth. “Are you hearing this?” he asked Rose. He turned back to Hadley and said, “Since time immemorial, it has been woman’s duty to make the chocolate pie. And man’s privilege to eat the chocolate pie. Ask any historian. This is the way of the world.”

  “That is the most demented view of history I’ve ever heard.” Hadley held back a laugh while holding out her arms for the bowl. But even though she knew he was joking, it did make a little sense where he was coming from after hearing Rose talk about how much she enjoyed organizing this meal for the people she loved.

  “Rose, I think you created this monster,” Hadley said.

  Rose laughed and said, “There is only one sure way to cure this injustice. In the future, man’s privilege will be to make the pie for the pleasure of the women.”

  Hadley held up a finger for Fletcher’s attention. “And I think it’s only fair to warn you,” she said, leaning close and delivering the warning in a whisper, “the future starts now.”

  “She’s right, son. Give her the filling back,” Rose said, threatening him with the spatula sh
e held.

  Fletcher laughed and handed Hadley the bowl. “I accept this future,” he said. Their hands touched as he passed off his treasured pie. He smelled of soap and shaving cream, and she guessed he’d showered at the station.

  Standing here, in this warm kitchen filled with delicious smells, surrounded by these people she had loved for so long, Hadley allowed herself to feel completely secure. Knowing the entire scene was driven by hunger didn’t make it any less delightful for every moment it could last.

  Chapter 15

  Fletcher sat down at the table his mom and Hadley had spent the morning setting up and decorating. It hardly looked like the station at all. There were real plates, flowers, tablecloths, and so much homemade food.

  Everything smelled divine, and there was enough for everyone to have as much as they could handle. Rose had made two turkeys and a ham, mounds of mashed potatoes, buttery rolls, and a whole table full of pies. Including two chocolate mousse pies that his mom had made before she even called Hadley to come over. Rose just loved to make him act like a crazy person. Not that he’d minded. Hadley had seemed to like watching Rose mess with Fletcher. Playful Hadley was as much fun as he remembered her being.

  He only wished she was doing something other than playing. He wished she wanted to be serious. But he knew her, and he knew that if she’d wanted him, she’d have said so. Loudly. Frequently. Unmistakably. He’d made a mistake not keeping his distance from her yesterday. Now all he could think about was her waist in his hands when he’d thrown her over his shoulder. Seeing her in his old house again had brought back too many memories and sucked him back into what they used to be. It had been a moment of weakness that he couldn’t let happen again.

  A couple of the guys’ families had come by the station to join them for dinner, so there were a few little kids, and three teenagers who looked unwilling to be part of the whole thing until they saw the food. Hadley and Rose had won them all over with the feast.

  Nick was sitting across the table from Fletcher, Savanna in the chair next to Nick. There might have been space between them, but it was one of those particle physics things, where the distance couldn’t be measured by the human eye.

  That had happened fast. Wasn’t it last week that Savanna had scorned every firefighter simply because of his job? Didn’t she despise them all? And then there was the thing about Hadley. Two days ago, everyone knew (or at least thought they knew) that Nick was crazy about Hadley. And now, here he was with Savanna. Earlier this afternoon, Fletcher had cornered Nick to ask him about it.

  “So, you and Savanna,” he said, unable to form the words to ask when/how/why he’d gotten over Hadley.

  Nick gave him a huge grin, as if nothing in the world could touch him now that he had come to some kind of understanding with Savanna. “I’ve been totally into her ever since I started working here,” Nick said.

  “Really? I thought…” Fletcher didn’t finish that.

  “That I was interested in Hadley? Yeah, so did Savanna. Funny story,” Nick went on, and told a long and detailed story that Fletcher didn’t actually pay attention to. It all came down to this: It was all Savanna, all the time, and any extra attention to Hadley was for the purposes of getting in on the good side of the best friend.

  Fletcher was not sorry to hear it. He hoped Hadley wouldn’t be disappointed.

  “I kind of thought Savanna hated all of us on principle,” Fletcher said, making sure to smile so Nick didn’t get the wrong idea.

  “Yeah, well, I guess I had to show her that the tough guys have a softer side.” Nick gave him a truly smitten smile.

  “I think that’s great,” Fletcher said. What he didn’t say was that the benefit for him was that maybe Savanna would be distracted by how much she liked Nick that she could forget, at least a little, how much she seemed to despise Fletcher.

  But now, with a table laden with goodness and everyone expressing gratitude, Fletcher could even give Savanna Deveraux the benefit of the doubt.

  Fletcher got in line after all the families had served up. He filled a plate with meat and potatoes, rolls and butter, and a tiny scoop of sweet potatoes for color. He sat beside his mom and told her some terrible jokes he’d read online. He oohed and aahed over every bite, telling everyone around the table that this was exactly the kind of meal you could expect when Rose Gates was cooking dinner.

  Savanna told a funny story that had Nick cracking up, and she even spared a few smiles for Fletcher. Everyone was around the long table, talking and laughing when the alarm rang.

  All of the firefighters leaped up from their meal and ran to the engine bay. Savanna hustled to the desk to check her computer. The crew had left the engine ready, as always, but everyone on the team felt a little off. It took only a few seconds more than usual to gather everybody into their places, but there was more than the usual feeling of discomposure about the call.

  Everyone seemed nervous. Jumpy. Unprepared.

  Fletcher strapped in and pulled the engine out into the driveway while the team took their places.

  As they sped through nearly empty streets, Nick sighed and muttered, “I mean, come on. It’s Thanksgiving.”

  Fletcher knew what he meant. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Every call, every response to an emergency had the possibility of ending in tragedy, but there was something sacred about family dinner on this day, something untouchable and American that felt violated by a fire. In every way, it was just wrong.

  Fletcher drove through the edge of town and into the new constructions. Lights were coming on in houses and on porches. The flash of the engine lights played against homes and trees as they sped past.

  They arrived at the new neighborhood where the woods used to be, the sky darkening from smoke. Two adjacent houses were pouring smoke, and the whole neighborhood, filled with houses nearly touching each other, was in danger of igniting.

  They could lose the entire subdivision.

  Fletcher knew he shouldn’t let his mind go there. He couldn’t. But as families filed out of homes, some standing around watching their neighbors’ houses burn, Fletcher felt his grip on his emotions slip. Instead of seeing structures, he saw bedrooms and basements and treehouses.

  The chief made assignments and each firefighter rushed to do his job as quickly and efficiently as he’d trained for years to do.

  Fletcher watched the chief speak quickly to the family, who assured him that all people and animals were out of the house. Chief pointed to Red and then to Fletcher, each of whom understood the job he was expected to do from the signal. Fletcher focused on each drop from the hoses, each puff of steam, each smoking section of wall. He pushed, he fought, and before long, the burn was secure.

  A total loss.

  As Red and Fletcher stepped out of the muddy, grimy structure, they checked in with the chief, who instantly pointed them to the next house. Other stations had sent engines, and the street was filled with firefighters, engines, and onlookers. Fletcher only had time to wish that everyone out of uniform would find somewhere else to be entertained when he was signaled inside by a leader from a different station.

  He’d been assured again that no people or animals remained inside, so when he went upstairs as directed and saw someone slumped against a closed bedroom door, he knew it must be another firefighter.

  He called into his headset, but there was no response. Either the man was on a different frequency, or he was unable to reply. Fletcher shouted into the headset again, asking for assistance, but heard a buzz of feedback that told him it was his sound that was bad. He was on his own until he could take off his helmet and speak to someone face-to-face.

  Without another thought, Fletcher secured the area and then picked up the unresponsive fireman, slung him over his shoulders, and carried him down the stairs.

  He kept trying to call over his headset that he had a man down, and by the time he reached the front yard, he found an EMS crew prepared to take the fallen fireman.
Fletcher couldn’t see the man’s face and didn’t know if he was even from the Greensburg crew, but before he turned and ran back toward the house, he reached out to press his hand against the firefighter’s leg. He whispered a word of luck to this man who, even if they’d never met, was his brother.

  Before he returned inside, he ran to the truck for a new helmet and tested the headset. It would be foolish to reenter the fire without communications.

  Back inside and up the stairs, Fletcher saw what had knocked the other firefighter down. A light fixture on a huge wooden beam hung from a single hinge, the other having snapped. It had clearly swung from the ceiling and cracked into the back of the fireman’s helmet. Thank goodness he’d been wearing it, Fletcher thought, because that beam was thick. Remembering his own run-in with a concussion, Fletcher hoped that the fireman would bounce back quickly.

  He helped the team repel and diminish the flames, hearing the chatter from the other crews over his headset. Sounded like three more crews were spraying roofs of surrounding houses to put out flying sparks. When the flames and the smoke subsided inside the house, Fletcher followed his lead man out into the yard once again.

  Receiving the “off” signal from the chief, Fletcher removed his heavy, sweaty helmet and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Breathing in gulps of clean, cool air, he surveyed the damage.

  Both houses were empty husks. Melted siding dripped down the sides of one house, while a garage door seemed to have been replaced by a pile of liquefied metal and plastic. Where furnishings were recognizable, they were the most disturbing: A smoldering couch, upended dining chairs, glasses still filled with wine on the table. But for the obvious, Thanksgiving dinner could still have been underway.