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Maybe Lydia is right. Maybe it’s written in the stars that I am destined to be with a Greek god firefighter. What are the chances? Well, if Lydia was here and she saw the car pass me just now and knew that it was the same one that was parked in the driveway next door, she would say that this was yet another positive sign.
But I don’t believe in signs from above or a destiny that is written in the stars. The car? That was pure coincidence. We live in a small town. Cars are few. It’s inevitable. The hot firefighter that I met on his first day in Oak River moves in next door? Another coincidence and perhaps a lovely opportunity for… what exactly? I don’t know. And I’m not sure why Cam Wickham is taking up so much of my brain space.
It starts raining as soon as I step inside the library. I feel lucky that I didn’t get wet.
After work, the rain has stopped, so I keep my promise to Ernie and call around to take Sinatra for a walk. Ernie’s not feeling up to much, he says, nothing serious. Just a chill. He shuffles around his kitchen, getting things out to make tea. He invites me to share a cup, but the old man has a differing opinion regarding kitchen cleanliness to me, so I graciously decline.
“Thanks for taking Sinatra out. I feel guilty that he isn’t getting enough exercise and that he is bored here in the house.” Ernie pours boiling water from the ancient stove-top kettle onto a teabag in a chipped, stained mug that used to be blue. “He’ll let me know that he’s bored. Won’t you Sinatra? Haha. He’ll start chewing my shoes.”
“Well, I’d better get him out then.” Sinatra wags his tail as I clip the lead onto his collar. “Ready boy? Let’s go.”
Out on the street, everything’s quiet as usual. The streetlamps light the way and I head towards a vacant lot at the end of the road that’s next to a wooded gully. We’re only a few paces along Bristol Lane when a figure appears at Ernie’s neighbor’s house. Instinctively, I say, “Hi, Mrs Bevan,” not really paying attention but not expecting anyone else to be coming out of the driveway.
“Hey, Molly.” A man’s voice stops me in my tracks. My heart jumps to my throat squashing a high-pitched exclamation. “Oh sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Nervous laughter spills out as an unconscious reaction to Cam Wickham who is now standing on the sidewalk beside me.
“Ha. Oh. Mr Wickham. Cam. Haha. How are you?” I try to regain some dignity.
“Fine. I am well,” he says. “And, um, I’m your new neighbor. I moved in this week, there at number four.”
I choke back the words of my first thought which was, Yeah, I know, and attempt to arrange my face in what I hope is an expression of mild surprise.
“Really? That’s great. Good. We’re neighbors.”
Both of us stand looking at the ground for a beat, then Cam says, “I’m just knocking on doors, introducing myself, you know, meeting the good people of Bristol Lane.”
“Cool. So, you’ve met Mr and Mrs Bevan? John and Joan?”
“Yes. They seem nice.”
“And across the road? Shelley James and her son, Conor?”
“Yes. They seem nice too.”
“Yes. They are. I don’t see them much, but…” My words trail off and we look at the ground again.
“Yours is the last house, so I was coming to see you after this next one.” Cam indicates Ernie’s letterbox. “So, I might as well invite you now.”
“Alright. Invite me to what?”
“Well, if you don’t have plans for Saturday afternoon, then please come over for a barbecue at mine. Say four-thirty? Just casual. For the people in the street and colleagues and, um, friends. So please feel free to bring a boyfriend, or just a friend, or anyone, if you want.”
“Okay. A housewarming. No, I don’t have a boyfriend. That’ll be lovely. I’m working on Saturday, but I’ll definitely stop by afterward.” A flutter of butterflies tickles my stomach.
Cam makes a move to walk on, but I interrupt.
“Listen. Ernie isn’t feeling too well. That’s his house and this is Sinatra, his dog.” Cam bends down to pat the eager little hound. “So, perhaps, I could ask him when I take Sinatra back after our walk?”
“Yes. That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
Cam smiles his drop-dead gorgeous smile. His eyes twinkle and crinkle at the corners. I melt inside before I surprise myself by saying, “Would you, perhaps, like to join us? We’re not going far. Only to the woods over there.”
Cam doesn’t respond straight away. He looks at me then looks down at the ground again and appears to be nutting out a difficult problem.
“That’s, er, a nice idea. Um, I’d love to, but perhaps another time?”
“Okay. Sure. Yes. Another time.” A tiny stab of disappointment irritates me. But disappointment only comes through expectation. I won’t expect anything further. There won’t be another time. Message received loud and clear. “Well, Cam. Have a lovely evening and I’ll see you Saturday.”
