After about an hour, we left the park. The Hibiscus Room was packed full when we arrived. We were able to secure a tiny table by the window. A few diners gave Sable an odd look until they saw her service dog vest. Once seated, with Sable on Chip’s damp shoes, we ordered our drinks as a slim waiter with bright blue hair and a bar in his eyebrow handed us menus. His name tag read UTAH, just like the state.
Chip was examining the dining area intently as I opened the small menu. I followed his line of sight but saw nothing that would seem too upsetting.
“Are the lights bothering you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, they’re fine. The people are noisy, but it’s okay.”
“We can just order takeout and eat at home if this is too much for you.” I closed my menu. Chip shook his head firmly. “Okay, well, if you find it’s too noisy, just say so, and we’ll leave.”
“I like the color scheme.” I did too. Cool blues, soft grays, and off-whites permeated the café from the walls to the tablecloths to the glasses our ice waters arrived in.
“Are you ready to order?” Utah asked.
“Can we have a few more minutes?” I enquired and got a soft nod.
“I’ll bring a bowl of water for the dog.”
Utah disappeared through a stylish door into a rambunctious-sounding kitchen. The smells that escaped when the swinging doors opened and closed made my stomach rumble. Rich, warm, nutty aromas from the quiches baking in the kitchen to the smell of coffee brewing.
Chip read his menu closely, touching a few items with the tip of his finger before sitting back to grab my attention from my menu with a tap on the back of my hand. Green eyes locked with mine as I looked up.
“I’d like a spinach quiche with cheese along with the bright green salad.”
“Okay, cool. That sounds good. I’ll get that too, plus a side of their roasted rosemary potatoes. Oh, they have great baguettes here. Let’s get some of those too and some dates.”
“I like bread. Carbs are important for people who are physically active like you and me. That fan in the park. The one with the nose hair. Did he upset you when he acted like what you do isn’t as important as slapping a puck around a rink?”
Utah arrived with water and a doggie treat—a cookie which was probably made on site—then took our orders. After he left, Chip repeated his question.
“It’s fine. People tend to take service personnel like police, firefighters, and paramedics for granted until they need them.”
“Hmm, it’s not very polite. You save lives. Police save lives. Paramedics save lives. They should be more respectful.”
“It’s okay, truly. Lots of people are very thankful. Some even bring cupcakes to the station in thanks.” He blushed so deeply I had to stop myself from climbing over the table to kiss him. Slow and easy. I had to remember that.
“How did you know you wanted to be a firefighter?” He glanced from me to a woman walking by in a black suit with a yellow bow tie. “She’s fashionable.”
“She sure is.”
Once his attention was back on me, he asked again. The man was nothing if not focused. “Right. Well, I grew up in a house with a parent who was a firefighter. My father was part of the same station I’m assigned to now. He was one of those outgoing guys who all the fellows in the station loved. And I say fellows because the department only allowed women to join the ranks in 1996, so his tenure was mostly spent with men. A few women served with him, but not many. We’re still working hard to bolster gender diversity in the ranks.”
“Courtney is nice. She sent me a text saying she was making me socks to wear when I play hockey. I didn’t know how to tell her our socks are specially made to give us protection, hold our shin pads in place, and match our team colors.”
“She means well. Just tell her you’ll wear her socks under your official hockey socks.”
“But I won’t. That would be lying. I think I’ll tell her thank you for the socks and explain how they’re not what we need on the ice, but I’ll wear them when I walk Sable.”
“That works.”
“So, you became a firefighter because of your father?”
“Yeah, probably. It’s common for sons to follow fathers into a similar profession, so I more than likely just assumed I would do the same thing he did. Then, when he died in a fire, that kind of cemented the idea to do what Dad had done for years.”
“Was your father very old when he passed?” Chip asked, his hand going to Sable’s head even though it made him tip sideways slightly. I could only assume he was nervous about the subject, or perhaps the noisy café.
“He was forty-five. They’d been called out to a fire in an apartment complex that used to sit along the Genesee. It’s gone now. The place was a loss, so the city bought it and tore the ruins down around 2010—about four years after the fire took my father. They built a mini mall in its place. I have never shopped there. I can’t.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
