The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

by Rachel Dove

  Sam was leaning against her gate, his thigh resting against the wood. He was wearing sweats, long grey jogging bottoms and a black vest top and white trainers. He was looking outwards, his form side on to her, and she was grateful because it gave her a second to collect herself and stop her jaw from hitting the floor. She knew he was muscular, but seeing the muscles under his vest top, the way his shoulder muscles tensed when he turned to look at her …

  ‘You look nice,’ he said, smiling broadly at her. ‘Xander get off okay?’

  Two perfect sentences, right there.

  ‘Thank you, he couldn’t wait to go to be honest. I think my aunt and his friends just ply him with cake and cuddles.’

  He opened the gate for her to walk through, and the pair stood there awkwardly.

  ‘So—’ Sam broke the silence first ‘—shall we run up past the fire house and back? I tend to stick to a bit of a route. It’s only four miles.’ Four miles? Shit. That’s a bit more than a few downward dogs. Her face must have given her away because he laughed.

  ‘We’ll take it steady, don’t worry. I was thinking we could have lunch at the local café? I don’t really know anywhere else local.’

  ‘That sounds good.

  Sam nodded. ‘Good, I know it’s nothing fancy but …’

  ‘It’s not a date, Sam. It’s fine.’

  He looked away, and she felt bad. Stating the obvious of course, but still. She didn’t need to point it out and make it awkward.

  ‘Good. Water?’ He handed her a water bottle, one of two he was holding in his huge meaty hands. She took it gratefully, and they started to jog.

  ‘So, enjoying your stay here? Marlene tells me you came here most summers as a child.’

  Bloody Marlene, what else had she told him? Her favourite food? Credit score? Bra size. Oh bugger, he could probably take a wild stab at her bra size from when she brandished her bristols in his face. She cleared her throat, pushing the embarrassment away.

  ‘Yeah, I did. Mum encouraged it. She moved away for work, but she never quite got over leaving really. She wanted me to enjoy my time off from school, and I did. I hung around with the neighbourhood kids, spent time with Marlene, it was good.’

  ‘And now? How did it differ from being a kid, to bringing your own here?’

  They had picked up the pace a little now, weaving through the streets of Westfield. Every time they passed someone, they waved, said hello. Not one person ignored them. The sun was out, and even though her lungs were starting to burn, Lucy felt great.

  ‘Xander really likes it here. He’s really enjoying spending time with everyone, and he loves the house. It’s probably because it’s so snug. He doesn’t like the dark, or huge spaces. I think that our house upsets him sometimes, our house back home I mean.’

  They were running flat out now, though looking at Sam, he might as well be strolling to the park leisurely. Lucy felt like she was going to pass out, and she could feel the boob sweat pooling around her sports bra. Breathable material my arse.

  ‘What about you?’ They were rounding the corner onto Honeysuckle Street now, and she could see the fire house come into view. ‘Are you enjoying being here?’

  They stopped a little way back, leaning on the low wall, near to the road sign declaring the street name. They could see the fire house; the fire doors open, gleaming in the sun.

  ‘I ran here.’ It was out of her mouth. Gone, uttered to someone other than Marlene. ‘I came here with my son to get away. I used to be a teacher, you know. I used to have more purpose, more happiness in my day. I just …’

  ‘Needed to find answers,’ Sam supplied. They locked eyes. Nothing else needed to be said. He straightened up, and tilted his head towards the fire house.

  ‘Fancy coming in, meeting the lads? We can have lunch after.’

  Westfield fire station was relatively new in the village. Times were changing, albeit slowly, and the population was finally deemed big enough to warrant the expense of a proper fire station, with support staff and paid firemen. One with the Westfield name emblazoned upon it. A lot of the lads had already worked in the service, working as on-call firemen, living in Westfield and travelling to the other villages and towns dotted around the jurisdiction. Now, for the first time in years, they had their fire house, and they were damn proud of it.

  Jogging up to the main doors, Lucy felt self-conscious suddenly. What would they think about Sam turning up with a woman in tow? What would she say if they asked?

  Sam opened the door for her and, as she walked through, he touched the small of her back with his hand, gently ushering her through. It touched part of her bare skin, and she could feel the heat from his palm. She almost backed into it a little, to strengthen the force of the touch, but then it was gone, and they were inside. Sam led her through the garage area, past the two fire trucks, and headed inside and up some stairs. Now, the decor changed. It was still professionally kitted out, signs and plaques on the wall, but when they headed further into the living area, she found it quite homely. Through a set of double doors, she could see a dormitory-type room, beds laid out in rows, all made up neatly. Sam headed in the opposite direction, and she suddenly found herself in a large open-plan living and dining area.

  ‘Afternoon, Gary,’ Sam said cordially. ‘What’s cooking?’

  Gary raised a ladle at him in response, before clocking his companion.

  ‘My world-famous chilli, it’s nearly ready. You looking for some lunch?’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘No, man, it’s okay. I just came to say hello.’ He rested his arm on Lucy’s shoulder, just for a beat, and smiled down at her. ‘This is my jogging buddy, Lucy.’

  ‘Hey, Lucy!’ Gary said jovially. ‘You want some lunch? I’ve made plenty, and you look like you could do with a bit of warming up.’

  Lucy started to shake her head, but then the other lads all ambled through, laughing, joking and pushing each other. They all stopped momentarily seeing the pair of them stood there, but soon recovered. Lucy could feel her face flush. This was a bad idea.

  The chief wandered in, patting Sam on the back as he entered the room.

  ‘Smells great, Gary, but I hope we don’t have to put the toilet rolls in the ruddy fridge again. That vindaloo you made last week had me all turned around.’ His eyes fell on Lucy, and his moustache quivered, his thick eyebrows shooting up to his receding hairline.

  ‘Oops! I am sorry, my dear, I didn’t see you there! Come for a spot of lunch, eh?’ He clasped her hand between his and, before she knew it, she was sitting at the large reclaimed oak table, sandwiched between him and another spot that he motioned for Sam to take. The lads were all busy setting the table, passing warm, fragrant garlic bread around and bowls of salad and grated cheese, carrying dishes of freshly cooked chilli, still piping hot from the huge cooking pot on the stove. Sam took his seat, grabbed a bowl from his mate and passed it to her with an apologetic look.

  ‘Sorry about this, I didn’t think this would happen.’

  The chief slapped him on the back again, a little harder this time.

  ‘You didn’t think we would feed our visitors? You should know by now, Samuel, we’re all family here.’

  Sam rolled his eyes a little at Lucy, and got another slap for his trouble.

  ‘I saw that,’ Chief Briggs said, laughing. ‘Tuck in, everyone!’

  The lads all dug in, passing platters and plates around, chatting and laughing. Lucy took what was offered and before she knew it she had a whole plate full of mouthwatering food. She started to eat, listening to the conversation.

  ‘So.’ Russell, a carrot-topped, freckled man who looked like a lumberjack started to speak. ‘I have to ask, Sam, what’s the deal?’ The table quietened down, and Lucy, a mouthful of chilli, almost choked. ‘I think it’s about time you told us.’

  Sam looked at him, a steady, closed-off expression on his face.

  ‘Told you what?’

  Russ’s expression was serious. ‘I re
ally think you need to tell us … why you dress like Mr Motivator on workout days.’

  The whole table erupted into laughter, and Lucy managed to breathe again without inhaling kidney beans through her nostrils.

  ‘Seriously,’ he continued. ‘What’s with the muscle tops? You make me feel like a weed!’

  Lucy giggled. Russell himself was hardly tiny. The man had tree trunks for legs, and his fingers were like two of hers taped together and then some.

  Sam pouted and blew a kiss at Russ. ‘Don’t hate me because you love me,’ he teased, giving him a flirty wave across the table. Russ blew a raspberry back. ‘Whatever, man, I’ll stick to my old Van Halen t-shirts and battered shorts.’

  ‘Those need to be sent to the shit clothes hall of fame, Russ,’ Gary chimed in before taking a mouthful of chilli and closing his eyes. ‘Mmmmm, that’s good!’

  Russ glared at him, but Gary just flipped him the bird. Sam flinched.

  ‘Guys, lady present. Please remember your manners.’ He had an easy expression on his face, but his tone was stern enough to make the lads mumble their apologies. He was looking at her with concern, and she couldn’t look back at him. She could feel the bloom of heat spreading in her chest, and she didn’t trust herself to look into his piercing eyes. Especially not around this lot.

  ‘So,’ she said, trying to break the mood, ‘which one of you has to do the washing up?’

  Lunch went smoothly from there. No mention of them at all. No one asked why she was there, or why they were together. Had he mentioned her to them? Did they know about her? She wanted to pull at the thread, but then things would unravel, and she was already stitching enough back together as it was. They chatted about some jobs they had been on, how much they loved the fire house, the locals, Gary’s cooking skills. Before they knew it, lunch was done and the lads were all tidying up when the alarm sounded. The chief ran back in, clutching a paper printout.

  ‘House fire, Sandwell Street. Let’s go!’

  The lads were already running, heading for their gear, heads in the game. Gary threw a tea towel at Sam. ‘Wash up eh? I already started!’

  The truck peeled out, sirens blaring, and then they were alone. Lucy started to clear the rest of the plates from the large table.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to do that. You get off if you like, I’ll stay and clean up. Sorry we missed lunch at the café.’

  Lucy scraped the food on their plates into the bin, before pushing the plates under the hot soapy suds that were all ready to go in the large stainless steel sink.

  ‘Gary started us off, we can do it while we’re here. Besides, we had lunch, so I’m happy.’ She turned away from the sink, and almost slammed into him. The plate he was holding squashed up between them, the remnants of the food smearing under his top.

  ‘Shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.’ She whirled around, grabbed a clean dishcloth from the stack on the side and ran it under the hot water tap.

  ‘It’s okay, don’t worry! It’s only a to—’

  She squeezed out the cloth and started to dab at the black material, flicking off the bigger bits into her hand and chucking them into the nearby bin. She rubbed the cloth along his chest, the other hand gripping his upper arm.

  ‘Lucy?’ he said softly. She kept going, turning to wash out the cloth and squeeze it again. ‘Lucy,’ he murmured. She felt his hand touch her shoulder, and turn her around. He’d moved closer, and she could feel his proximity. ‘I’m fine.’

  She looked up at him, and the cloth in her hand fell down to her side. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, feeling the moment between them and not wanting to do anything to break it.

  ‘Stop apologising.’ His voice was soft like caramel, and she watched his jaw flex as he swallowed. ‘You always look after other people, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s a mum thing.’

  ‘It’s not just that, though you are a great mum. I should know, I had one. Xander’s a fantastic kid. It’s more than that. You look after everyone, and all you do is say sorry for it.’

  ‘I get a bit helicopter mum, Iain always says t—’

  ‘Iain is an arsehole,’ Sam spat, his gentle expression clouding over. ‘He doesn’t deserve either of you. Hell, if I had a wife like you I’d—’

  Her lips were on his, her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. He hesitated for about a half a second, and then he was on her, lifting her up off the ground, turning them both and sitting her on the newly cleaned countertop. His hands moved from underneath her bottom to her sides, and up into her hair, his fingers encasing her, cradling her head. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she met it with hers, pulling him closer, opening her yoga pant-clad legs to pin his between them. She pulled away to draw breath.

  ‘What are we doing?’ he asked, his eyes unfocused and hazy as they locked onto hers. ‘Lucy, what are we doing?’

  He took a step back before she had chance to answer him, or lunge for him again, which is what every tiny cell in her body was screaming at her to do. She had never been kissed like that before. Never, and she wanted more. Her hands were still wrapped around him, and he gently held her hands in his, placing a kiss on one of her palms before placing them both on her own lap.

  ‘That was my fault,’ they said together. ‘I’ve wanted to do that.’ Together, again. Their feelings were in unison, even if their brains weren’t.

  Sam looked ruffled, his breath coming out in hard gasps. He looked so sexy, just staring at her like that. She wanted to go to him, but what then?

  ‘I really wanted to do that, but it’s not the right thing, Lucy, I apologise. You are a married woman. I just slagged off your husband and then kissed you.’

  ‘You kissed me back,’ she clarified, standing up and straightening her clothing and hair. Her legs felt like jelly, and she tactfully leant against the countertop for support. ‘I kissed you, it’s my fault.’

  Sam was already shaking his head. ‘If you hadn’t done it—’ he looked right at her ‘—I know I would have. I want to right now, but it’s not right. I’ll walk you home.’

  He headed to the door, his shoulders slumped, his walk droopy.

  ‘What about the dishes?’ She headed to the sink. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the day thinking about kissing her neighbour. Or thinking about her husband, who she knew now she had to talk to. ‘I don’t want to be rude.’

  She started to wash up, her hands flicking on the hot tap and reaching for the dish brush. She felt him before she heard him. He leaned into her, his head touching the back of her hair, brushing his forehead against her and settling into her, his cheek to hers.

  ‘You could never be rude, Lucy.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t think we should be hanging out so much.’

  She pushed her cheek into his, turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his neck.

  ‘I don’t want that. I know it’s complicated, but I feel—’

  ‘I feel it too,’ he said, his whispered words coming out in a rush. ‘I feel it, Lucy, believe me, but it’s not right.’ He took a step back, and picked up the tea towel. ‘Let’s just get cleaned up and I’ll take you home.’

  They washed the dishes in silence, and after the last plate and fork was put away, they dared to look at each other again.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, moving towards her. ‘Let’s go home.’

  They left the fire house, and headed back towards the cottages. The sun was fading a little now, the hottest part of the day burnt off. It was beautiful, the flowers and trees in full bloom, the birds singing, butterflies and bees fluttering and buzzing around, doing their thing. Lucy would normally have loved a day like this. She’d be out with Xander, looking at every tree and leaf, rolling down the grassy hills screaming and laughing. Instead, she was walking home with a man who she had been kissing passionately half an hour ago. Hell, she probably still would be, if she’d had the chance. She thought of her husband, their marr
iage, and waited for the guilt to overwhelm her.

  Okay, not overwhelm. Feel it though, she should be feeling guilty right about now. She tried to conjure up the conversation she would have with him, but she couldn’t picture his response. Would he even care? Did she?

  ‘What about your parents? I said I would help, I still want to do that.’

  Sam didn’t say anything, and she could feel how tense he was, standing far enough apart from her that they couldn’t touch accidentally. Was he mad at her?

  ‘I don’t normally do that, you know.’ She was babbling a little now. The cottages were coming into view, and the whole long walk home had been more awkward by the minute. ‘I’ve never done that before.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he muttered glumly. ‘I shouldn’t have let it happen. I know better. I’m really sorry.’

  He stopped on the pavement and she whirled around to face him. This wasn’t how she wanted the day to go. She was sick to death of playing nice, of trying to make the best of things, of trying to please everyone and be the goody two shoes she had always been. She had done everything right, and none of it looked like the front of the bloody brochure. What was the point?

  ‘I’m not sorry.’ She folded her hands in front of her, trying to stop the shaking of her hands. She stuffed them under her armpits, tossing her hair back in frustration. ‘I’m not sorry at all, and I don’t want you to be either.’