Page 16 of The Fireman and the Flirt

CARY

Agood real estate agent knew how to read people. Were my clients feeling a house? Were they happy with an offer they’d received? These were some of the questions that never got straight answers. A good agent was able to cut through the niceties and indirectness to know the truth of how a client felt.

I considered myself a good agent in that regard. Say a seven-point-five out of ten. But Derek was proving difficult when it came to one question in particular.

Do you remember my letter?!

I spent the start of our meeting trying to assess his reaction to me. Did he seem uncomfortable to be around me? Did he seem nonchalant? The answer was…a mix of both. He appeared clueless about the letter, but every now and then during our conversation, there would be a tiny shift in energy, a second or two where there was an added weight between us, kind of like seeing a bolt of lightning blip in the sky before it disappeared into the blackness.

Or maybe I could be overanalyzing.

Whatever he thought about the letter, he wanted to work with me as his agent, and that was paramount. We walked through downtown Sourwood to get to Deli Street Main. It seemed that the town got more into the holiday spirit with each passing hour: a new decoration added to a store window, another piece of garland spotted in a door frame.

“You ready to order?” Derek asked. His eyes crinkled into a gleefully nostalgic grin, his dimple making a deep crease in his bearded cheek. Alaska had made him broader, wider, stronger. I could not get over how rugged and attractive he was—and how much restraint I needed not to flirt with him, my half-assed attempt to ask about his current relationship via sinks notwithstanding.

“I’m ready. Are you? It’s been a while.”

The owner of Deli Street Main was notoriously impatient. You had to give your order right away and step down the counter. Best practice was to look at the menu above the cash register before stepping in line. He hated when people got to the front and hemmed and hawed, holding everything up. If a person couldn’t say their order in ten seconds, he would boot them to the back of the line.

We got to the sandwich shop, which had a lunch line starting to form. Derek hung back to scan the menu, a smile curling onto his lips.

“They still have it,” he said. “The BBLT.”

The BBLT was a BLT with extra bacon. The owner wasn’t one for coming up with cute names for his grub.

“What are you having?” he asked me.

“My mainstay. The heart-healthy turkey.”

“Heart healthy?” Derek cocked his eyebrow in this way that could get the most hardened criminal to confess on the stand. “Your heart is fine.”

“For now. Because I’m eating heart healthy. How much bacon does one man need?”

“Unlimited. C’mon, Cary. Live a little.” He tipped his head to the side, another move that sent an unwelcome pulse of heat down my back.

“How is eating bacon living?”

“Because it tastes so good. Unlike turkey, which tastes like cardboard.”

“Thanksgiving begs to disagree with you.”

Derek stepped up to the counter and delivered his BBLT order as if he hadn’t missed a beat. “And extra chips.”

He shot me a wink, which was basically a lit match dropped onto a path of gasoline.

He is your client, Cary. Commission. Not coming.

Was this what it would’ve been like to go out to lunch with Derek in high school? Bantering about food choices and standing shoulder to shoulder in line, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of oil on his jacket.

“You’re up.” Derek put his hand on my lower back, in the exact border spot that could either be friendly or erotic.

His touch made me lose all sense of verbal communication for a second. His hand spread across my lower back, igniting every nerve in its path.

“Your order?” The owner asked, already at the highest level of impatience.

“My order? Yes, I…well, I’ll…” I looked up at the board, panicking, my brain not functioning as long as Derek’s hand was on me. Could gravity please kick in and let that hand slip onto my ass?

Back to reality. Time was ticking. I couldn’t be booted to the back of the long lunch line in Derek’s presence.

---