AARON

Night after night, she was all I thought about. I didn’t know how much longer I could go without saying something to her. Without just going for it, at least once.

My countertops were finally installed late one night that week, but they went in surprisingly fast.

Additionally, Randy had a brand new deck. I was actually kind of proud of it. Randy loved it, and it had kept me busy and out of the bar that week since Mrs. Williamson’s windows still hadn’t come in. Funny enough, Vaughn and Hannah’s bathroom fixtures had already arrived.

Construction was like that. Hurry up and wait.

Then again, wasn’t that how I dealt with Faith? Time couldn’t go fast enough until I saw her again, but each time I had an opportunity I held off on doing anything. I’d surely grow old, waiting for the right time.

Either I needed to do something or fucking knock the crazy shit off.

I couldn’t keep finding new ways to implement myself into her life if I was only doing it half-assed; I wasn’t a half-ass kind of guy. I wanted all or nothing, and what I’d done wasn’t working because I still had nothing.

As I fried fish and chicken early Saturday afternoon, I tried to come up with a plan.

I’d ask her out, but where would we go? What could we do that would be worth her time? And how and where would I ask her? I didn’t have her number, but I didn’t want to ask her over the phone anyway. I wanted to do it in person—face to face.

I pulled a batch of fish from the fryer and dumped it into a large rectangular roaster, lined with paper towels. Then I threw more into the batter and looked out over the firehouse being turned into a makeshift dining hall for the afternoon. Our trucks were parked in the grass on the sides of the drive, and the junior firefighters were unfolding tables and chairs for the meal.

“It’s smelling good back here,” Randy said, stepping outside the back door where I had the fryers set up on the concrete slab. He stole a piece of buffalo and pulled it apart, blowing on it to cool in his hands before throwing it down his throat—just like he already had three times.

“If you keep eating every time you come out here, there isn’t going to be much left. I’m not sure you can be trusted to cook.”

“I can’t be trusted. This is true. But I also don’t have the patience today to deal with all the little grubby hands on my nice, clean trucks. So you’ll have to do rides later, and I’ll take over fryer duty. I told the boys to eat early and then work the line. The other volunteers are on trash and clean up detail.” He swiped another piece.

It was nice having rank. I remembered my time as a junior, mopping the floors and cleaning. It was good for me then, and good for them now.

He went in for yet another piece, but I pointed to the door. “Go ask Kennedy to get the coolers down and get that serving table set up. He helped me put them away last time we used them.”

Randy nodded as he chewed, but he’d be back for more.

Fish Fry Day was strange. One minute it would just be the station setting up, and then ten minutes later the bays would be packed full of Wynne folk and we’d be slammed for hours. It always happened quickly.

When Vaughn and Hannah came through the line with Sawyer, I handed the tongs over to Randy and Will—who could be trusted—and fixed myself a plate. There weren’t many seats open, but we found a spot near the office.

“This is my favorite kind of fish,” Hannah said.

“Buffalo?” I asked.

“No, the kind I don’t have to clean and cook.” She smiled and took another bite after pinching another piece off for the tiny brunette on her lap. “But I should only have a little.”

“Do you work tonight, Aaron?” Vaughn asked and tore the corner off a slice of bread.

“Nah, I’m off until Monday after we finish up here this evening. I’ll be giving rides on the truck in a while. Think Sawyer would like to go?”

“No,” the couple answered in unison. They shared a look and then a knowing smile.

Hannah explained, “We have an overnight babysitter, and we’re dropping this stinker off early.”

They shared another glance, some unspoken conversation. It appeared they were both excited for the alone time.

A hundred years ago, I shared looks like that with someone—although our relationship had been innocent. She’d been wild and smart and funny and honest. She’d always looked at me like she saw me and liked what she saw.

Sometimes the connection was still there.

Sometimes it was like we could pick right back up where we left off—where I left her alone, believing it was for her own good. At the time, I hadn’t wanted to tie her down. Didn’t want to tether her to the town or myself, because I couldn’t be there for her.

I didn’t see it like that anymore. I’d been a fool.

Sometimes I thought the reason I never just came out and told her that I wanted her—and everything that her life came with—was because I’d have to admit I’d been so wrong back then.

We could have worked. It would have been hard. There would have been struggle. Hard times. But the distance I put between us, and the words I’d said to her when I left, hadn’t made me miss her any less.

She still struggled, and I still missed her. Ironically, we were both still alone.

Even sitting next to my friends, surrounded by the community and my co-workers, I was an island.

I hadn’t wasted any time eating, and as I finished and wiped my face with the donated Farm Supply napkin, I watched the literal woman of my dreams walk in. Faith in cut-off jean shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops.

What more could I want?

Beside her was Delaney, who wore sunglasses that matched her mom’s. They really were a pair. Delaney’s hair was a little darker than Faith’s, and not quite as curly, but other than that they were like two versions of the same person.

I slid my chair back and tossed my napkin on the empty paper plate. It was time for me to get back to it. “Well, I’m not sure what you two are doing later, but I’m going to Sally’s. Maybe I’ll see you.”

“There’s a band at the other bar. So we were thinking of going down there for a while.” Hannah wiped Sawyer’s face, causing her to protest. “If I can’t drink, I might as well dance.”

As I walked to the end of the table, Vaughn added, “Meet us there.”

It was hard to keep my eyes off Faith, and when my friend noticed my attention was elsewhere, he followed my gaze over his shoulder.

“I’ll be at Sally’s,” I repeated.

He nodded. “Okay.”

In fact, the other bar having a band was nice for me. Sally’s would be slower. Quieter. Easier to talk.

Wanting her was a weight on my chest, and I was ready to lighten the load by sharing it with her. If my only relief came from getting it out, then so be it.

Faith lifted her sunglasses, pulled the front of her wild hair back with them, and rested the pair on her head. She shined her gaze on me. Sea glass, as bright as if it had been painted in her eyes. She smiled brighter than I was used to, and then as she and Delaney moved up in the line, she let it slowly slip off her face.

I was drawn to her, like flames reaching for the sky, from the inside out.

I was done being a coward.

#

AS THE CROWD THINNED inside, I showed off the new engine to families and gave rides around the block, blaring the horn and running the lights for the kids.

When I pulled back in, Delaney ran over ahead of her mom, straight up to me where I was showing a little guy how we packed the lines so that they’d easily pull from the truck when we needed them. I peeled a sticker off the roll in my pocket and held the sticky fire shield out to a kid who just might join the department when he was old enough someday. You never knew.

“Aaron, where’s your dog?” Her little voice made me smile. She loved Smokie.

I’d left him at home while all of the activity was going on. He was a good dog, but with so many cars—in and out—and generous hands donating food to my dog, it was best he was out of the way until I had enough time to watch closely.

“He’s at home,” I answered, sorry I hadn’t gone to get him yet.

She crumbled and her left shoulder sank, disappointed. “But I wanted to pet him so bad.” Her voice wavered and cracked, and her chin quivered under her pout. “Mom, his dog is at home. I never get to pet Smokie.”

“What did I tell you?” Faith caught up to her daughter, who was not pleased to see me without Smokie and about to melt down because he wasn’t there.

Delaney wiped her eyes with the back of her tiny hand. “But you said Smokie might be here.”

I pointed to my house behind the girl’s back. He was just across the street, not Costa Rica.

Faith gently shook her head no to my silent offer and squatted to her daughter’s level. “I said maybe. You’re okay.” I liked the tone Faith used as she spoke to her child. It was completely different from how she spoke to everyone else. This voice was mellow and soothing as she firmly supported Delaney without feeding into her upset. The sound of a mother, a damn good one.

Delaney took a loud breath and tried to gather her emotions. “But I’m not okay, Mom.” She sniffled. “I love him and miss him.”

God, how I could relate to that, and it pinched my chest because her dismay was totally unnecessary. “I’ll run across the street and get him, if you want?”

Her face perked up at breakneck speed, and she turned around to face me again. The girl’s feelings had swung from complete despair straight into joy. 

Faith’s head tipped to the side and she looked up at me through her lashes, but she didn’t say anything. A familiar expression from days gone by that she’d shoot me right before she’d call me a sucker.

But I was a sucker, so that was fair.

“Go get him. I’ll help. I can go get him too, Mom, right? Please? I can’t have a dog until I’m big, and I’m only four right now.”

A fun pink spread across Faith’s cheeks, amused by Delaney’s quandary. She was caving but didn’t want to.

Still, it was no reason for an argument. Delaney only wanted to pet my dog—a small request. I was kind of on her side.

“Delaney,” she warned. “What did I say?”

I looked around. Most of the parking lot was cleared out. It would be fine, but I didn’t want to step on any toes. Especially not the pretty purple ones in front of me.

“Mom, you know I need a nap. Aaron, Mom says I can only have toy dogs because toys don’t go poop.”

“She’s right.” I couldn’t hold in my laughter, but I tried. When I laughed, Faith did too, and fuck, it felt great. “Do you care if we go get him?”

Delaney’s head swung from my face to her mom’s.

Faith’s hair shined in the sun as she shook her head in defeat. “Okay. Go get Smokie before the world ends.”

The four-year-old jumped and her flip-flops barreled down the drive of the firehouse but stopped at the road. I followed close behind.

“We have to hold hands when we cross the street,” she instructed.

Her tiny hand reached up for mine, and before I knew it she was holding tightly to me, wrapped around my ring finger and pinky. I couldn’t explain how it felt if I had to, and it surely meant more to me than her.

“Look both ways, Aaron,” she coached.

I looked as she did. Right, left, and then right again.

“All clear. We can go now.” After we crossed the street, she let go and ran up the sidewalk to my front door, bouncing up the steps. “Is he going to bark at me? What if he thinks I’m the mailman?”

“He won’t bark at you.” I opened the door. “Smokie, yo. Come on,” I called into the big living room.

He lifted his head off the arm of my La-Z-Boy.

“Come on. Let’s go.” I slapped my hand on my thigh, and he climbed down and stretched. Delaney squeezed around my leg to peek inside.

“Come on, boy,” she encouraged.

Seeing her, his tail wagged into overdrive. Their heads were the same height, and out on the porch he slapped a big wet lick across her cheek.

“Ew. Gross. Kiss with your mouth closed, Smokie.” She patted his head.

“We better get back to your mom.”

He stayed by her side as we walked back, and, same as before, when we reached the road she held my hand. Right, left, right.

Faith was looking at her phone, but when we reached the road she glanced up. Her arms fell slack at her sides. Her mouth parted like she was about to say something, but we weren’t close enough to hear her. For a change, her eyes blazed when they met mine.

She was so damn beautiful that sometimes it hurt. 

When we got to Faith, Delaney crouched and clapped her hands. “Come here, Smokie.” She petted his face and tapped his head, and then wrapped her arm around his neck for a hug. “I missed you so much.”

“Thank you,” Faith said. She shifted from side to side. “Actually, thank you for this and for cleaning our gutters. Can I pay you for that?”

The damn gutter thing threw me off guard. Again. 

“What? No.” I waved my hand and walked around to the stepping-ledge on the cab of the firetruck. There was no fucking way she was paying me for anything.

“Mom, look,” Delaney said, now sitting on the asphalt scratching Smokie’s belly. “He likes it. His tail’s wagging fast.”

Had Darrell told her?

I didn’t do it for money, didn’t want to talk about it, and didn’t want her thinking about it either.

Bending, I tapped Delaney on the shoulder. “Do you want to turn on the siren and pull the horn?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the dog. “Will it scare him? Is he scared because it’s loud?”

“Nope. He’s used to it.”

She looked at her mom to see if it was okay. Faith nodded.

“Yeah. I want to do it.” She climbed to her feet and dusted herself off. “I’ll be back. Don’t be scared. Okay?”

Smokie wasn’t worried about anything except missing out on a belly rub. He twisted off his back and popped up onto his feet, nudging her hand to keep going.

I moved out of her way and she slapped her hands on the running board to start her hike into the rig. Without thinking much of it, I lifted the light thing under the arms and held her steady as she climbed the rest of the way in.

“Thanks. I’m kind of short,” she explained. “I’m just a kid.”

She was so honest, speaking her mind at will. I was an airman and a fireman and yet not as brave with my words as a child.

That had to stop.

With my boot on the rung, I stepped up beside the open door and quickly looked down at Faith who was paying close attention to what we were doing. Her grimace said it all.

“She’s okay,” I reassured her.

Her brows rose. “I’m not worried about her.” Then her phone chimed and she quickly glanced at the screen and stifled a laugh.

Was someone texting her? Was she talking to a guy?

That wasn’t my business. Or was it?

I averted my attention back to the tiny girl in the driver’s seat, kicking her legs off the end where they hung in the air.

“Can I push this?” Her pink-tipped finger tapped at a button.

It was only to the a/c, but I said, “Better not.” I wasn’t sure how that kind of thing worked with kids, but something told me if I let her start pushing my buttons now, then she’d find all of them and press them every chance she got.

“Look at this.” I pointed to the horn. “You can pull it.”

“Wait. Can girls be firefighters?”

What a funny question. Why couldn’t they be?

I looked her straight in her curious blue eyes. “There are many, many awesome female firefighters.”

Her mouth fell open, disbelieving me. “Boys and girls?”

Wynne had two or three women first responders who assisted with fires all the time. Although none were full-time at our station, there was nothing keeping them from it. “Yep. It’s hard work, but anybody can do it.”

“Okay. I’ll pull it, but I just thought it was for boys.”

Admittedly, the thought of this sweet little girl rushing into a burning building didn’t sit well inside me, but even more, I hated the thought that she just assumed she couldn’t do something because she was a female.

That was dead wrong.

“Pull here.” I held the line with my finger and she yanked the horn to life on her first try.

It startled her, and then she giggled. “That’s so loud.” She leaned over and I moved out of the way just a bit. “Mom, did you hear how loud that was? Girls can pull the horn too.”

“I told you,” Faith called from outside the rig.

“The blue switch over there turns on the lights.”

Clapping first, she held her finger beside it, confirming with me. Her eyebrows high, smile wide.

“Yep. Flip it up.”

She tried to do it with one finger, but then enlisted the rest of her hand when she needed more elbow grease.

“Got it,” she said, and the lights reflected off the side of the massive white building before us, but they weren’t too bright.

“You can see them better at night,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s daytime.”

I looked down and pointed to the button on the floorboard. “This one down here is the siren.”

She slid down the seat and stretched her leg as far as she could. “You step on it?”

I nodded. “Do you know why we use lights and sirens?”

She stomped on it, not expecting my question. It startled her and she yelped, then let off. “You use it to tell people their house is on fire. To tell them to get out.”

A pretty good guess.

“We use it so that other vehicles and people know we’re near. We have to get to emergencies as fast as we can, but we don’t want to cause another accident. The lights and sirens help us make sure everyone stays safe.”

“My mom honks her horn when people are going too damn slow.”

Faith didn’t miss a beat. “Delaney! What did I say about that?”

Her small palm slapped across her mouth, and she said, “Whoops,” behind her fingers. Then she quietly tittered.

I tried to help the situation. “Oops. We can’t say that.”

She flipped her hand up like it was on a hinge but didn’t remove it from her face and whispered, “You can, but I can’t. Grown-ups can say bad words. Like Big D. He says he’s trying not to, but he can’t help it.”

“You can’t say what we say, but you can say Delta instead.”

She looked at me like I was nuts.

“In the Air Force, when I wanted to say something but didn’t want to say the real words, I could use other words that everyone knew. If they started with the same letter.”

She still didn’t get it.

“Delta stars with D too.” She squinted, thinking, deciding if I was full of sierra. “You could say they were driving too delta slow.”

It started to click and she tried it out. “Delta?”

“Delta,” I answered. “Flip the lights off, please.”

She spun, following my orders and did as I asked. “Aaron, let’s get out of this delta truck.”

Laughing, I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake. “Still try not to say it, if you can.”

I stepped back and she climbed down onto the floorboard. With my feet on the drive, I reached up to help her out. Her arms reached out for me, and thankfully I caught her when she surprised me with a jump. “Catch me,” she requested after she decided to fly.

Snatching her from the air, I set her safely on the ground.

“Are you ready to go?” Faith asked. “Tell Aaron thank you.”

“Thanks, Aaron. Thanks, Smokie.” She hugged the white and black dog around the neck. “I gotta go, boy.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied. “From both of us.”

While Delaney and my dog said their goodbyes, Faith touched my arm off to the side. Her warm fingers ran along my bicep. “And thanks for telling her she can be a firefighter ... and for everything else.” Her hand was too soon gone, but the sensation of her touch lingered, warm.

“No problem.”

Faith leaned in against my shoulder. Quietly, she added, “If you’re off later, come by Sally’s and I’ll buy you a beer.” She looked up at me all eyes and lashes, and my mouth was too close to hers for my own good.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Come on, Madame. We need to go take that nap.” Without much protest, Delaney stood.

“Bye,” they said in unison as they strolled across the pavement, both looking back at Smokie and me and waving one last time.

I was going for it.

What did I have to lose?

More importantly, what did I have to gain?