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And would you look here? It was me. The whole thing made me irrationally angry. So after two hours of listening to that damn machine, I was pretty fired up and probably not in the right headspace to deliver food to Weston and his friends.
But still, I picked it up and headed their way. Unfortunately, the thirty-minute drive did nothing to cool my temper.
Once I arrived, I grabbed the food out of the passenger seat and pushed my husband’s Atlanta Braves hat onto my head, determined to march in there and be grateful and say all the thank yous that Parker would want me to and then get the hell out. I was not in a place to talk to Weston yet. That had become abundantly clear on the way over.
None of the big bays were open where the trucks were, so I knocked on the door of the old brick building that almost looked like a house with two big glass garage windows in the front.
When no one answered, I knocked again and looked to the left at those glass garage doors, noticing that both of the fire trucks were there, so they weren’t out on a call or anything.
While I was looking at the bays, the door swung open and I turned, only to be greeted by one of the finest black men I’d ever seen in my life.
He was wearing that navy blue fire department shirt and tight black jeans that hit him in the right places. He had his hair cut low, dark eyes, and dimples, Jesus almighty.
Jesus, what was in the water in this city?
He gave me a big smile when he took in the food in my hand. “Can I help you?” he asked, his smile eating up his whole face, while he looked me up and down from head to toe, checking me out.
Right away, I blushed and became flustered. “I. My daughter. Parker had an accident. She wanted—”
He laughed, interrupting me. “You’re Parker’s mom, Emily. Weston’s told me a lot about you.” He didn’t lose his smile, so I figured what Weston had told him had been good, at least. “Come on in. Let me help you with that. I’m Charles Jackson,” he announced.
He took the food from my hands and I followed him into the firehouse. I’d never been in one before in my entire life and it strangely looked nothing like I thought it would. It looked like a regular old house for the most part.
With a big living room and kitchen combo. Recliners and couches and a big TV with a Playstation hooked up to it. A few of the guys were gathered there playing games while others were in the kitchen playing cards.
The only real sign it was anything but a regular house were those bays outside that held all of their equipment and trucks.
It was almost homey.
It was when we entered the kitchen that I saw him. He was standing there, with a Dr Pepper in his hand, leaning against the counter, talking with a few guys. He looked tired but good and I wanted to hug him more than I wanted anything. I could have cried at the sight. Goodness, I’d missed him and the past two days had been so hard. I’d wanted to call him a hundred different times, but I’d told myself no over and over again.
But I knew better than all of that.
“Your girl is here, Reeves,” Charles announced and everyone in the room turned to look at me.
Weston Reeves’ girl. What I wouldn’t have given for that to be true. And maybe in another place and another time, it would have been. Maybe if that little girl hadn’t lost it all, all those years ago.
I just smiled and waved awkwardly when I wanted to crawl under the dining room table.
“Hey, babe,” Weston greeted, standing there and staring at me like he was waiting on me to say something.
There was nothing left to say, not about us, anyway.
I looked around the quiet room. “Parker really wanted me to bring y’all dinner. She’s so thankful for you guys. I am, too.” My gaze finally landed on Weston’s, whose eyes had never left me. “I don’t know what I would have done without you all.”
It was true. I may have still been devastated and spitting mad about the whole fireman thing, but I was also grateful as hell. They’d helped my daughter when I’d been thirty minutes too far from her. I’d always be thankful to him and them for that.
The firemen were thankful for the meal and I chatted with a few of them as I slyly made my way to the front door.
I slipped out, I thought relatively quietly, not a word to Weston.
It hurt me. I wanted to confide in him. I wanted to lie in his bed in his little house and go on and on about the last few days. Only, I couldn’t do that, so instead of feeling sorry for myself and him, I clung to my anger at him for not being completely honest with me. A lie of omission was still a lie, wasn’t it?
I was almost to my vehicle when he surprised me.
“So that’s it. You’re just going to walk away. We’re not going to talk about how you haven’t returned my texts or any of my calls?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, turning toward him, thunder and lightning in my veins, ready for a damn fight. I needed one. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Why didn’t you tell me you were a fireman?”
