Is he thinking about that kiss as well? Is that a moment he’d want to last longer?
Those words he said in my apartment are still ringing in my ears. I wish I’d spent the night so I’d have that memory of how good we could be together.
“Okay, food’s up, ingrates!” Gage serves up a couple of whopping great bowls of breakfast eggs, and the crowd goes to town, grabbing their fill.
Unable to resist, I take a quick peek to see what Roman’s up to, only to find he’s no longer here. Sometime during the breakfast distribution commotion, the lieutenant left the lounge.
People think that firefighters sit around all day waiting to be heroes, but … sure, there’s some of that. Mostly, we’re filling our time with a laundry list of duties that include checking equipment, doing inventory, mopping and cleaning, and running drills.
Another is buying food for the firehouse. Tyler asked if he could swap chores with me because he wanted to do the grocery run with Gage and check out engagement rings for his girlfriend, Evie, daughter of the captain. (Apparently Gage has a very discerning eye when it comes to diamonds.) I’m in the bunk room, sweeping in preparation for a mop down, and hoping to God I don’t find anything I can’t unsee under the beds. One day last week I found a stiff sock, and we all know what that means.
I’m debating my sweeping strategy when a call comes in from CFD Media Affairs.
“Hello?”
“Hi Abby, this is Maria Fernandez. How are you?”
“I’m good, Maria. How about you?” Maria reached out to me when I first started to tell me that any press enquiries about my joining the fire department should be referred to them. I’ve had one or two calls from the media, but hardly the tsunami of interest she hinted at.
“Good, good! So, it’s coming up on the twentieth anniversary of your mom’s sacrifice and …”
I don’t hear the rest. Of course I knew it was coming, I even knew the date, and I had planned to reach out to my father in the hope that the anniversary would provide us with a common bond, but I’ve had other things on my mind.
Roman-shaped things.
“Sorry, Maria, I missed what you just said.”
“The memorial service? We thought to hold it at Engine 6 instead of the Quinn. It’s a historic firehouse for a number of reasons—one of the oldest in the city, your mom’s tenure there—”
“The Dempseys.”
Maria huffs. “Well, we don’t really consider that historic. The kind of headlines they used to generate didn’t always reflect so well on the department. Thank God they’re all married off. It seems to have muted the drama.” Her voice moves from conspiratorial to cheerful. “But we don’t need the Dempseys when we have Abigail Sullivan, daughter of our Commissioner and a revered, trailblazing firefighter! The Commissioner thinks that holding the service at Engine 6 will keep the focus on the true heroes—the men and women who serve every day on the front lines.”
My father approves of this? “So where do I fit in?”
“We’d like you to speak. Just a few words about following in her footsteps, what it means to you to be there, that kind of thing. We can even provide you with some basic text that you could tailor.”
“I don’t know, Maria. I really just want to do my job and this kind of attention sort of detracts from this. I’m not doing anything special.”
“You’ll be there representing the old and the new, the history and the future of CFD. Just think of all the little girls who might watch and be inspired!”
Inspired to be held back and put on desk duty, but still somehow get to wield a mop. You too can live the dream, girls!
I let her bang on about media synergy and holistic marketing for a minute or so, and then beg off when I can’t stand it any longer.
I ponder what I just heard. How can my father be on board with the public relations aspect of this if he won’t even support me doing the actual job? I wonder what Roman would think—then I realize that he’s the last person I can talk to about this. Confidences can only lead to an intimacy I can’t nurture.
But I do have something to run by him. I lean the mop against the wall and take a walk.
“Knock, knock.” I lean against the entrance to Roman’s office, my fist raised. “Hey, Lieutenant.”
He turns from whatever he’s reading and looks me up and down. Subtle, but an unmistakable check out. “Hey, Sullivan, everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to say thanks for earlier, what you said to Danny. I’m sure he didn’t know how far he was pushing it.”
“Oh, he knew. He shouldn’t harass you like that in front of the crew when you’re less likely to cut him off because you want to be polite.” He narrows his eyes. “Of course, if you want to go out with him, that’s your business. It’s not against the rules.”
No. The rules are just for me and Roman.
“I don’t want to date him. Or any firefighter.”
He doesn’t respond, merely watches and waits.
“It’s not personal.” The words are gushing from me now in direct proportion to my fast-rising color. “I’ve just seen how difficult it is to be married to one. How much it hurts to lose someone in the service, so it seems like tempting fate to put two firefighters together like that. Double the potential for disaster.”
My heart’s thumping hard. I’m not saying this to warn him off—we’re already never going to happen. But I want him to know I won’t be dating anyone at Engine 6. If I could and we weren’t already crazily problematic, I would definitely go on that date with him.
“I see,” is all he says.
Subject change needed. “How come you skipped breakfast earlier?”
He taps his pen on the desk, obviously trying to decide if I’m worthy of his confidence. “I had a call from Lena’s school. She got into trouble a couple of days ago. Fight with another kid.”
“Oh no! Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Physically, anyway. I have a meeting there tomorrow, and I think we’ll figure that part of it out. But she’s pretty mad at me.” He pauses, probably weighing whether to tell me more. My silence is rewarded. “I won’t let her attend her mom’s wedding.”
“Ah, that sounds tricky.” I know that Roman is on less-than-ideal terms with his ex. A curious eagerness to be his shoulder grips me. Surely we can be friends. I’d like that because something is better than nothing where this man is concerned. Sure, that’s risky but everything about this situation is, and apparently I live for danger. “Is it because you don’t want to go?”
“I’m not invited, which is perfectly fine. Only I can’t let Lena go alone. That side of the family are a bunch of booze hounds.” The pen tap becomes more pronounced. “But that’s not the issue—or the entire issue. The problem is that Tori wants to dress Lena up like a doll for this shit show. Trot her out and pretend that everything is A-okay.” He waves a hand. “Sorry, you don’t need to hear this.”
“No, it’s fine. So what does Lena want?”
“She’s eleven so it’s not relevant.”