Page 8 of Silver Linings
Pat snorts and looks over at me. “Does Wednesday morning sound good to go over things?”
“Yes, perfect.”
With that settled, Pat gives us a nod and walks out the door, leaving me absolutely stunned.
“Oh my God,” Carmen squeals, jumping up and down.
“Oh my God,” I mimic while trying not to throw up.
Later that night, long after the initial shock wore off, I’m walking into my building, thinking about all the documents I’ll need to gather before my meeting in a couple days.
“You alright, sweetheart?”
I look over to see Tony by the mailroom, organizing some of the packages that haven’t been picked up yet. I give him a tired smile. “I’m alright, Tony. It was just a long, bizarre day. Nothing that a glass of wine the size of my bathtub won’t fix.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Such a mother hen.” I cluck my tongue.
I hit the call button and wait for the car to descend from one of the higher floors. As I’m waiting, I hear a shuffle to my left and look down the hallway leading to some offices and the emergency stairwell. I catch the last second of someone walking through a door. I could have sworn it washim, but there’s no way. It’s just my mind conjuring up an incredibly tall, incredibly sexy man to soothe my anxiety over the day’s excitement.
Later, when I’m freshly showered and in bed, my mind oscillates between three things:
Holy shit, I’m about to own my own bookstore.
I have got to find my mystery man again and get him out of my system.
Has that spot on my ceiling always been there, and why does it look puffy?
three
. . .
I’m turningonto the corner of my block when I notice the fire hydrant in front of my building has exploded.Exploded. Who even knew that was possible? Water gushes from every direction in a deluge so fierce, it’s flooding the storm drains and rapidly filling the streets. Neighbors watch from their windows; kids try to play in it while their guardians attempt to keep them from the torrential spray. At the helm of all the chaos, Tony is on the phone, screaming out our cross streets to first responders.
I amble closer to the building while skirting away from rising tides.
“Tony!” I wave him down. “What happened?”
“Couple of teens thought it would be fun to try and do kick flips off the hydrant.” He scratches at the back of his neck, visibly stressed.
“You’re telling me thatthis,” I point to the river running down the street, “isn’t for everyone to quench their undeniable thirst for you?”
That earns me a half chuckle. I’m about to say something else to try and ease his mind when the wailing of sirens careens towards us, growing louder with every second.
The firetruck pulls up just outside of the building, and the firemen from Ladder 18 scramble out into action. One of them hustles over to speak to Tony, and just as I’m about to get out of the way and head inside, I get a glimpse of someone familiar. I do a double take, then a third.
Oh my God.
He’s here.The one that got away.
And apparently, he’s a firefighter. He definitely has the frame for it—all muscle and thick corded forearms that would even make a nun consider damnation.
Shit. Am I drooling again?
I’m definitely being a creep, just standing here watching him assess the situation with his squad, but I can’t seem to look away. What are the odds he’d be here?
I get lost in my thoughts, and I startle when I notice he’s starting to take off his shirt. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve registered that this is odd behavior for a fireman. But he’s standing there, hedging closer to the hydrant in his uniform,sansshirt, suspenders bracketing his shoulders straining to hold up his soaked pants, and I can’t find it in me to care that this isreallybizarre. The sight of him underneath the spray is tantalizing to say the least. This man has been sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and he’s standing under that rainfall like he is Neptune at the Trevi fountain.
