EPILOGUE
Mercy rode in the middle seat of her boyfriend’s truck on the way home from the St. Patty’s Day Homecooked Holiday feast—JFK on her left and sweet little Mrs. Walker on the right.
“That was some delicious corned beef,” said Mrs. Walker.
“Glazed corned beef,” corrected JFK. He wasn’t a stickler for much, but try calling his recipe by the wrong name and even a little old lady wasn’t safe from correction.
Mrs. Walker didn’t even seem to notice. “Did I ever tell you that my Robert used to cook once a year and that was on St. Patty’s Day? He would make corned beef and cabbage and I tell you what, it was barely edible. I had to sharpen the steak knives every year before that meal or else we’d never get it cut into pieces we could bite. When you told me what you were serving today, I almost refused to go, but you cooked it up right. Hm, boy. You let me know next year, and if I’m alive I’ll go eat corned beef.”
“Glazed—” started JFK, but Mercy cut him off.
“He’s doing ham next month for Easter. We’ll be sure to let you know.”
Mrs. Walker took Mercy’s hand with one of hers and patted her forearm with the other. “You better tie this one up, Mercy. If you don’t, someone else will.”
As if being a firefighter didn’t make him a big enough hero, he’d been Mercy’s hero time and time again, and now on a monthly basis he brightened the lives of hundreds of senior citizens. Lonely oldsters, she thought with a chuckle. “If he keeps cooking like that, I think I’ll keep him around.”
“Oh good, we’re here,” said JFK as he pulled up in front of Mrs. Walker’s house. “Now you people can stop talking about me like I’m not around.”
“He thinks that’ll stop us?” said Mrs. Walker. “I tell you, Mercy, he has been a godsend ever since I lost my Robert. Takes care of the yard and the sprinklers. Fixes the pipes and everything else that breaks. Shovels snow every winter day when he’s not fighting the fires.”
JFK groaned and opened his door.
With a guilty little smile, Mrs. Walker watched him climb down. When the door blocked him off from her voice, she giggled. “He hates it when I do that.”
“I know,” said Mercy. “It’s funny because he grumbles about it, then he does more nice things and it just proves you right.”
He reached the passenger door and slowly opened it, then held out a hand to help Mrs. Walker down. The truck was so tall she needed a little extra help descending from the tall cab, so he placed her feet one at a time. Mercy wondered if Mrs. Walker was playing it up just to get more gentleman behavior from him. When she finally made it to the ground, he held out an elbow for her to crook a hand around.
“Be right back,” JFK told her with a wink.
The passenger seat was much roomier, but after trying out the seat next to him, she kind of liked the feel of it.
No one would ever believe the man walking Mrs. Walker to the door was the same guy who literally didn’t know the first thing about opening doors for a lady just a few months ago. The gentle manner in which he led her to the door, unlocked it for her, and pushed the door open belonged to someone who’d been doing this his whole life. He could put some of the Jewell men to shame. Mercy could only hope that someday she’d talk about JFK like Mrs. Walker always talked about her Robert.
It took a minute for him to get her settled in then appear at the door again. Boy oh boy did he look good in his new red chef’s shirt. He’d lost all the weight he needed to and bulked up a little in all the right areas. Even in the squarish chef shirt, his tapered torso and broad shoulders made Mercy lick her lips.
Oh yeah, she was staying put in the middle seat.
As he was climbing into the truck, Mercy said, “I knew red was a good call.” She put a hand on his bicep, loving how small his big muscle made her hand feel.
“You know I couldn’t wear it if I was actually working as an executive chef, right? I can only do it on days like today because they’re so desperate. If you can boil an egg they’ll beg you to run their kitchen.”
“I was a little disappointed with the dinner tonight,” said Mercy, keeping her arm on his muscle.
“Yeah, well, corned beef is poor people food, and it’s hard to do anything but plop it in a crockpot with generic seasonings. I swear, I’m going to have to get on the Homecooked Executive Board just to have some real input on the menu.”
She didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d actually do it.
“No, that’s not it. The food was great. But you didn’t save a single life.”
JFK chuckled as he put his truck in reverse. “I learned my lesson last time. Can’t even give a geezer one little squeeze without the news getting all excited about it.”
“Maybe I’ll choke on purpose next time to get you to put your arms around me.”
JFK took an arm off the steering wheel, wrapped it around her shoulder and pulled her closer. So freaking strong.
He said, “I’ll take any excuse you give me. But about you not being impressed? I’m not buying it.”
“Why not?”
“You’re telling me that cooking gourmet for 250 people doesn’t impress you anymore? That’s 250 special diet, denture wearers. I’m pretty sure my mad culinary skills are what made you fall in love with me in the first place.”
There was a little bit of truth in that. His looks and the confident way he ran the kitchen drew her right in. Volunteering an entire holiday for a bunch of strangers definitely helped, but she knew the exact moment she’d fallen for him.
“I thought you were hot, I won’t deny that. I was interested that day. More than interested, actually, I let myself get hopeful about a possible relationship for the first time in years. Basically my first time ever as an adult.” Mercy pointed to the upcoming stoplight. “Do me a favor and take me on a quick pit stop, okay? Turn right up there.”
JFK nodded. “So what was it? Out of all my amazing traits, which one made you lose it completely for me?”
“Patience, I’m getting there. The thing that really got me was how cute and clueless you were when you brought my car back from ready-to-rust. When a guy goes from where you were at the awards ceremony to where you were two days later, I didn’t stand a chance.” It was almost impossible to keep her hands off of him and let him drive. “Now stop talking about it or I’m going to jump over there on your lap and make you wreck. Turn right again.”
JFK must have been feeling a bit of the heat as well because he cleared his throat and wiped his brow.
“It’s the third house on the right.” Mercy pointed.
“The one with the snow that looks like it was shoveled by anal-retentive robots?”
“That’s the one,” said Mercy. “Any guesses who lives here?”
“No guesses,” said JFK, pulling up to the curb. “If that house with the icicles that have been trimmed to all be the same length is not your brother’s house, then I’ll cook and eat dog food next shift at the station.”
“Which brother?” she asked, taking a second look at the house. He’d been exaggerating about the icicles, but the snow had been removed from the roof edges at a precise distance. If she took a ruler and measured it, she’d bet money the buffer would be within an inch all the way around the house.
“Well let’s see, since Ransom lives in the dorms at the U, and Noble isn’t old enough to drive, much less own a home, I’m going out on a limb with Justice.”
“You win,” she said, planting a kiss on his lips.
As she scooted toward her door, JFK said, “Nuh, uh, uh. Let me get that for you.”
Of course she allowed him to come around and open it. Ever since that first disastrous date, he hadn’t allowed her to even think about getting her own door.
“Thanks, JFK,” she said. “Do you mind waiting here? I’ll just be a sec.”
“I’ll go with you if you want. We made nice, remember, it’s not like I still want to fight him.”
She wasn’t sure she completely believed that last statement.
“Well,” explained JFK. “I don’t not want to fight him either, but I can behave.”
“I gotta do this myself,” she said.
With a nod, JFK leaned back against the truck, ready to escort her in when she returned.
The trepidation Mercy had been waiting for didn’t come as she walked across the perfectly shoveled driveway. Did Justice come out here with ice-melt in a salt shaker to get the lines so clean? That was beside the point. Mercy was trembling with excitement to take this next step.
She rang the doorbell and within seconds, Justice opened the door and froze when he saw her.
“Hey, bro. I wrote you that letter way back when, apologizing and saying I’d do anything humanly possible to make restitution. Well, here.” Mercy held out an old, worn hundred dollar bill. She loved the imagery of the old bill holding the same exact value as a new, crisp bill.
As expected, Justice examined it instead of making any sort of movement to accept it.
Mercy said, “I know your mind is running through pages of algorithms about how to handle this situation and what kind of obligation it creates for you. Throw this into the equation—I need to do this. I need to make restitution.”
Slowly, Justice’s hand came forward and pinched the bill.
“This is the first installment,” explained Mercy, keeping her grip of the money. “Thank you.”
Justice’s head was bobbing slightly as he took the money as if he might say something. Mercy stood and waited. This gesture was so small compared to the trust she’d obliterated between them, and Justice was liable to say anything.
But he did what she least expected—with no explanation, Justice came forward and hugged her.
That was enough. She didn’t need words of any sort. She still had a long way to go, but she had come this far so she knew she could make it.
It wasn’t a long hug—Justice never had been one for physical contact—but it didn’t have to be. As quick as it had started, Mercy ended it, turning and hurrying back to JFK’s truck. If she spent too much time thinking about burned bridges being rebuilt, she’d show up to Poppy and Slade’s house with mascara running down her face.
The front porch was blocked from JFK’s view; he would have no idea what happened. When she reached him she saw concern on his face. She asked, “You look so serious. Were you worried about me?”
“No,” said JFK, opening her door. “You’re a big girl. I’m not going to impose my ideals of chivalry on you by following you around.”
“Is it Justice?” she asked from the seat. She hadn’t meant to necessarily exclude JFK. It had just been something she and Justice needed to take care of.
He shook his head and closed her door, then walked around to the driver’s side. Whatever was on his mind, Mercy hoped it wasn’t anything serious.
Maybe it was a mistake to keep her distance at the first sign that there was distance between them, but Mercy stayed in the passenger’s seat when he climbed in and drove off.
“What is it, JFK?”
“I’m just thinking,” he said. “That kiss. The day you fell in love. If the car day was really the day you fell for me, what was so wrong about me kissing you?”
Oh. In their two months together, they hadn’t talked about it. Why bring it up if things were going so perfect? It was beyond embarrassing—she still felt shame about it and didn’t want to tell him. But he’d never been judgmental of her. And she was a different person sober than she’d been as an addict.
“In my bad years,” she started, “a lot of guys did things for me. Bought things for me, usually alcohol.” So many nights in so many settings from frat parties to bars to her own apartment. “They always expected something in return, and a lot of times they got it.” She was watching the road so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact when he glanced over. It was so hard to admit this to a man she was so deeply in love with. “I … never felt anything for them, only for what they offered.”
“And when I came around acting like I’d just saved the day with a year’s worth of credit in the implied quid pro quo department, then forced my lips on you, it freaked you out.”
“Yeah.” Mercy nodded, still keeping her eyes forward. “I couldn’t go anywhere near the old me with you. I wanted something real, so … I’m sorry about that.”
“I get it,” said JFK. “I grew up in a world where favors were traded to get what you wanted and a lot of times what you needed. It’s probably how I ended up so fat at one point. A scarcity mentality for food. Guess I’m lucky I was a scrawny boy because if I was a cute little girl, there’s no saying what would have happened.”
“That’s not the same,” said Mercy. “My problems are due to my poor choices. You were a child brought up in horrible situations.”
“And yet, here we both are, trying to fix our messed up lives. Together.”
“Together,” she agreed, and realized she was pinching the coin that hung from her neck. “I like the way you say that.”
They drove without speaking for a little while, just being together. The road led out of town and up to where the real estate was far out of their price range.
“Poppy and Slade aren’t doing too bad, it looks like,” said Mercy.
“Not at all,” said JFK. “I’ve been teasing him since they got married for moving his little heiress into his dumpy apartment. It turns out they’ve been saving and waiting. This place came up as a short sell and they were ready to pounce. I don’t know how much they put down, but it was more than twenty percent.”
“Impressive,” said Mercy. “I was proud of myself because I can buy groceries now without having to dig through couch cushions.”
“Been there,” said JFK. “And as much as I want to, I can’t even make fun of the Powerses for being big nerds. I signed up for that financial class that Powers won’t shut up about.”
“Poppy’s a disciple too,” said Mercy. She’d been curious, but didn’t have the disposable income to drop on a class about something she didn’t have.
“I went ahead and registered us both,” said JFK looking at her from the corner of his eye. “I was weak and I gave in to peer pressure.”
“I’m not buying it, JFK. Peer pressure has the opposite effect on you.”
“Okay then,” his eyes got really shifty. Whatever came next was going to be an obvious lie. “They gave me two for one, and Quad C and Emily signed up with their wives, so I had no one to go with.”
“Lie,” she said, and he grunted, knowing he was caught. “And stop calling Uncle Dom Emily’s wife.” She stared at him, but his smirk said he wasn’t about to stop doing that. “For two months we’ve been inseparable, and still you can’t just come out and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Okay, I can do this.” JFK slapped one cheek repeatedly, psyching himself up. “I think it’s a worthwhile class. And I think I’m going to be spending a lot of time with you for a long time to come.”
“Oh, you do?” Mercy decided to keep pushing him. “What makes you think that?”
“Uh, for starters, how you’re always checking me out and making these lovesick puppy eyes at me.”
“Lovesick puppy? I don’t think I’ve ever—”
“Or, I don’t know, maybe it’s the way you’re always telling everyone in the world that I’m the greatest of all time ever and you don’t know what you’d do without me.”
The greatest of all time ever? While that was true, she doubted she’d ever used those words before. And for the most part she respected everyone’s right to not hear her gush about her amazing boyfriend.
“And what about the standing or sitting as close as possible to me wherever we go.”
Okay, so that’s how it was? Mercy would show him sitting as close as possible. She undid her seatbelt and slid back to the center seat. “Really? What else?”
His eyes went back and forth between Mercy and the road and his confident answers wavered momentarily. “You, uh, can’t keep your hands off me, you know?”
She ran her hand over his chest, feeling his meaty pecs flex. “I know, right? Can you blame me?”
“And then, uh,” JFK took a breath and blew it out, “and then, don’t even get me started on the kissing. It’s like my face is a magnet and your lips are iron shavings.”
Mercy instantly attached her lips to the side of his face. With fake effort she pulled them off, only to have them reattach instantly higher up on his cheek. She repeated it half a dozen times, leaving the right side of his face covered in lipstick.
JFK tried to lean out of her reach. “Hey now, what was it you said earlier about not making us crash?”
“I just can’t help it.” She laid another one on him. “Stop being so irresistible.” Again and again she kissed him.
JFK pulled the truck to the side of the road and turned his face to meet her full on. This time her lips landed on his and he kissed her right back. She was no longer in control of the contact or the kiss. His powerful lips had taken over, and all she could do was ride the wave. JFK somehow had the power to make her body tingle all the way down into her toes. Then he slipped one hand behind her neck and put the other on her side and she was really and truly lost.
But this time, she didn’t want to be found.
A horn blared and they both shot up, wide eyed and out of breath.
Uncle Dom and Emily had pulled up beside them in his fancy Tesla. Mercy saw that they were all in a pull-out with a nice view of Park City. The windows went down in both vehicles.
“I told Dom to let me watch the show,” said Emily. “He said it’d be different if JFK was trying to swallow my niece’s tongue.”
That was quite the exaggeration. Mercy and JFK had had some intense make-out sessions, but this wasn’t one of the super hot ones.
JFK responded, “Sounds like the romance is fading over there if you’ve got to sneak up on us in your fancy spy car for your kicks.”
“Don’t worry about us,” said Emily. She shared a look with her fiancé that was sweet and a little bit spicy. “And we could have snuck up on you two on a Harley with a broken muffler. I only interrupted because I didn’t want you to miss the party entirely.”
Uncle Dom added, “And I didn’t think this was an appropriate time or place for my next great nephew or niece to be conceived.”
“You,” said JFK, “don’t get any input on that. And why would I go hang out with you people when I could stay here and be alone with Mercy?”
“We’ll see you there,” said Emily. She rolled up her window and the Tesla flew off down the road.
JFK looked Mercy in the eyes and said, “As much as I’d like to get back to where we were before that rude interruption, punctuality is part of manners, and if anyone is a manners Nazi, it’s me.”
“It’s a double-edged sword,” said Mercy, settling back down to her side of the truck.
He put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
Mercy no longer got nervous when he said that. They’d gone back and forth with it enough to know that it didn’t necessarily mean there was something wrong with their relationship. “Yeah, I think it’s your turn.”
“I’m going to change my name again. For good. Any thoughts?”
“Not back to Sue, I assume?”
“Ha. No. If I was smart I wouldn’t have kept Amos when I dumped that gem.”
What a cool opportunity for him to move past so much of his childhood trauma. “I love the idea! You can be whatever you want to be. Whoever you want to be. I mean, obviously you’ve already proved that. Look how much you’ve changed.”
“Yeah, well.” He squirmed under the praise again. “I don’t know what to choose. Nobody just picks their own name.”
“That’s why it’s so awesome. You’re dumping the scripts that were written for you and society can just deal with it.”
“So what do you think? Any ideas? I thought about JFK, but it’s not even a name. It doesn’t sound right. I don’t have to decide tonight, but I want to start figuring it out.”
“Hm. You going for funny? Strong? Intelligent?”
“Not sure,” said JFK. “I kind of like what you said about burning the old script of my life.”
“So, inspirational,” said Mercy. “Even if it’s not necessarily inspirational to other people, something that inspires you. Who’s your hero?”
Immediately, he said, “I don’t want to be a hero. I just want—I’ve got it. What do you think of Robert?”
“Oh, it’s perfect,” said Mercy. “I really can have a ‘my Robert’ just like Mrs. Walker does.”
“Robert Baker.”
“Robert Baker,” repeated Mercy. “It’s a winner. Middle name?”
“We’ll see. Maybe I’ll go with Tarzan.”
He’d had a lot of fun with that one over the months. So had Mercy, imagining him shirtless swinging around on vines with her in one arm.
They’d finally reached the upscale, gated neighborhood where Poppy and Slade had moved. The guard at the gate checked his list, then let them in. The second house on the right had a handful of cars in front of it, including Uncle Dom’s shiny blue Tesla.
“That’s their starter home?” asked Mercy. It was absolutely gorgeous. Not as big as some of the other houses on the block, but just so beautiful. Mercy didn’t know architecture, but the house had an old-fashioned look to it. One of the little towers in the corner had a round princess peak to it.
“Compared to Daddy Mercier’s mansion, it’s a shack. But he swears they’ll pay it off in ten years.” JFK, Tarzan, Iron Chef, Robert—whatever her amazing boyfriend’s name was—pulled up and parked.
“It’s got to be a million-dollar house,” said Mercy.
“Million point five,” said JFK. “Powers wouldn’t tell us so we did some research and found out.”
“I had no idea firefighters made so much,” said Mercy. “Guess I picked right after all.”
JFK chuckled. “His grant-consulting business brings in three or four times what firefighting does. Anyway, I gotta get outta this coat. Don’t touch that door, okay?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Someone messed up my makeup, so I need to touch it up.”
As Mercy got her makeup out, JFK unbuttoned his chef coat. She was halfway done with her upper lip when he pulled his coat off and she caught a glimpse of his chest and arms fighting against his tight undershirt. Smiling because she had been the one to pick out those too-tight shirts, she stared.
“Hey,” she told him, “just because I came close to making you crash doesn’t mean you can make me wreck my lipstick with that kind of distraction.”
“Make yourself up at your own risk.” He flexed his nearest bicep and Mercy had to reach out and grab it. Even with both hands she couldn’t wrap all the way around it. He didn’t have the cut physique of the calendar boys, just huge muscles that could probably lift a car if he wanted. Man, oh man, was he irresistible!
“It’s like you’re packing boulders under your skin,” she said, giving him one last squeeze. If she didn’t let him go now, she might start kissing him again and this time they might not make it to the party at all.
He pulled on a grey button up shirt, and Mercy finished with her lipstick. Then he climbed out of the truck and walked around to her side. After what they’d been through on their first date, she didn’t think she’d ever take that simple act for granted.
Mercy was perfectly capable of climbing out of the truck herself, but she enjoyed leaning on his strong arm to climb down. The transition to holding hands as they walked up to the house was as natural as everything else he did to treat her right.
Exterior lighting showed off every angle of the house as they walked up to it. Mercy said, “It’s no yak-hair cenotaph, but at least I’m with my Robert.”
“I’m saving the yak-hair date for when I propose,” he said. “Too bad Two Hearts doesn’t still have that yak or we could make it really authentic.”
The thought of being married to him made her heart race. Just walking hand-in-hand was so satisfying. For 730 days she’d struggled with sobriety, then this guy came along and except for a couple hiccups at the beginning, the support and love she’d received from him had made the last 50 days or so a cakewalk.
And while she knew he wanted much more than just to kiss and hold hands—they’d talked about it—not once had he pushed her to be more intimate than they’d agreed on. Talking to pretty much everyone who knew him pre-Mercy, she’d put together an image of a guy who was coarse and crude and didn’t understand the meaning of the word propriety. She believed people could and did change, but he’d taken it to a whole new level and he’d done it for her. Because she was worth it.
No, she didn’t need anything artificial to make her feel good about herself or to make it through a hard day.
“Emily will have already told them she busted us,” said JFK. “So be ready for some comments.”
“I hope they do push me,” said Mercy with a smile. “My social inhibitions are way more lax than any of theirs. If they want uncomfortable, I’ll show ‘em exactly what we were doing.”
“I am so in love with you right now.”
“We’re perfect together,” agreed Mercy, leaning into his arm even harder.
“Never in a million years did I think I’d be perfect with anyone, much less someone like you. I keep expecting to wake up dreaming.”
Mercy pulled up in front of him and put her arms around his neck. “Do we have to go in and be on time?”
JFK rolled his eyes. “To a party whose purpose is because someone moved out of a hole apartment? Just give me an excuse to show up an hour from now.”
Mercy planted a kiss on his lips, which brought his thick arms around her.
“That’ll do,” said JFK, resting his forehead against hers. “C’mon.” He took her hand and started running back to the truck.
“What happened to manners and punctuality and all that?”
Pulling her door open, JFK gave her a wicked smile. “What can I say? I’m kind of a bad boy.”
Mercy climbed in, licking her lips and loving the idea of being an hour late.
“My Robert,” she said, watching him walk confidently around the front of the truck.
Oh how she planned to say that for years and years to come.
The End
About the Author
This is Daniel Banner’s third book in the Park City Firefighter Romance series, but not his last. For over 15 years he has worked as a fireman and paramedic, collecting experiences by day and making up stories by nights, and sometimes vice versa. For Daniel, writing is an escape from the traumatic days, and a celebration of the triumphant days.
If you sign up for his bi-monthly newsletter—in which he shares real thoughts on writing, firefighting, and life—you can get Two Hearts Rescue for free and get inside info on sales and new releases. If you already own Two Hearts Rescue, you can get a hearty thanks.
Thanks! Daniel loves his readers!
www.dcolemanbooks.com/banner
facebook.com/authordanielbanner
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
playlist
Once upon a Dream Lana Del Ray
Kryptonite – Three Doors Down
Believer – Imagine Dragons
All These Things that I’ve Done – The Killers
Reason - Hoobastank
Running to Stand Still – U2
I Am – AWOLNation
I’m Shakin’ Jack White