Page 19 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“What letter?” he asked simply.

“Theletter,” I said with emphasis. “From high school.”

He raised his shoulders to his ears. The only letter Derek seemed to know about was the letter C, as in the crazy real estate agent directly in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

If Derek were lying, then he should’ve been on Broadway acting his heart out because he was that good. But no, he was not lying. And I was making an ass out of myself in real time with no ability to stop.

“Oh.”

“What was in this letter?”

“Nothing. I can’t remember.”

“You seem like you remember.” He stepped closer, blocking us off from passers by. A lamp post hit my back. “You seem like you remember vividly.”

As it did at the Deli Street Main counter, time was ticking. I searched my memory for a believable lie. Fortunately, spending half my life in the closet had given me the ability to come up with fake stories on the spot. “I wrote you a letter sticking up for Cal. He was mad at you about something, and so I wrote a letter and slipped it into your locker trying to play peacemaker. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, and I don’t know why I brought it up now. But in case you were still mad at me for getting involved in a brotherly dispute…”

Did that word vomit make sense? God, I hoped so. The one upside was Derek staring at me with his dark, swirly eyes to determine what level of bullshit I was spewing.

“Yeah, I never got that letter.”

“Good. Great. Let’s forget I said any of that.” I tossed the thought behind my shoulder like it was salt and banged my knuckles against the lamp post. “I don’t know what made me think of it. Maybe what you were saying about Cal only seeing you as a widower.”

“Sure.” He continued to stare at me like I was crazy, which I probably deserved.

“Sorry. I just made things weird. You weren’t supposed to see that untilafterwe closed on a house.”

To my enormous relief, a smile slunk onto Derek’s lips. “Keep being weird, Cary.”

He meant it genuinely, which gave me mixed feelings. We liked being different but didn’t like others pointing out we were different. I studied his face, checking for any fleeting signs of letter recognition. I slowly backed away and waved goodbye. “We’ll be in touch about looking at houses.”

I pivoted on my heel and walked three blocks in the wrong direction until I was sure he wasn’t anywhere near me.

7

DEREK

While I didn’t see Cary over the next few days, we were still in regular communication. He emailed me over listings he thought I would like. When I didn’t respond to those, he began texting them. A house should’ve been at the top of my to-do list, but I’d gotten the job at the Sourwood firehouse and was immediately pulled into training. Because I’d been a volunteer firefighter for years, the training was a formality and more about getting to know the guys in my squad.

I got out of training one early afternoon and walked around downtown before Jolene got out of school. So far, her teachers raved about her. I breathed the sigh of relief that every parent breathed after their kid’s first week of school.

I forgot how much I loved it in Sourwood. Bare trees lined the mountains in the distance. The water of the Hudson River shimmered under the sunlight. Alaska was beautiful, but Sourwood had its own charms.

My stroll was interrupted with yet another text message from Cary.

Cary: You haven’t been looking at any of the houses I’ve sent you…

Derek: I will.

Cary: One of the houses I sent you already has an offer.

Derek: Then it wasn’t meant to be.

For the record, I didn’t believe in the meant-to-be bullshit of houses. There was no such thing as a dream house. No house was perfect. All we could do was find a suitable home that checked a majority of our boxes and learn to live with its imperfections. The same thing could be said for relationships.

Cary: Check out this one!

He sent over a link to a ranch house at the end of a cul-de-sac that badly needed a paint job.

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