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“Oh yeah, the whole town goes all out for it. The station probably would have been forced to shut down years ago if we didn’t start doing this fundraiser annually. We’ve gotten really creative with all it includes.”
“I can see that!”
Colorful balloons and streamers were draped from every surface, waving in the wind as we walked down the rows of booths set up to sell donated items to benefit the station. I stopped to look over the assortment of vintage jewelry, Daisy, the clothing boutique owner, was selling. She had better taste in jewelry than in clothes, I decided.
“Oh! This one’s beautiful!” I gasped, admiring a brass pendant necklace engraved with an image of a tall, lanky bird on a grassy ledge by the water. “I’ve seen birds like this by the lake at the house.”
“A blue heron,” Daisy told me. “They’re a symbol of determination, strength, and self-reliance.”
“We’ll take it,” Derek said.
“No! You don’t have to do that. I’ll pay for it. I want to do my part for the fundraiser. I feel so bad. Everyone else in town went through so much trouble, and I haven’t done a thing.”
“To be fair, you didn’t know about this thing until a few days ago,” Derek smirked.
“Besides, you’re our guest,” Daisy smiled, ignoring me to pull the necklace from its velvet case. Derek paid her before I could say another word.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I said, tracing my fingers across it after he placed it around my neck.
“So are you,” he whispered into my ear as we continued walking.
An embarrassingly huge smile spread across my face, and I was positive I was blushing when we came to the booth of furniture Derek and his brother had put together. The large tent shaded over a collection of refurbished and hand-built items featuring everything from bookshelves and coffee tables to dining chairs and nightstands.
I ran my fingers across the ornate wood carvings on an old washstand. It was stained in a dark, nearly black shade with beautiful copper handles on the drawers. The carvings framed an old mirror with dark speckles and cracks that hinted at its age.
“You did all of this?” I asked him, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I took a closer look at the necklace and how it somehow suited this new style I was accidentally sporting. I thought it was just me being too scatterbrained to keep up with the time enough to put as much effort as I used to into getting dressed up. But now, I was starting to think he was right. I did look different, and I liked it.
“Most of them,” he replied. “What we didn’t build from scratch, we refinished from an old piece the antique shop was going to throw out.”
“This one would look really great in the foyer at the lake house,” I noted before turning to him and adding, “This is really impressive, Derek. I mean, I knew you were good at carpentry from seeing your work on the house, but this…This is breathtaking. You should open your own store.”
He let out a modest, almost bashful, laugh. “I don’t know about that. Not enough hours in the day. Maybe where you come from, they like to fill up every spare second with a job or a chore. Around here, we like to keep some time reserved just for living, without anywhere to be or anything to do.”
“I’ve noticed,” I smirked.
“The smell of all that chili is making me hungry,” he said. “Ready to eat?”
He slipped his hand into mine and led me back through the open garage doors, back to the kitchen. It was full of men, some half-dressed in their firefighter uniforms while others, like Keith, wore civilian clothes. I chuckled at the sight of them cursing and arguing over whose chili was better as they slurped up samples from each other's spoons.
Across from the kitchen were rows of long tables for everyone to eat at. There were paper slips and pens spread around so everyone could scribble down which chili they liked the best before casting their votes into the white cardboard boxes at the back of the room. Some local kids had decorated the fronts of the boxes with red fire engines, hats, and one even had a drawing of a dalmatian even though I hadn’t seen any of those around.
Instead of being served one portion in a big bowl, everyone was given a tray of several smaller bowls with crackers, chips, and other toppings in the middle. I had never given much thought to how different one chili could be from another, but I loved being surprised by how different all of them were. After much deliberation and getting very stuffed from all the food, I cast my vote on one of the sweeter-tasting recipes. It reminded me of the brown sugar my grandmother put in baked beans when I was a kid. Though I hadn’t eaten anything like that since she passed away when I was a teenager.
“Which one did you choose?” I asked Derek.
“Can’t vote,” he answered, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“There’s no guarantee I could do it without being biased. I can tell which one my brother made just by tasting it.”
I smiled at him before dropping my folded slip into the box. Even though we had been spending more time together, I liked to think I was getting to know him well. I was still caught off guard by how honorable and loyal he could be. It seemed like Derek, and a lot of people in the town, spent twice as much time thinking about everyone else around them than they did thinking about themselves.
“You’re a sweetheart,” I told him as we walked away, holding hands again.
“Don’t tell anyone else that,” he joked.
