Page 79 of Love Resurrected
Ugh.
I’m thankful I won’t have to see that prick Neil Nicholson again. Sadie told me that he switched shifts, and Ethan now has a new partner again, a woman this time. I promised I would scope the girl out and let Sadie know what she looks like. Not that she’ll be jealous. It’s mostly idle curiosity and putting a face to a name when Ethan talks about her.
I’m already running about twenty minutes late to the fire station, not that I care.
Except, I do.
See? Wishy-washy.
I care too much.
I’m late because I keep going back and forth between wanting to put an effort in on my appearance and have it not show, versus not putting in an effort but still looking good. And that’s just my hair and makeup. I still have no idea what I want to wear. Plus, I want to stop to get coffee and donuts, just to prove that I’m easy-breezy about everything and continuing on with myno biggiefacade. I pace my bedroom for a few more minutes.
This is so stupid.
Why do women put themselves through this?
I growl in frustration at myself and throw on jeans and a tank top. After grabbing my flip-flops, I tousle my hair to let it dry naturally, and am out the door. I do stop for coffee and donuts because I figure I’m already late, so it can’t hurt. I get cups for Brad, Nessa, and me, plus enough donuts for the entire station, just to show that I’m mature and not holding a grudge about anything at all that might be deemed grudge worthy.
I park my car in the lot, purposefully not looking around to see where Brad’s truck is and make my way up the front walk. It’s a slight incline, past rows of bushes and commemorative benches—that no one ever sits on—then finally flattening out in the area where the building is. My heart beats faster the closer I get to the front door.
Deep breath.
Release.
It doesn’t work. My pulse hasn’t slowed. By the time I’m placing my hand on the door handle, I’m convinced my heart will race out of my chest.
Deep breath.
I pull open the door and let my breath out slowly, focusing my gaze straight ahead, but seeing nothing. I set everything down on the table we usually use, then bring the donuts back to the kitchenette for everyone to enjoy. It isn’t until I turn back toward our work area that I realize Brad and Nessa aren’t here. They were earlier, since they set things out at two seats, but I don’t see them. In fact, I don’t see anyone anywhere.
I’ve never been upstairs at the station, and I don’t want to do a self-guided tour now. There’s only one fire engine in the big garage space, so I know some of the guys are out on a call. Regardless, I have enough on my to-do list between phone calls and emails to keep me busy all morning.
Another thirty minutes passes by, then I see Brad and Nessa coming up the front walk. I take a moment to observe them. And by them, I mean, Brad. He’s wearing his dark-blue regulation slacks and a snug dark-blue t-shirt that says SSFD across the chest. The shirt shows off his chest and arms to a great advantage, and when he turns to smile at Nessa, he takes my breath away.
The simplicity of the expression, which, for the briefest of moments, is so unguarded and pure, makes him look beautiful. And I realize I’ve yet to see a true smile on his face. He’s exceptionally handsome when he’s broody, which is good because that’s his primary disposition. But when he smiles, he looks almost god-like.
I have to scoff at my thoughts because they’re ridiculous, and I sound like a sappy romance novel. But I don’t know of another way to think that adequately describes what I’m seeing. The two reach the door and Brad, somewhat awkwardly, opens it for Nessa using his good hand.
“After you,” he says.
“Ah, Tenley, you’re here,” Nessa says when she sees me.
“I am.” I sit up a little straighter. “Where did you guys go?”
“We ran over to City Hall to turn in the occupancy permits.”
“Fantastic. Nice work, guys.” I smile at both of them. Nessa smiles back while Brad busies himself straightening the papers at his seat. “I brought you both a coffee”—I gesture to the cups I set on the table—“and there are donuts in the back for everyone.”
“Wow, you had a busy morning,” Nessa says.
“That was nice of you, Tenley, thank you. For both,” Brad adds. He heads to the kitchenette and shoves over half a donut in his mouth, then takes a second and third in his good hand. “These are good,” he says once he’s swallowed. “Where did you get them?”
“That little place on the corner of Second Street and Myerly Way.”
Brad finishes the second and third donuts in record time and we get back to work, alternating phone calls and discussions until early afternoon. We take a break for lunch, after which Nessa leaves for an appointment and it’s just Brad and me for another hour.
He stops and stretches back in his chair. His chest expands and I can’t help but peek at the impressive muscles both there and in his arms. I get a small whiff of his aftershave—spicy without being overpowering. I like it.
