The occasional pop of the simmering sauce was the only sound in the room. Sweat ran down Slade’s temple. How long until a phone came out to record his mortification?
It was worth it. To see Poppy smile again, it would be worth it.
Slade swallowed his fear. “Ode to a Smile.” Oh, this was wrong. Wrong idea, wrong poem, wrong setting. Right girl. Right?
But it wasn’t even a poem, just random lines that he had barely edited. It was in no way good enough for Poppy. So why was he doing this? Nothing he had ever written was good enough for her. Yet, she was good enough for it? What kind of funky cosmic logic was that?
They were all staring at him, which made him sweat, but what really mattered was the hopeful twist on the left side of Poppy’s mouth balanced by the tiny nervous downturn in the right corner.
“And on an unnumbered day,
the universe declared LET ME HEAR ROCK N’ ROLL.
And from Tupelo came Elvis. And the world had rock and roll.
“In the twentieth century came Mother Theresa,
for the world needed kindness.
“IMAGINATION said the universe,
and created Walt Disney.
“GENIUS. Einstein.
“I MUST HAVE BEAUTY IN WORDS. And Shakespeare replied, The wheel is come full circle; I am here.
“CHICKEN, called the hungry universe,
and the Colonel answered.
“And when the world needed a smile,”
… When I needed a smile? wondered Slade …
“more direly than it had needed fire, or another season of Firefly, or, or more than it needed a hero,
“when the universe need a smile, came Poppy.
“Then Poppy smiled.
“And where would we be without her?”
That ending kind of sucked. A lot of it needed work, actually. Before looking past his sketch book, Slade said, “I never said it was good.”
He lowered the book or raised his eyes to see Poppy. Tears ran over the lids of her eyes but her hands covered her mouth.
Cap and Emily were half-heartedly clapping. The medics looked at each other, shrugged and walked away, but Slade barely noticed.
Without seeing her mouth, he couldn’t tell if she had gotten the message.
“You didn’t tell us it sucked either,” piped up JFK. To Emily he said, “Am I right? And Elvis didn’t invent rock and roll.”
Poppy may as well not have heard JFK. Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed and when she lowered her hands, he saw the greatest sight of his life: a smile both confident and grateful, corners of her mouth touched by tears and nearly reaching her ears, teeth slightly parted. A smile to put every other smile in history to shame.
She mouthed, Thank you.
And it was worth it. Let them call him Poetry Boy, let them call him Maya Angelou, his so-called poetry was responsible for a smile to rank with the smiles of the ages.
Cap grabbed his Polaroid off the counter and snapped a shot of Poppy. Slade would go to any lengths to get his hands on that photo.
In a whisper that carried to all corners of the room, JFK said to Emily, “I guess if you consider the inspiration, what can you expect?”
Slade turned his attention to JFK and gave him a warning shake of the head, but as usual the filters in his partner’s head were turned off.
“Mediocre poem for a mediocre—”
The rest of the words JFK intended never left his loud mouth because it was full of Slade’s fist.
JFK backpedaled until he slammed against the fridge, then reached a hand up to his mouth. Slade looked down out at his own fist and saw two split knuckles.
“That’s how new guys act nowadays?” said a voice from behind Slade.
Standing in the hallway leading to the dorms stood the battalion chief in his fancy white uniform shirt.
That was it. So much for his six-month stint as a firefighter. Just when he was close enough to taste the end of training and being a boot.
But Poppy was still smiling, lopsided and nervous, and as beautiful as a sunrise.
To see that smile again, Slade would punch the battalion chief himself.
13
That just happened, thought Poppy as she watched Slade trail away down the hallway. He followed the chief and Cap and JFK, leaving Poppy with Emily and the two paramedics.
She couldn’t get over the fact that he had actually done that. Not the punch, which was mind-bogglingly awesome. Not only had he shared his poetry with her, he had shared his poetry about her and done it in the most vulnerable place and time he possibly could.
When had he even written that about her? It was the most wonderful thing she’d ever heard. Even with the punch and seeing him get hauled away by the chief and everything, Poppy was on top of the world. She couldn’t even remember the list she had spouted on the stairs because for once she was important enough for someone to create something beautiful for her then take a major risk to put it out there.
And for once, she was just plain good enough.
Poppy couldn’t ever remember being so confidently enough of anything. It was the greatest feeling in the world.
Emily stepped up next to Poppy and looked down the hallway where the men had gone. “A yappy dog can only bark at the big dog so long until the big dog gets tired of being barked at.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” asked Poppy.
Emily shrugged. “I’ve heard of a lot of things before, but I’ve never heard of a boot punching his senior firefighter in the mouth.”
The big guy Link stepped up to the oven with the biggest dinner plate Poppy had ever seen. It must have been custom made for the giant. “I bet he gets a medal.”
“No way,” said Emily.
“Will they fire him?” asked Poppy.
“They might. The BC is newly promoted, so there’s not really any telling what he’ll do.”
Link picked up a serving spoon and started digging in the simmering sauce. “I know what I’m gonna do. The ladder might be out of service while the chief rips the new guy a new one, but the ambo could go out at any time.”
“Here.” Emily handed Poppy a plate. “We might as well eat too. No saying how long they’ll be down there.”
She reluctantly took it. The food smelled delicious, but her appetite had been pushed aside by her worry over Slade. What had he been thinking risking his job and punching his brother firefighter? Who cared what JFK said about her weight? Who cared what that jerk said about anything?
Obviously Slade did. Enough to risk something he cared so much about. Enough.
Enough.
She was important enough. For Slade Powers, she was good enough. What did it matter if she wasn’t good enough for anyone else?
Poppy bit her lip and accepted the spoon from Emily. She didn’t want to start bawling in front of the crew. Absentmindedly she scooped food onto her plate.
The punch was only the tail end of it, a reaction to JFK’s constant needling. Before that Slade had defended her in a way so much braver than she had ever seen or imagined. Any of these guys would run into a burning building, or do search and rescue in an avalanche zone, but Slade had gone above and beyond the call of duty. She would never ever forget the transformation she’d felt from on the verge of tears about the insensitive comment in front of everyone to riding a wave of pride higher and happier than she could remember.
No, she didn’t need to be good enough for her mother or for anyone else. She knew with certainty that couldn’t be counterfeited, that she was good enough for Slade.
Now she just had to convince him to do something about it.
“So are you from Park City?” asked Emily taking her plate to the table. The medics were already sitting at the table shoveling pasta into their mouths.
Either Slade hadn’t told them anything about her family or Emily was digging.
Poppy followed her and sat in the indicated place. “Yeah, I was born here. Went away to college and ca
me back.”
“Did you study business management? Public administration?”
“No, I’m a vet.”
“Oh,” said Emily, looking genuinely shocked. “I thought you ran the Two Hearts place.”
“I do. I wear a lot of different hats.”
“That’s amazing. You must put in a lot of hours.”
“Not as many as you,” said Poppy with a smile she didn’t have to force. She stabbed a rigatoni noodle and brought it to her mouth. It tasted even better than it smelled. It was as good as most food served at high end Italian restaurants. Poppy was about to comment, but Emily spoke up.
“Slade really likes you.”
Poppy blushed and couldn’t help but smile
“I mean, it’s obvious,” said Emily. “I haven’t heard the guy say more than ten words that didn’t have to do with firefighting or training. And out of nowhere he … does that. This isn’t a dude who hits on every girl we see. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at another girl before your gym incident. Am I right, guys?”
Link and Old Guy grunted and nodded, their mouths too full to answer.
“He’s …” Poppy didn’t know what else to say. “It’s been interesting.”
A loud beeping sound came from speakers in the ceiling, making Poppy jump. A woman said some words that Poppy couldn’t understand due to the speed and static. A few words registered—respond, chest pain, then some numbers that sounded like an address.
The medics looked at each other for a brief second, then stood as they continued shoveling food into their mouths like hamsters packing away nuts. After fitting an unreal amount of food into their cheeks, they went over to the fire pole and dropped through the floor.
“What was that?” asked Poppy.
“Medics got a call, but we’re stuck here. The dispatch voice takes some getting used to.” Emily set her fork down and looked at Poppy more intensely. “What do you mean it’s been interesting with Slade?”
“He likes me apparently, but he doesn’t like me like me.”
“Men,” said Emily, rolling her eyes. “They make as much sense as a waterproof towel.”
Poppy chuckled, adding eating alone with another woman to the list of things she never expected to happen tonight.
Emily didn’t wear a wedding ring but with her stunning good looks and great body she had to have all the guys she could want. She reminded Poppy of the heroine of an action movie. With all the time the crew spent together, maybe she had some insight into how to get at Slade.
“So what can I do about it? You probably know him way better than I do.”
Emily shook her head. “He’s the quiet one on the crew. I think it’s because of his time in the Army, but he’s always taken his probationary role to the extreme. What’s his hang up over you?”
If Emily didn’t already know, how much could Poppy share of his secrets? “He had his heart broken before. Now he thinks it’s useless. Swears he’ll never fall in love again.” Maybe that was too much information to share, but Poppy was desperate. “You can’t tell anyone this. I know you guys like to tease each other like brothers and sisters, but you have to promise me.”
“Trust me,” said Emily. “I get enough of these knuckle draggers. It will be nice to have a girl secret. Now, what evidence will it take to convince our busted heart Shakespeare?”
Wow. Not only did Poppy have confidence and motivation, now she had an ally.
14
“No hard feelings?” asked Chief Johnson.
Slade nodded immediately, happy that he’d gotten off with a verbal warning. JFK was slower, but eventually said, “If you say so, Chief.”
It could have gone much worse for both of them. The BC couldn’t officially extend Slade’s probationary period without a written reprimand of some sort. If a letter had been written and passed up the chain to the deputy chief or to human resources, it very well could have cost Slade his job. But the chief would hold on to Slade’s paperwork, and submit it in a few weeks as long as no more problems came up.
It could have been worse for JFK, as well. He’d made borderline and over-the-line comments in the past. The chew-out session had gone on for almost an hour, but it had been worth it to avoid more severe punishment.
“I’ll keep an eye on both of them, Chief,” said Cap. “You won’t have any more problems with Ladder 1.”
“For their sakes, I hope not,” said Chief Johnson. “Head out, JFK. Let your captain know what the urgent care says about stitching up your lip or not and he can text me to let me know.”
Slade stood when JFK and Cap did. He saw the Polaroid that Cap had taken of Poppy. JFK made his way out and Cap said, “I’ve got reports to catch up on, Chief. Need anything else?”
The chief shook his head. “Go ahead. I want to talk to Powers for another minute.”
Why did Slade have to be the last one in the meeting while Poppy was waiting for him to finish?
When they were alone, the chief weighed Slade’s probationary file and said, “I technically don’t have to turn this in for another month. Keep doing good work and you’ll breeze through. It’d be a shame to lose a solid guy like you over personnel issues.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Slade. He hadn’t known the chief to gush with praise for no reason so it meant a lot.
“They told you why he’s called JFK, right?”
“No,” said Slade. “I always kinda wondered.” He didn’t have the nickname twelve years ago when they were friends for the first time.
“JFK bid into station four before he came here and Billings was his new partner. When he found out who had taken the bid, Billings said, ‘Just Freaking Kill me.’ JFK. It stuck. I suspected when we got a probie in this station, putting up with JFK would be as big a test as all of this.” He dropped the file onto the desk. “You’ll do fine, Powers, just try not to let him get to you. Maybe next year the two of you can face off to see who gets into the boxing ring against the cops.”
Maybe. Probably not. Why even worry about it now? Poppy had been waiting for him for an hour.
“Dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Slade slipped the Polaroid off of the corner of the desk then practically ran out of the office, up the stairs, past the spot where he had kissed her and into the dining room.
Emily stood at the sink scrubbing a pot. There was no sign of Poppy anywhere. Maybe she was in the restroom. Maybe she’d gotten an urgent animal rescue call.
Five foil-covered plates sat on the table. Emily had obviously fixed them up for everyone so she could do the clean up, which appeared to be practically done.
“Where’s Poppy?”
“Took off,” said Emily, barely looking up. “Ate a little bit and left not long after the medics got their call.”
Slade cursed in his mind. That call had come in like five minutes after the chief started on him. “Did she leave a note or anything?”
“Nope. Said she’d see you soon or something like that.”
The possibility of Poppy not being there after the meeting with the chief hadn’t even occurred to Slade, but how could it not? Everyone in Slade’s life had left him, every time. He had a perfect record.
Silently Slade helped Emily finish cleaning, then put all of the foil-covered plates into the fridge. Maybe he’d eat his tomorrow. For now his appetite was completely gone.
As he swapped old coffee grounds for new, Emily came back into the kitchen. “Sounds like JFK’s getting one stitch. They’re sending Boston in to cover the rest of the shift.”
Slade nodded, in no mood to talk. Boston was as good as any fill-in since he didn’t really talk to anyone, which was perfect for Slade’s mood. He finished his night chores, took a quick shower, and climbed into bed.
Hour after hour, he tossed and turned. Exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. Having put everything on the line emotionally, he had no idea where he stood with Poppy or where she stood inside her own head. Those shocking, fallacious words she had spouted on t
he stairwell ran through his mind over and over.
For all the sleep he got, they might as well have run calls all night. In the morning, Slade felt as though he’d been through probationary testing for a second time.
Moving like a zombie, he started the coffee, put clean mugs out by the percolator, and emptied the dishwasher as silently as possible, since some of the crew wasn’t up and moving yet.
Emily came into the kitchen and handed him three used toothbrushes and a small cylinder of some cleaner. “Cap wants the tailboard to shine by lunchtime. You know how to polish diamond plating?”
Slade nodded, not trusting himself to speak out of the foul mood he’d been in since he realized Poppy had bailed on him. With the tools of the trade he took the east stairway, the one where the foul words and the kiss hadn’t happened, down to the bay.
The lights were off; no one was around. Slade climbed into the ladder and tucked the Polaroid that Cap had taken of Poppy into the netting inside his helmet. He was careful not to look at her, content to simmer in his foul mood.
Gritting his teeth, Slade channeled his frustration into the tiny wax-on wax-off circles. Pointless busy-work was a tactic he himself had employed in the Army. People can’t make trouble if they’re too busy doing meaningless menial labor.
“I should just be glad I still have a job,” he muttered.
While the battalion chief hadn’t gone as hard on Slade as he could have, Cap had apparently decided to lay it on. It surprised Slade that Cap was too angry to give him the assignment himself. Yet, Slade had punched another firefighter in the face. At the time it felt great to let loose and shut JFK up. Not as good as it had felt to let loose and shut Poppy up for saying worse things than JFK had, but still.
After another fifteen minutes or so of scrubbing, Slade took a look at the toothbrush in his hand. The dirty gray bristles had flattened to uselessness so he tossed it to the side and picked up another one, dipped it in the can of aluminum polish and applied it in tiny Daniel-son Karate Kid circles. Both of his forearms were beginning to burn.
Two Hearts Rescue: Park City Firefighter Romance Page 12
