Fan The Flames (Man Of The Month Book 3) (15 page)

“Understand. Sounds good.” He nodded again. He must appear like one of those damn annoying bobble heads. She went out the door. Closed it behind her.

Brad slumped down onto the hard wooden chair that accompanied his tiny table. Bent over and put his head back in his hands. She was the one who’d gotten away, and now he had this second chance. They’d shared so much over the phone, and kissing her had cemented his feelings. What would he do if she rejected him?

He couldn’t imagine losing her and Colleen. Now that he’d spent even more time with her—sex aside—he knew she was the woman of his dreams. The one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with. Maybe he should share the letters early. Take that guilty weight off his chest. Todd wouldn’t be here to know Brad hadn’t followed his last wishes exactly. Although that would mean compromising his honor. Brad reached for a beer, not caring that it was noon. It was Friday. It was five o’clock somewhere.

And by God, he needed to get ahold of himself before he had fish to fry.

And Scarlett to face.

Chapter Seven

During his time with the SEALs, Brad had been all over the world. After drinking his beer and taking a much-needed, hour-long nap, he’d felt better. More in control. Resolved to do the right thing. But as he walked into Singler Hall, otherwise known as the church basement, all that newfound calm and determination vanished. He’d never seen anything quite like a St. Pius fish fry, and he felt like, to excuse the terrible pun, a fish out of water.

Immediately he could tell the event worked like a well-oiled machine. Eight dollars bought you fish, three sides and dessert. Or four dollars bought a smaller size: half a fish portion and two sides. Clearly half the allure of the fish fry was as a social event, the line snaking through the hallway for “eating in” was much longer than those “carrying out.”

For those dining in, dinner was served on china plates. Catholic nuns, not wearing habits, worked the bar, selling soda, and for those twenty-one and older, two-dollar beers. Kids ran around freely—weaving in and out of the long tables and metal folding chairs, all watched by the entire community. He saw Colleen racing around with her cousins.

He gave a second glance to the sign reading, M
AY COD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOLE
, passed as he walked toward the fry room. He’d been put on fry duty, something he hadn’t done since working at McDonald’s during high school. Into bubbling hot oil went a wire basket full of freshly breaded fish. Out came fish a crisp, golden brown color. In the kitchen, church members removed baked fish from industrial ovens. Used steam tables to keep things hot and fresh. No reheated fish here.

The event ran from four to seven thirty, so it was around seven by the time Scarlett’s dad told Brad he could go. “We’re done cooking,” he said. “You did good. Go get yourself a plate.”

“Thanks,” Brad said. He took off his white apron, put it in the laundry bin. Headed out to the line. He’d learned any extra food was donated to a local soup kitchen, who would use it to feed the homeless. He went through the line, choosing baked fish, green beans, potato salad, applesauce, and a dinner roll. He stopped by the dessert table.

“Hey.” Scarlett gave him a megawatt smile that heated him more than standing over the hot fryer had. She’d tamed her hair into a tight knot at the base of her neck. The standard white apron covered jeans and a long-sleeve, scooped-cut T-shirt.

“How’s it going?” he asked, wincing because he sounded so lame. After his nap, he’d seen things clearer. Realized that maybe he was expecting too much from himself, that it was okay not to have all the answers. After all, for a man who could snap his fingers and have women fall at his feet, what he knew about serious relationships wouldn’t fill a teacup.

She appeared happy to see him, and he relaxed somewhat. She gestured to the once-full table. “You’re down to a choice of cake or pie.”

“What do you recommend?”

She pointed. Gave him another smile that tugged at something deep inside. “I’ve heard the lemon meringue pie’s really good. It’s been our top pick.”

“Pie it is.”

“Take this one. It’s bigger.” She chose a plate and their fingers touched. Again he felt a little zing, a tiny jolt. He wanted to tell her. Knew he couldn’t without breaking his promise. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” she told him as someone else approached.

Balancing the plate and cake, Brad went to the bar. Opted for cola instead of beer since he wanted his wits about him. Besides, he was working in the morning and he was already plus one on the day.

He saw Scarlett’s brother and Sean waved him over. Pointed to the spot across from him. “I’m on kid duty,” Sean relayed as Brad set his food down and yanked out the metal folding chair. Sean pointed to his kids and Colleen. “They’ll sleep well tonight.”

The house band was playing, and twelve kids filled the dance floor. The younger ones bent their knees and jumped. The toddlers often wiggled from side to side, shaking their hips as if they were practicing a chicken dance. Brad couldn’t help but chuckle. They were adorable, especially Colleen who seemed intent on holding Rory’s hand and leading him around. The older adults showcased their moves and somehow managed to weave their way through the children.

“I didn’t realize this event was so huge,” Brad remarked.

“Yeah. Even the mayor made an appearance for some fish.”

“I must have missed him.”

Sean sipped his beer. “My dad have you on the fryer?”

Brad made a face. “You know it.”

Sean gestured. “Well, you’re free now. Eat up.”

Brad forked some of the green beans into his mouth. Sat up a little as the taste exploded on his tongue. He cut a bite of cod, dipped it in the delicious, homemade tartar sauce. “I can see why this place is hopping,” he said. “This is really good food.”

“Yeah. We like it homemade and traditional here. Some of the parishes hold Mexican-themed fish fries—like fish tacos and things. Some toss in other entrees. We just stick to cod and catfish.”

“Why mess with a good thing?” Brad agreed as he continued to eat. The crowd had thinned somewhat, but most had remained to socialize and listen to the band. His gaze tracked back to where Scarlett sat at the dessert table. She’d unwrapped a piece of cake and as she took a bite, her mouth wrapped around the tines of the fork. His libido gave a little leap.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Sean said.

Caught staring, Brad turned. “Who?”

“My sister,” Sean clarified.

Time to be a straight shooter. “Yeah, she is.”

“I’m glad you managed to get her back here. So are my parents.”

“I only provided a place to stay,” Brad said. He took a few more bites. “That’s all I did.”

“Well, my mom tried for two years. How’d you manage it?”

“It was just a combination of things. Lucky timing, maybe.”

“We’re really glad to have her back. We were worried about her.”

Brad nodded. “I’m glad I was able to help. Todd told me he’d like to see her be near her family if anything ever happened.”

“Did you guys talk about that a lot?”

Brad shrugged. Hedged. “Not really. No guy wants to contemplate his mortality.”

“True. Well, thanks, man.”

Praise always made Brad uncomfortable. “Really, it’s nothing. I told him that I’d look after her. That’s all.” Using his fork, he pointed to his plate. “This is good potato salad. I swear, I’m never looking at a fish fry the same again.”

“They’ll make you work again next week. I get out of it because Maureen’s manning the cash drawer and someone has to watch the kids.”

“Starting March sixth, I’m working three Fridays in a row. Just how the schedule works. So I’m not on fry duty forever.”

“Lucky excuse.”

Brad continued to eat. Then he felt the hairs on his neck prickle. He turned and noticed a couple of women staring at him. When they realized he’d caught them looking, they quickly glanced away. Sean noticed.

“What’s with that?” he asked.

“They probably recognize me from the calendar,” Brad said with a shrug. “That’s usually what it is. I’m used to it.”

“They’re looking at you again.”

Brad swiveled and gave the women a smile. One of them blushed. Then Brad let his gaze trail back over to Scarlett and frowned. She wasn’t alone. Tommy had engrossed her in animated conversation. Brad’s green-eyed monster began to stir.

“That’s Tommy,” Sean said. “He’s a friend of mine. She’s known him forever. You look a little peaked. You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Of course not,” Brad lied. “We ran into him at the ball last weekend. He said he’d be here.” Brad chewed slowly. Observed. Tightened his fingers on his silverware as Tommy leaned over the dessert table. Squeezed harder on his poor knife as whatever Tommy said made Scarlett laugh.

Brad wanted to make her laugh like that. Wanted to give her moments of pure happiness and joy—those moments of contentment that had nothing to do with desire or lust, but the kind that would keep you warm when you were old and gray.

“He’s a widower.”

“He told us.”

Sean cocked his head. “You didn’t like him?”

Brad gave an exaggerated shrug. “He seems like a nice guy. I don’t know him.”

He didn’t like this conversation. Didn’t like the fact that Tommy still stood at the dessert table, chatting up Scarlett. Shouldn’t he go find his own child?

“So are you sure Todd didn’t have any other thoughts about Scarlett?”

The question caught Brad off guard. His head snapped back to Sean. Eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You just said Todd told you that he hoped Scarlett came back to St. Louis. Did he tell you anything else?”

The cod Brad was eating went down wrong. He coughed, grabbed his cola and took a long drink. “You okay?” Sean asked. “Sorry if that came out of the blue. I mean, I know we don’t like to contemplate our mortality, but Maureen and I had to name guardians for our kids. Got me to thinking. If something happened to me, I wouldn’t want her to be alone the rest of her life, you know?”

Brad drained his cola in a buy for time. Oh, hell. He needed an ally. Might as well. “We went out for beers one night once he reenlisted.” Brad paused. Scarlett remained in animated conversation with Tommy. “When you do what we do, you pretend you’re not going to die. You know there’s a high probability you might, but you ignore it. It’s the elephant in the room. Even as a first responder, there’s always that risk. Hell, there’s a risk every day, I guess.”

He shook the plastic cup. Rattled the ice. Wished he’d opted for beer. Wondered how rude it would be if he got up to get a cold one. He’d get Sean another too.

“Todd didn’t want her to be alone all her life. No man would. He’d want his beloved to be happy. Not miserable. Not alone.” Brad chewed some ice.

Sean nodded. “Tommy went through loss. He and Scarlett have that in common.”

“They do,” Brad agreed, more and more unsettled the longer Scarlett talked. Jealousy sucked. After all, what did he and Scarlett really have in common besides some lust? She’d chosen Todd before Brad had even had a chance. He didn’t want the same thing to happen again.

“I know he’s looking,” Sean said.

Brad’s fingers tightened on the clear plastic cup. He was floundering in what was new dating territory. He’d screwed it up as recently as this morning. In a competition, Tommy would win hands-down.

At that moment, Scarlett must have sensed something, for she swiveled her head so she could see around Tommy. “What?” she mouthed at her brother and Brad.

But before Brad could try to answer, a shadow fell across him. “Hi. Are you Brad Silverman?”

He glanced up. One of the two women from earlier stood next to him, the other behind her. She stared at him intently. “You’re the one in the calendar, right? Mr. July?” A diamond engagement ring glittered on her ring finger. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Uh, sure,” Brad said. He took the paper and pen she thrust at him. “Your name?”

“Sybil. Would you do one for my friend Kathy as well?”

“Of course,” Brad said, writing,
To Sybil, best wishes. Brad Silverman.
For Kathy he wrote,
To Kathy, all the best. Brad Silverman.

“Thanks so much.” Sybil held out her phone. “How about a picture?”

Brad hated selfies, but as they surrounded him, he smiled as he had thousands of times before. She reviewed it. “Perfect. Will you be at the auction?”

“Have to go.” Brad saw Karen wasn’t wearing a ring. She gave him a smile, but it didn’t make him react like Scarlett’s. “Should be a lot of fun. Lots of silent auction items and a great chance to help pick the next calendar guys.”

“Then we’ll see you there,” Sybil said. She was clearly the pair’s leader. “Thanks so much.” She fingered her autographed paper and waved it as she and Karen moved off.

“Wow,” Sean said, clearly impressed.

“Yeah,” Brad said with far less enthusiasm. “I’ll be up on someone’s Instagram again.”

“So what was that all about?” Scarlett approached and Brad’s heart jumped.

“They asked for Brad’s autograph,” Sean said. “That calendar must be a bonanza for you in the ladies department.”

Brad shrugged noncommittally. If he told the truth—that all the attention was actually creepy—Sean wouldn’t believe him anyway. In the month following the calendar’s debut, women had stopped by the firehouse nonstop. The other calendar models had complained as well—and this was St. Louis, where you could sit in a restaurant next to a professional baseball or football player and not one person would approach the table until after they were finished with their meal, if then.

But for some reason, those protocols didn’t seem to apply. He’d been ogled. Had drinks sent his way. Posed for selfies. Been the recipient of letters, e-mails and phone numbers. Two months into the year and it was waning a little—thank goodness—but he’d still be gracing people’s walls in July. Hopefully by then all the fuss would be over. The new guys would be getting their photos done in June, and before that there was the auction. Hopefully that would take the attention off. Make him old news.

“Saw you talking to Tommy,” Sean told his sister. “He’s a nice guy.”