I felt useful today and my arm still tingles from where Roman patted it afterward with a gruff, “Good work, Sullivan.” Before today, I was doing so well, ignoring the sensual pulse that hits my body whenever I see him, but now my mind and hormones are muddy again. Having the hots for my boss sucks and has the potential to interfere in my grand plan.
I’ve wanted this career for as long as I can remember. Mom would come home, bringing with her smoke-scented hair and clothes, and stories about the jobs she worked. In those days, there was a clearer delineation between firefighters and paramedics, and firefighters worked more fire suppression calls. There were no separate bathing facilities for women, either, so she preferred to wait until she got off her shift. She would make me breakfast, sitting with me before school, asking if I had done my homework.
I would lie and say I had. Really, I’d been up all night listening to the emergency services scanner, trying to pinpoint which calls my mom was on. And in the morning, I was finally able to breathe easy because Jo Sullivan had returned to me safe and sound.
Until the morning she didn’t.
A movement startles me. A girl of about eleven or twelve is beside me, staring at the wall.
“Hi, there,” I say.
“Hey,” she says back. “I’m Lena.”
“I’m Abby.”
She takes my offered hand, shakes once, and releases. A grown-up grip. With her dark-haired pixie cut and cool hazel-green eyes, she looks like she should be casting spells. Her T-shirt says “I Paused My Game To Be Here.”
“Are you new?” she asks.
“Yeah, a couple of weeks. How about you? Signing up for the fire service?”
She raises an eyebrow. If I’d had any doubt about her identity, that eyebrow would have clued me in. “I’m eleven so, no. Though my dad says I can do anything I want except …”
“Firefighting?”
“Day trading. He says day traders are bro-tastic douchebags.”
I laugh because that’s completely true. Out of the mouths of babes and Lieutenant Rossi.
“You want to follow in your dad’s bootsteps?”
“Maybe. It’s kind of a cool job, but I really want to be a video game designer.”
“That sounds amazing.”
She smiles, and there it is: heartbreaker alert.
“Only my aunt Chiara thinks I’ll have a hard time meeting a girl if I go into video games.” That must be the matchmaking sister who was eager to push Roman “out there.” “She thinks everyone would be better off with a girlfriend so it might be better to go into a more female-centric profession. Like dental assistants or …” She eyes me, anticipating my contribution.
“Soccer?”
Approving nod. “Or softball. Chiara and Devi met at a softball game. That’s where all the quality lesbians hang out according to my aunt.”
“Good to know. If you’re a lesbian.”
“I don’t think I am but I’m keeping my options open.” She squints at the wall, her gaze fixed on my mother’s photo. “Who’s that?”
“Joanne Sullivan. She was a firefighter who”—uh, don’t talk about dead firefighters to the little girl of a live one—“worked at this station about 20 years ago.”
“She died. That’s what happened to everyone on this wall.”
I swallow my emotion. “Yeah, she did. She was my mom.”
Something flickers in her eyes. “My mom’s not around either.”
I know she’s not dead but maybe it seems that way when you can’t see her regularly. “Sucks, right?”
She shrugs.
“Lena!” We both turn at the sound of his voice, me a little too eagerly. I have to stop doing that, like I’m a puppy happy to see my owner.
“Hey, Dad. We brought cake.”
“You did?” Roman cuts a glance to me, then back to his daughter. “How’d you get here? Teleport?”
“No,” she says patiently. “Aunt Chiara brought me, but she’s finishing up a phone call in the car. I made lemon pound cake.” She holds up a bag that’s been sitting at her feet. “Abby’s going to have some.”
“I am?”
“Of course. It’s cake. It’ll make you feel better.” She sends an unsubtle glance toward the wall.
Roman divides a look between us. His eyes stray to my mom’s photo, then back to me for a beat. There’s an odd comfort in it. He says to his daughter, “Come on into the lounge then.”
“Could we go to your office?” Lena grasps his hand. “The lounge is noisy.”
“Sure.” He looks down at their joined hands, and something on his face softens. Something in my reproductive area, too. A moment later, he looks over her head at me. “You still in, Sullivan?”
“Free cake? Hell yeah.” I mouth sorry as that sounds a bit profane in front of the kid.
Roman smiles his forgiveness and lets his daughter drag him toward his office.
Two minutes later, we’re seated with cake on plates. Real, fancy ones that Lena has brought from home. She even has a cake knife and slice. A woman after my own heart.
I grab one of the forks from the table. “You usually travel with cake prep, Lena?”
“You never know when there’ll be a cake opportunity. A cake-ortunity.” She grins. “I like making up words.”
“That’s a cool one. Anything with cake in it usually is.”
I take a small sliver of cake just in case it’s bad. You never know with kids or even adults. I needn’t have worried. The lemon zest explodes on my tongue while the lightness of the sponge fills me with the joy of cake.
“Holy bake-off, that’s good!”
“You sound surprised,” Roman deadpans as he pops a larger chunk into his mouth, indicating complete trust in the process.
I ignore the snark. “You’re very talented, Lena.”
“You guys started without me?”
A dark-haired woman appears at the door, the famous Aunt Chiara, I assume. She has gorgeous hazel eyes like her brother, though right now, they’re a touch red and bloodshot.
I stand. “Have my seat.”
Roman rises at the same time. “Abby, sit. Chiara, I know you’d prefer the boss chair.”
“Wow, it’s like we’re related or something.” Chiara takes Roman’s chair, twirls around in it, knocks over a garbage can, and raises her arms in victory. Leaning across the desk with an outstretched hand, she says, “I’m Chiara, the elder of this twinset.”
“You’re twins?” I shoot a quick look at Roman who has taken up a casual lean against the wall with a look of concern directed his sister’s way. He catches me and I avert my glance back to Chiara. “Clearly you got the looks.”
Lie. They’re both gorgeous.
“Oh, I like you.”
“I’m Abby. Cake person. Hanger on. Somehow managed to angle an invite to the best party in town.”
Lena digs into her cake. “Abby thinks I should play softball with lesbians.”
“Didn’t say that exactly,” I mumble around another morsel of delicious cake.
Chiara smiles and there it is, a mirror of her brother. They’re both dark and striking. Lena looks just like her dad, too, except more mischievous. Pixie-like.