The Last of The Red Hot Firefighters (Red Hot Reunions Book 1) (10 page)

Jake nodded. “She was. Never an unkind word out of her mouth.”

Naomi smiled softly. “I’m glad you had her. You deserve someone great.”

“Thanks.” Jake glanced down at the floor. This conversation was too close for comfort, but strangely, he was all right with it. “I tried to deserve her, anyway.”

“I’m sure you—”

“I’m back,” Maddie said brightly, cutting Naomi off as she returned with a plate full of wings. “I brought extra in case you two couldn’t resist. And extra napkins because when it comes to wings you can never have too many napkins.”

“Or too much blue cheese dressing, apparently,” Jamison said, wandering up behind Maddie and casting a critical look at her plate. “That’s a lot of dressing, Whitehouse.”

“I didn’t ask for your input, Hansen,” Maddie said, narrowing her eyes at Jamison.

Jamison was two years older than Maddie and had teased the younger Whitehouse sister relentlessly when they were kids—a tradition he clearly intended to continue now that Maddie had moved back to Summerville.

“Just trying to help,” Jamison said. “Didn’t you used to say salad dressing gave you zits?”

“Ew,” Maddie said around a bite of buffalo wing. “I’m eating. Naomi, tell him to quit being gross while I’m eating.”

“I don’t take orders from big sisters anymore,” Jamison said, turning his attention Naomi’s way. “What about you, Naomi? You think this is a good idea?”

Naomi shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, well…probably not,” she mumbled, running a hand through her hair. “You know, I should order a drink. Be right back.”

Before Jake could offer to order something for her, she bolted, setting off at a clip that would have been more appropriate at a speed-walking race than a honky-tonk. And she didn’t stop when she reached the long bar, but kept going, past the bartender and on toward the stage, disappearing into the hallway leading to the restrooms.

“Is she all right?” Jake asked, concerned.

Maddie set her plate on a nearby table with a sigh and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “I’m sure she is, but I should go check on her.”

“She’s a big girl,” Jamison said. “Surely she can go potty by herself.”

“Of course she can,” Maddie said, rolling her eyes. “But there’s no harm in making sure she’s okay. That’s what sisters do.”

“Just because you’re sisters doesn’t mean you have to put up with her shit.” Jamison cast a cold look toward the restrooms. “Naomi always was a drama queen.”

Maddie turned on Jamison, all playfulness vanished from her voice when she said, “Now just wait a second. You don’t know anything about who Naomi is, Jamison Hansen, or what she’s been through. So why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself, and quit talking out of your ass.”

Jamison’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened, but by the time he found his words, Maddie was already walking away.

“Guess I said the wrong thing,” Jamison said with a loud exhale, accepting a beer from the waitress as she passed.

A moment later Mick Whitehouse appeared beside them, a frown creasing his brow as he stared across the room in the direction his sisters had disappeared. “Are they okay?”

Jamison shook his head. “I have no idea, man. Women confuse me. All I know is Naomi ran off first, and then Maddie followed a second later, after handing me my ass on a stick.”

Mick scowled as he grabbed a buffalo wing from the plate Maddie had left behind. “All right. I’ll give them a few minutes and then go check on them if they don’t come out.”

Jamison laughed. “You’re going to brave the ladies’ room?”

Mick shrugged. “If I have to. They’ve both had a hard year. I want to be there for them. Even if it’s in the ladies’ restroom.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jamison raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Jake was about to tell his little brother it was none of their business, but Mick spoke first.

“Maddie’s husband left her for a dude,” Mick said.

Jamison winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, and then Naomi’s baby came too early,” Mick said with a weary sigh. “Grace only lived for a few hours, and the father didn’t even come to the funeral.”

Mick’s eyes darkened with anger Jake completely understood. Jake wanted to go find the bastard who’d fathered Naomi’s baby himself. Right now. Find him, and smash his face in.

What kind of monster didn’t attend his daughter’s funeral? What kind of partner left his devastated lover alone to deal with that kind of pain and loss?

“They’ve both been so sad,” Mick continued, a helpless note creeping into his voice. “I thought some time out of the house, doing something other than work might make them feel better, but…I don’t know. I’m beginning to think Mom and Dad should come home. I don’t know if I can fix this by myself.”

“It takes time,” Jake said, feeling for Mick. The kid was obviously trying his best to help his sisters, but he was too young to understand that some things couldn’t be fixed, even by the people you loved. “Everyone mourns in a different way. All you can do is be there to support them, and it’s obvious you’re already doing that.”

Mick nodded. “I know, I just… It’s hard to see people you care about hurting and feel so helpless to make it better.”

Jamison clapped Mick on the back. “You’re not helpless, man.” He set his beer on the table and threw his arm around the slightly shorter Mick’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go get the girls some drinks and have them waiting when they get back. They may be sad, but at least we can make sure they don’t stay sober.”

Mick smiled. “We did come here for Bloody Marys.”

“And you won’t be leaving without them,” Jamison said, starting toward the bar. “You need anything, Jake? Another beer?”

Jake shook his head. He didn’t need another drink, and he doubted that’s what the Whitehouse sisters needed, either. Alcohol might numb the pain for a few hours, but Jake knew from experience that it didn’t do jack shit to help a person heal. Alcohol only helped you hide, and hiding never made anything better.

The thought resonated inside of Jake, and for a moment, he swore he could hear Jenny’s voice in his head, telling him to take his own good advice.

He had finally stopped hiding from his grief over losing his wife, but he was hiding from other things. He was hiding from the future, determined to keep his heart locked up tight so it could never be shattered the way it was when Jenny died ever again. He was hiding from hope, figuring it was better to assume he’d always be alone than to open himself up to disappointment.

And lately, he’d been hiding from Naomi Whitehouse.

He’d thought he was hiding from their painful past, but as he watched her emerge from the hallway, her arm around her sister’s waist and a determined-looking smile on her face, he realized the truth.

He wasn’t hiding from what had been; he was hiding from things that
could be
. He was hiding from how much he wanted Naomi and, at the moment, how much he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was that she’d lost her little girl. To tell her that she had deserved better than the asshole who had fathered her baby and then left her to shoulder her grief alone. He wanted to hold her close and hug her tight and…let her in.

The realization was sobering, banishing his hint of a beer buzz.

What would happen if he stopped hiding, if he gave the feelings he still had for Naomi the opportunity to grow? What if he took her up on the invitation he’d seen in her eyes and took a chance on the woman the girl he’d once loved had become?

It was a heady thought, but not an entirely terrifying one. There was still something between him and Naomi, an energy that sparked in the air between them every time they were together, and Jake knew from experience that it didn’t take much for a spark to become a flame.

But before he fanned any flames, he had to be sure—one hundred percent sure.

Jake set his beer down on the table and headed for the exit, suddenly needing a breath of fresh air, needing the space to think, to decide if he was ready to make Naomi part of his present, and maybe…his future.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Naomi

Naomi took one whiff of the fragrant, deep-fried-turkey-scented air wafting from inside the VFW hall Friday night and wished she’d worn her control top underwear.

Sure, they gave her a headache and judging by the shade of blue her toes turned after a night out in industrial strength, belly-squishing spandex, she was pretty sure they also cut off blood flow and might be causing mild organ damage, but who cared? What was proper blood circulation compared to the magic of being able to have seconds of turkey and dressing and still fit into her skin-tight black sheath dress?

Her stomach fluttered, but Naomi knew it wasn’t hunger alone making her unsettled. Jake was late. Fifteen minutes late, which wasn’t like him.

But then, he’d been acting strangely ever since Monday afternoon.

First, he’d left the bar without saying good-bye—which wouldn’t have been a big surprise if he hadn’t been so sweet up to that point—abandoning her to drink Bloody Marys with Jamison, Mick, and Maddie. After she returned from the bathroom, Jamison had been civil, weirdly so, in fact, but Naomi’s nerves were already shot.

Fifteen years in the past or not, every time she was around Jamison and Jake at the same time, she felt as guilty as a sinner in church. It made her want to spill her guts to Jake, just to have the truth out where it couldn’t tear her apart anymore—and she might have, if Jake had given her the chance any of the times she’d hunted him down this past week.

But every time she gathered the courage to head across the street for a chat, Jake found some reason to disappear. First, he had to take paperwork for an arson case down to the police station, then he had to run to the store to grab a case of soda for the break room fridge, and just this morning, an alleged donut emergency had sent him bolting for the door as soon as she’d walked in, even though she’d come bearing a plate loaded with chocolate croissants fresh from the oven, and anyone with sense knew chocolate croissants trumped all other breakfast treats, hands down.

Naomi would have assumed Jake still hated her like bedsores and was simply doing his best to continue avoiding her for the rest of their natural lives, but every time their eyes met, he smiled.

He smiled, and the world went all pink around the edges and Naomi’s stomach flipped and her heart thumped faster.

It wasn’t just any smile; it was the real Jake smile, the one that lit up her insides brighter than a Christmas tree. It was the smile that had been on his face when she said “yes,” to being his girlfriend sophomore year. It was the smile she’d seen when she surprised him with a birthday party in the tree house they’d built together, and the same grin he’d flashed the morning she kidnapped him on the way to school to play hooky at a pumpkin patch the day before Halloween.

It was a smile that said “I really, really like you,” an electric smile, one that warmed Naomi to the tips of her toes in the seconds before Jake found an excuse to make a run for it.

“Naomi, do you want me to save you a seat at our table?” Maddie called from inside the door to the VFW hall.

Naomi forced a smile before turning to wave at her sister. “No, it’s fine. If he doesn’t show in a bit, I’ll just head home.”

Maddie frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Totally. I’m not that hungry anyway,” Naomi lied.

“All right, but if you leave, text me when you get home, and let me know you got there safe.” Maddie ducked back into the hall, obviously not convinced, but willing to let Naomi off the hook in the interest of not airing dirty laundry. There were still people straggling into the VFW building for the dinner and silent auction, people with big ears who, by tomorrow morning, might have spread the gossip that Naomi had been stood up by her former sweetheart all over town.

Naomi cringed at the thought.

No matter how hungry she was or how good that turkey smelled, there was no way she was going inside without Jake. If he didn’t show in the next five minutes, she was going to take a page out of his playbook and make a run for it. She was a celebrity chef for God’s sakes; she could whip up something at home every bit as delicious as Homer Johnson’s deep fried turkey.

And she could do it alone, without anyone making her feel like a pathetic loser.

She was spinning on her heel—already plotting what she could make with the mushrooms and cream in her parents’ fridge, and wondering if they had any fresh thyme hidden in their vast veggie drawer—when Jake jogged into sight, his keys in one hand and a fistful of sunflowers in the other.

The moment he spotted her, he smiled.

Naomi’s irritation vanished like fog evaporating in the sun, swept away in a flood of warm feeling and warmer blood rushing beneath her skin, making her hot all over. By the time Jake reached her side, she’d forgotten that he’d kept her waiting. All she could focus on was the light in his eyes and the beauty of his smile and the way the evening chill suddenly felt deliciously refreshing against her flushed cheeks.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jake said, still out of breath. “I wanted to get you flowers, but I know you hate roses and there isn’t a whole lot else for sale this time of year. I had to go to three places before I finally found these.”