Two Hearts Rescue: Park City Firefighter Romance Page 3

  When Poppy came back from the restroom she sat on the bench facing the opposite direction. It had a nice view of some random people minding their own dang business, and a wall with t-shirts from FDNY, Seattle, Unified Fire Authority, and Bomberos de Ponce, wherever that was. From her seat she couldn’t make out most of the badges but there had to be over a hundred on that one wall.

  The salad arrived quicker than she expected and as soon as the waitress walked away, Poppy said, “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  She looked down to a salad that looked like it came from the kitchen of a Sweetgreen or Blue Lemon.

  “I may have misjudged you,” she said cautiously, as she lifted her fork. She still didn’t care all that much for kale, but there was no reason to be insulting, even if it didn’t smell nearly as good as the rest of the grill food. “But even if you are delicious, I still owe Daria one.”

  Actually she owed Daria more than one. The girl was much too good at pranks. Poppy blamed her own stodgy upbringing. You couldn’t exactly throw water balloons around the multi-million dollar mansion Poppy was raised in.

  “Shall we commence negotiations?” asked Poppy, then dug her fork in and prepared for the taste of weeds.

  4

  Slade’s eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He set down his notepad and put his head back on his pillow. It had been a long night at work with a rollover accident in the mountain roads above Park City. The patients were transported in stable condition, so it was worth being up most of the night. Add to that staying up late studying for his upcoming probationary test, then being the first one up in the morning to make the coffee, empty the dishwasher, fold the laundry, and put up the flag—Slade was wiped out.

  Before becoming a firefighter, Slade never took naps. Even with down time in the Army, there was always something more important to be doing. But after starting shift schedules at 48-hour a pop, he’d learned that if he took an hour or so on his first day home, it made all four days off go that much smoother.

  Today held a lot of mind-numbing groundwork for his side job. Writing grants was a challenge he enjoyed, but he still had a lot of work to do with his fledgling company before he even got to the point where he was writing actual grant applications. Who was he kidding? Fledgling was giving the company too much credit. Until he landed a client, it was entirely theoretical. Running on an average of three hours sleep over the last two days almost guaranteed shoddy work if he tried to put together the presentation for the meeting with Sundry International. So after a workout and a shower, Slade had climbed in, covered up, and prepared for a much needed power nap.

  On the nightstand, his phone chimed so he picked it up to check the text. It was actually really good timing, since he’d forgotten to turn the ringer off. Ten minutes later and it would have ruined his chance at a decent nap.

  A picture popped up and Slade squinted to make it out. It looked like Pineapple’s. Slade hadn’t been there since before starting the academy, but the shirts on the wall were easy to make out. New guys weren’t one of the guys until after their six-month probationary period ended, so by unspoken rule, he wasn’t invited to the popular off-duty hangout.

  There were probably ten people in the picture, all too far away to identify. Sliding the text down so he could see who had sent it, he saw it was from JFK. He scrolled to the bottom to see if he’d sent a caption.

  Look who showd up at Pinappls. Told u she wanted me!

  Slade shot to a sitting position and zoomed in on the pic. Sitting there dead center, talking to the server was the girl from the gym. And lo and behold, she was smiling. Even the blurry, pixilated smile was better than 99% of the population could manage.

  Before he knew it, Slade was on his feet throwing a t-shirt on. There was no saying how long ago JFK had sent the pic since picture messages seemed to take their time up in this mountain city. But could he just show up at Pineapple’s? He was less than two weeks away from completing his probation and being welcomed with open arms. How bad would it be if he overstepped himself?

  Yet, if he didn’t show up at Pineapple’s how would he ever track down the girl. Driving by the gym twice hadn’t worked, and he’d begun to wonder if she was an out-of-towner. She still could be, scoping out the resorts for the pre-ski season, and grabbing a bite before catching an Uber back to the airport.

  It was a free country. Slade could eat where he wanted to. He found himself already smiling in anticipation of her witty banter.

  The drive from his apartment to Pineapple’s was less than ten minutes, but everyone on the road was out for a Sunday drive on Thursday afternoon. On top of that the stoplights conspired against him and he hit every single one red.

  The usual crowd of vehicles with fire plates dominated the parking lot. JFK’s lifted Tacoma was there, parked by itself in the far corner of the parking lot. That was a good sign. If he hadn’t left yet, maybe the girl was still there too. Then again JFK was practically a fixture at Pineapple’s on his days off.

  Slade didn’t take time to hesitate or rethink before going in. He reminded himself that could eat anywhere he wanted to.

  The hostess booth was empty, which didn’t matter since you sat yourself at Pineapple’s. There in the middle of the room was a table full of firefighters: JFK, Emily, a couple other C platoon guys Slade knew and a couple he hadn’t met. Slade gave a small wave, then headed for the farthest booth from the entrance. It would take him past most of the people in the restaurant.

  Judging by the angle of the picture, she should be sitting on his right. Slade walked slowly, purposefully weaving between empty tables.

  “Look guys,” said JFK, “the 20-year boot’s here.”

  Yep, he knew they’d get on him for acting like a veteran. A fire department veteran, not a military veteran. Slade waved again, this time at the entire table since all heads were turned his direction, then continued toward the far corner.

  “Too cool to sit with your bros?” asked JFK.

  Story of my probationary life, thought Slade. There was no way to win. He’d either be mocked for acting like he was one of them, or mocked for not wanting to be one of them.

  “Hey there,” said a woman to Slade’s right.

  It was her, the girl from the gym. “Oh, h-hey.” A moment passed, taking in that incredible smile and Slade realized he should probably say something else. “How’s your back?”

  “Better, thanks. I’d show you, but half of Park City has already seen more of me than they wanted. I better keep my shirt on; it’s not that kind of a bar.”

  When she talked, she smiled, the tone and luster of the smile changing with her words. Slade was perfectly happy just watching. But if he didn’t say something, he’d have to move on, and what, eat by himself?

  She beat him to it. “You want to sit down? Oh wait, you probably came to hang out with the guys, huh?”

  Slade didn’t give her a chance to take back the invitation. “I didn’t know they served salads here.” He took the chair across from her. “How is it?”

  “The salad is … surprising.”

  “Surprising good or bad?”

  “Surprisingly delicious. I think I owe it an apology.” Only one side of her mouth turned up. Even the half smile would have won contests any day of the week.

  “It’s hard to go wrong with Pineapple. He loves food too much to serve anything substandard.”

  “Oh, Pineapple is a person?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.” Slade nodded toward the kitchen where Pineapple, a giant Polynesian guy, was carrying a couple of plates out of the kitchen. “He’s one of the most highly recruited guys on PCFD. Everyone wants him on their crew. His current crew pays his chow bill for him and he does all the cooking.”

  “Oh, he’s a firefighter. That explains,” she motioned to all of the firefighter paraphernalia on the walls. “You guys buy your own food?”

  “Yeah. We live at the station for 48 hours at a time.”

  “But not everyone can cook li
ke this, right?” She tilted her empty salad bowl toward him.

  “No, but it’s usually edible, even when I cook.” Wow. The smile he got in return for that lame joke made him feel guilty. “Sometimes it’s not even perfect when Pineapple cooks. Once, A platoon was mad when they couldn’t recruit him, so they switched all of the spices on the spice shelf. Traded the sugar for salt in all the shakers and vice versa. Mixed up everything they thought they could get away with. I heard the crew ended up driving down here to eat that night.”

  She laughed, and unfortunately covered her mouth with her napkin. Even with spinach and artichoke in her teeth, she’d still have a smile to write poems about. With her mouth covered, it gave Slade a chance to notice how pretty the rest of her face was. Her eyes were dark and her hair the same beautiful dark brown. Part of the beauty of her smile came from her happy eyes, he noticed. And she was so easy to talk to. Between the Army and having a girlfriend before going in, how long had it been since he’d just walked up and started talking to a girl? And she’d even done most of the work.

  She was wearing a plain blue, long-sleeved shirt. Before he sat down he’d noticed jeans. Either she was sitting on a seat with no padding, or she was short. He had seen quite a bit of her at the gym with her rear end up in the air and shirt down around her neck, and despite what JFK said, she was an attractive woman. Not that Slade was interested in a serious relationship, or any relationship, but still. She was very easy to look at from top to bottom.

  “Hey!” her eyes got wide, and she reached out for his wrist. “I need some help with a prank. I need to get my coworker back.”

  Slade looked down at their connection, felt himself smiling like the Cheshire cat, but before he could say anything she pulled her hand back.

  “I am a prank master,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light, even though his heart was thumping. “We can put her car on top of the roof of her house. Order embarrassing gifts from Amazon and have them sent from her to all of the contacts on her phone. Or fill her entire house with shaving cream so it covers her like a flash flood when she opens the door.”

  She seemed sufficiently amused and slightly stunned by the suggestions. “That might be a little over the top.”

  “Just fill her bathroom with shaving cream? Her shower? Does it have a door or a curtain?”

  “Hey, Booter.” It was JFK again, calling from halfway across the restaurant. He’d obviously had a few drinks. “We need another player for cornhole. C’mon.”

  “Cornhole?” asked Poppy with a nervous smile.

  “It’s like bean bag toss, but much more manly.” To JFK he called back, “You guys go ahead.”

  “Do you need to go play?”

  “No. The funny thing is I’m actually not allowed to. Not really supposed to be here.”

  She suddenly looked nervous, as if she had intruded somewhere she didn’t belong. “Am I supposed to have a membership or something? I didn’t see any signs.”

  “No, you’re good,” said Slade. “I’m the new guy. The probie. For the next couple of weeks I’m basically dirt. And if I don’t screw anything up in those two weeks, I get to be a real person.”

  After considering for a moment, she said, “So the opposite of the Velveteen Rabbit principle. They treat you like dirt long enough and you become real.”

  Slade hadn’t thought of it like that. “Yeah, basically. I’ve survived almost six months so far and haven’t had my hair rubbed off or my joints worked loose, so I’m probably better off than the rabbit.” He ran a hand through his hair and her eyes followed it until it had passed all the way through.

  “Oh, um, so my next question. How do you make bean bag toss into a manly game?”

  Slade kept a straight face, but just barely. “Give it a slightly funny, slightly offensive name. Works for European man bag, too. Which is just a purse, but more manly.”

  “Booter!” called JFK. “Bros before ho—”

  “Watch it,” said Emily loudly. “Public words.”

  JFK grunted. “Don’t make me give you a direct order, Powers.”

  Slade exhaled, determined to stay where he was, but trying to find the best way to get JFK off of his case. Whatever happened today would play back in four days when they were back on shift, and possibly for the rest of his career if he got a bad reputation.

  “Don’t let me ruin your life or anything.” The girl slid out of her seat.

  Slade automatically stood and looked down at her. Down a few inches short of a foot. “Don’t let them get to you.”

  “Nah, I gotta get back to work anyway.” She put some money down on the table.

  JFK called, “Never mind, Booter. We got a stranger.”

  Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she said, “Thanks again for rescuing me the other day.” That smile again, and she was turning to leave.

  “A straaaaan-ger,” said JFK, shaking his head. “Way to go, brother.”

  “Okay, see ya,” called Slade.

  With a quick glance over her shoulder and that perfect smile, she was gone.

  When the front door closed, Slade made his way over to the table of firefighters, who were standing and heading toward the rec room.

  “Look who’s slick as a smooth bore nozzle,” said Emily.

  “Smooth as Ex-Lax,” said JFK.

  Emily coughed. “Oh please, JFK. Don’t be jealous because you didn’t have the guts to go talk to her.” To Slade she said, “He’s been sitting here drooling over her and talking about her since she walked in.”

  “Whatever,” said JFK. “She’s too short. And I don’t go for maximum density chicks.”

  “Watch it,” said Slade. He’d heard JFK’s explanation of maximum density before. Basically he thought that if the girl gained one more pound she’d tip the scale from good-looking to fat.

  “Whoa, the boot has a tongue,” said JFK.

  “He’s right,” said Emily, “and you’re the last one who should be talking about someone’s weight.”

  “Hey, fat people are harder to kidnap. I wear this with pride.” JFK covered a burp with his hand. “Tell me you at least sold out your bros for a phone number or a hook-up date.”

  Crap. Slade had no way to get a hold of her. Did he know her last name? If so, he could probably track her down.

  “You didn’t,” said JFK. “How’s that for smooth, Em?” He laughed. “What’s her name, Booter?”

  Slade wasn’t about to tell him, just so he could talk about her more. Wait! Her name!

  Slade took off running. He busted through the front doors and ran to the parking lot.

  She was nowhere in sight. She. The girl without a name. The girl with the smile that forced all rational thought out of his mind.

  You’re such an idiot, Slade told himself. No wonder she ran off, you had two chances and never even asked her name.

  Slade dug into his pocket for his keys and walked toward his truck. The other option was to go back inside and make nice with JFK. Or subject himself to more ridicule. Maybe both. The girl had been eating alone, so he couldn’t even track her down through a friend. Daria worked with her. How many Daria’s could there be in Park City? That was a possibility.

  None of the firefighters knew her or they would have said so in the gym or today. Maybe she’d been in here to eat before? No, she’d been clueless about Pineapple and even surprised about the delicious food. Pineapple knew pretty much everyone, but if she didn’t know him, that was a long shot. If only she’d left a card or something. A clue for him to track her down possibly?

  … breadcrumbs to a beam of pearly light …

  It was a hopeless quest, but Slade went back in to inspect her table. The firefighters were in the rec room tossing and taunting. As much as Slade wanted to be part of the crew and just kick it with them, he was pretty sure he still wasn’t invited. Especially since they had already filled the empty spot.

  The server was at the table moving things around. Slade saw her slip some cash into the
bill holder, then carry away the small stack of dishes. There was nothing else on the table.

  Wait, the tip. If she had already paid her bill with a credit card then left a cash tip, Pineapple would be able to tell him her name at least.

  Slade hurried up to the swinging kitchen door and leaned in. “Yo, Pineapple.”

  “What’s up, Powers? Got a date?”

  “No,” said Slade, “but you saw who I was sitting with?”

  “Yeah, pretty girl.”

  “You don’t know her by chance, do you?”

  “Nope. Why, did she ask about me?” He smiled his giant, friendly smile.

  Slade chuckled. “No.”

  “Yeah, she’s a little undersized for me, anyway.”

  “I actually need a favor.”

  Pineapple gave a small twitch with his head to ask what was up.

  “I didn’t get her name.”

  “Didn’t get it or couldn’t get it?” He was still smiling, like always.

  “I completely forgot. Stupid JFK was here, and kept taunting me. I was totally distracted.” No need to admit it was her shining smile, brighter than the sun that had done most of the distracting.

  “Sorry, Powers. I don’t know her.”

  “Did she use a credit card?” Slade didn’t know if he was crossing any lines, but it was his only lead. “Could you give me a name?”

  “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

  “What do you want?” Slade realized he probably sounded a little too eager.

  “Mercedes,” said Pineapple, and the server came walking over. “Can I see the check for that pretty little brunette?”

  “Sure.” She handed over the bill holder and Pineapple opened it so only he could see. He reached in one huge hand and fished out the bill, a white receipt.