by Emilia Finn
Dragging my gown up and snagging my cellphone from the garter high on my thigh, I unlock the screen and hit dial while I walk.
“Ahem…”
That throaty cough, the deep monotone of a man close on my heels, draws me around with a surprised gasp. My call rings in my ear, but my throat turns desert dry at the sight of this man a mere two feet away.
“Do I want to know where you got that cell from?”
“Yes, mother?” Arlo’s voice is entirely too entertained. Too relaxed. “I was kidding about going up on to the roof, ya know?”
“No s’mores!” I turn away from my follower and continue up the staircase. “No cooking. No skydiving off the roof. No fireworks. No strippers. No smoking. No drinking. No soda with ice cream!”
“You just deleted at least eighty percent of my weekend plans,” Arlo huffs. “We’re just having ice cream, cranky. Calm yourself.”
“I will not calm myself! You need to calm yourself! Dio, mi stai stressando.”
“And… in English?”
“You’re a pain in my ass! Stop testing me.” I lope up to the next floor, step from staircase to carpet, then continuing around, I move on to the next. “Arlo, I will ruin your face if you keep screwing with me.”
“Quite the threat from the woman in my ear. Oh, no, Max, that’s poison, don’t drink that.”
“Arlo!”
“I’m kidding,” she cackles. “Cheese and rice, you’re panicky. We’re not even in your apartment anymore.”
“What?” I screech. “Where the hell are you?”
“Here.”
I hear her in my phone first, then in the real world.
My head snaps up, my eyes go a full flight of stairs higher than where I stand, then stop on Max holding Arlo’s hand. He wears headphones with the jack cord hanging limp and unused. But it’s a way to block out sound for him. A safety blanket of sorts.
Hanging up my call, I hitch my skirt up on the run, tuck my phone away, and dash toward my baby with my heart in my throat.
“Max?” Tears burn my eyes, though really, there’s no reason for them. Nothing bad has happened. Nothing is hurting us.
Still, I swing him into my arms the moment I’m able to reach.
“Bello.” I kiss his cheek, his temple, his neck, and nose. I leave behind a trail of red lipstick, but he’ll never know, he’s too young to care. “I was gone for only a few minutes, but I missed the crap out of you the whole time.”
Instead of a verbal reply, Max wraps his arms around my neck and squeezes close.
“I want to come home,” I cry against his neck. “I’m done with work for today. I don’t want to people anymore.”
“Er… well…” Arlo clears her throat. “Hate to burst your bubble, Ms. Mazzi, but… I’m people. And so is Nix.” She pushes away from her spot against the banister, and in my peripherals, offers a fist.
Which the man following me bumps in reply.
But my heart is busy dying a premature death. The oxygen in my lungs ceases to move. The thoughts in my brain no longer fire off and offer me a solution.
Because I forgot he was near; or perhaps I thought he stopped following three flights ago.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to a trillion—or, well, to twenty—then I open them again and meet Arlo’s smug gaze. “He’s still near, si?”
“Yes’m. He looks good, too. I’ve seen this dude in his movie-night best—stained sweatpants and a wife beater tank top—and now I’ve seen him in a suit.” She winks for the grown man. “How you doin’?”
He chuckles behind me, throaty and pleased. “Arlo, is there a reason you’re terrorizing the owner of the Oriane?”
“Who’s to say she’s not terrorizing me?” she smarts back. “I’m but a child, innocent and fair.”
“I heard rumors of arson,” he rumbles.
Arlo snorts. “Hearsay and not at all permissible in court. Want a s’more, Lieutenant?”
My spine snaps straight. My blood turns to ice. Then, holding my son against my chest so his dinosaur pyjamas and sticky fingers press against my silver gown, I slowly turn and meet those green eyes once more, that intrigue I felt now doused. “Lieutenant?”
“The server at the Oriane is also the owner of the Oriane,” he muses. “And the owner of the Oriane is also…” He studies us with a tilt of his head. “A mom?”
“Lieutenant of what?” I demand. “Army? Police? Powerpuff Girls?”
“Lieutenant Nixon Rosa.” He steps forward and offers a hand. “FD. Also, I’d like to point out I’ve been trying to introduce myself for the last hour. You continue to brush me off.”
“FD…” I focus on that instead, and narrow my eyes. “Fire department?”
“Fire department,” he agrees enthusiastically, as though that might somehow impress me. “If you guys happen to invite me in for s’mores,” he looks to Arlo, “I can be in charge of the flames.”
“There will be no s’mores.” I stand taller, stronger, and meet Nixon’s beautiful eyes. “Tonight’s event is taking place in the ballroom, and right now, you’re standing in a restricted area. I would appreciate it if you could make your way back down, and in the future, respect my establishment enough not to wander the hotel without permission or a reservation.”
“Ice…” His eyes scour mine. They drop to Max every few seconds, then circle back to me. “From red-hot anger, to frozen dismissal. Is it hard to switch it up so effortlessly, or have you got that ice queen thing perfected now?”
“I’ve got my speed dial to the local police station perfected.” It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got. “And I have a trespasser in a restricted area. Arlo?” I look to my babysitter, my friend, and force a smile. “Please escort Mr. Rosa out. And then you’re dismissed.”
“Dismissed?” she balks. “You’re turning the ice on me too?”
“Your job was to keep my son safe inside his home… not wandering the halls, and not threatening fire on the roof. You might think you’re funny, but to me, you’re an unnecessary stress.” I look to Nixon and tip my chin. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for your service. Please stay safe when you’re working.”
With that, I turn and make my way up the stairs. But I adjust Max so his eyes don’t face behind us. So he’s not having to look at Arlo, nor the strange man, nor is he looking down the stairs and worrying about being dropped from a height.
“What have you been doing, Maximo? Huh?” I press a kiss to his hair and sigh. “You should have told Arlo no when she suggested you go for a walk.”
Max makes his throaty sounds, but they’re neither a denial nor a promise not to do it again.
The moment I walk through my apartment doors and stop inside the small foyer, I set Max on his feet and turn back to lock up. Then I take out my cell and dial Abby.
“Idalia?” The music from downstairs filters through our call. “Hello?”
“I’ve had to come back to my apartment,” I tell her. “The announcements are finished, the official ceremony is complete, so really, no one will notice I’m missing.”
“Ohhhhh…kay. What are you saying?”
“I’m done for the night. The waitstaff know their job, the event coordinator knows hers, so I’ll call them in a second and let them know I’m out but available by phone. Let the evening progress as intended. Let people dance. Enjoy your night, Abby. You did a fantastic job of the flowers, so thank you.”
“Have you eaten yet?”
I step into my kitchen, dreading and expecting a dessert disaster mess, but my countertop is spotless, and my sink empty but for two bowls and two spoons. When I look in my freezer, I yank out the half-empty tub of ice cream and frown at the few stray sprinkles left inside.
There’s proof Arlo prepared dessert with my son, but there’s no mess, nothing is broken, and nothing is on fire.
“Idalia?” Abby pushes. “Have you eaten?”
I shake my head quick enough that my dangling earrings tap my neck. “No. I’ll m
ake something in a second. I, uh… I sent Arlo down,” I admit. “I was a little snappy, so when you see her, perhaps tell her I’m sorry for that.”
“Arlo is resilient,” Abby counters quickly. “She doesn’t get her feelings hurt easily.”
“Abby?”
She moves around somewhere downstairs, away from the music, and then into a space much quieter. “Mmhmm?”
“You have a brother in the fire department?”
“Nixon? Sure. Isn’t he the sweetest thing?”
“Um…”
“He’s my nice brother,” she says. “He’s a gentleman, and brave, and silly when he wants to be, but serious when he has to be.”
“He fights fires for a living?”
“Yeah,” she sighs. It’s whimsical. Loving. “He’s heroic, and super handsome in uniform.”
“But…” I swallow the lump in my throat and lean on my elbows on the counter, as Max makes his way to the sofa and jumps on so the cushions explode to the floor. “Firefighters die, Abigail. Often. Their job is dangerous.”
“Nixon has never even been hurt on the job,” she insists defensively. Then, “Hold on a sec, I need to take my phone from my ear.”
“What—”
Before I can demand more, a knock at my front door brings my gaze up with a snap.
For just a second, my mind tries to convince me it’s Nixon knocking. Or hell, maybe even Arlo. But common sense propels me away from the counter and back into the foyer. Then I open my door and am met with a plate of food from the kitchen downstairs, and a sweet smile that only Abigail Rosa can conjure.
“You need to eat.” She pushes into my home and keeps hold of the plate until I follow her in. “Hi, Max.” She passes my son by, and trails her fingers over his moppy hair, then she’s gone again, and circling around to my counter.
Finally, she sets it down and lifts a brow. “Sit, eat. Chill out.”
She turns to the wall of wine, a rack Jake made himself and filled with what he thought would taste good, then she grabs a red and cracks it open without a single thought for the fact that it’s a hundred-dollar bottle of wine. She sets it on my counter before turning back in search of a glass.
“White would probably be better paired with the food I stole for you, but red is more satisfying, no?” She glances over her shoulder, somehow knowing I’m still not sitting, still not eating, and with a single lifted brow, threatens to hurt me if I don’t comply.
So I sit in my fancy gown, and set my heels on the bar at the bottom of my stool, and when she continues to stare, I sigh and start working my way through stuffed mushrooms.
“You don’t have to mother me, Abigail.”
“Someone obviously has to, considering the hour and the fact I haven’t seen you eat a single thing today.”
“I ate while I was serving.”
“A single hors d’oeuvre doesn’t count when you’re also not sleeping.” She pours my wine to the brim, grins when she’s content, then she pushes it across the counter and places it in front of my plate. “What happened with Arlo?”
“I snapped at her, and she might’ve mentioned I was an ice queen.” Or maybe that was Nixon who said that… Regardless, both of them said I was cold and mean.
“Okay, why’d you snap at her?”
I reach up and tug the listening device from my ear and set it on the counter, then I go back to eating. I wasn’t hungry until I started. Now I’m ravenous. “She was teasing me, talking about desserts and sodas and fires and s’mores and Max.” I toss a pepper into my mouth. “She was baiting me and being silly, and I did what I do. I reacted, came upstairs, got mad at her for having Max in the hall, then I dismissed her.”
Abby’s brows pinch close. “Why’d she have him in the hall? That was clearly against the rules.”
“I suspect she was bringing him to me. She did nothing wrong,” I add with a breath of sadness. “I overreacted and was unkind. And since we’re on the subject…” I glance up and meet Abby’s gaze. “I was mean and dismissive to your brother too.”
“Nixon?”
I nod and pick at the next thing on my plate. “He was trying to talk to me in the gala room, I turned away to see to Max. I guess Nixon followed me—which is fair, considering I was acting somewhat…” I think on that for a moment. “Irregolare. Er… erratic. He followed me until I met up with Max and Arlo. That’s when I found out he’s a firefighter, and then I guess at that point, I was snapping at everyone.”
“He’s resilient too.” She smiles and settles in on a stool on the opposite side of my counter, so she’s still facing me. “He had me to learn from, so Nix knows how to take a smack on the chin, metaphorically of course. I doubt you’ve left any damage.”
I look over my shoulder and study the back of Max’s hair. The television turned on but on mute. Then back to Abby. To my wine. To my plate.
While staring down, I quietly admit, “Your brother made me look twice. And no one has done that since my late husband.”
“Late husband?” Abby’s eyes darken. “You didn’t… I didn’t…” She swallows and reaches across the counter to take my hand. “You never said.”
“I have a son.”
“Yes, you do. And he’s the cutest thing since puppies.”
“To have a son implies I had a man before that.”
She snickers. “This is true, but maybe he wasn’t nice, or maybe he was merely a sperm donor. Maybe he’s working out of the country, or maybe he’s not interested in being a dad.”
“He was interested.” I draw a heavy breath, only to let it out on a gusty exhale. “My husband loved being a father. He was good at it, and when he was home, he was obsessed with our son.”
Abby’s smile grows, but with her happiness, her sadness also increases. “That’s beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I’m glad you got to enjoy an amazing husband and partner in parenting.”
“But now he’s dead.”
She nods, soft and gloomy. “Yes.”
“It’s been two years, and I’ve been busy momming, so the time has flown. It’s been hard, of course, and lonely. But Max and the Oriane keep me busy.”
“And… what? You’re mad because my brother said hey?”
“I’m not mad,” I sigh. “I’m just…”
She lifts a brow. “What?”
“Perplexed, maybe. Intrigued. Lonely. Busy. I’ve had men ask me out over the years, and they were always easy to say no to. I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t attracted, I wasn’t interested.”
“But now… you’re attracted and interested?” Her smile notches up. “Because he’s single, and if he followed you up three flights of stairs, then perhaps he’s interested too.”
“Attracted?” I ponder. “Sure. He looks good. But interested?” I shake my head and prepare for the paperweight Abby is bound to toss at my face.
She’s never made it a secret that she’s protective and adoring of her brothers. She talks about them all the time. It just so happens that I didn’t have the chance to meet them until tonight.
“Honestly?” I ask. “I’m the opposite of interested. I’m repulsed—”
“Whoa,” she pushes up tall. “Watch what you say, Idalia. We may never come back from this.”
“By his job,” I finish with a roll of my eyes. “Repulsed by his job. He went from being the most handsome man in an entire ballroom, to being repulsive and sickening to me. I don’t mean that to be offensive. I mean his job is disgustingly dangerous. So dangerous, I have no clue how any of you send him to work each day and don’t go crazy with the inevitabilities.”
“But it’s not inevitable. There are more than a million firefighters in this country, and on average, less than a hundred will die each year. That’s, like, point zero-zero-one of a percent.”
“That’s still a hundred deaths!” I argue. “No matter how many live, that is still a hundred families torn apart. And you dismiss them so easily.”
“I don’t dismiss them!” she growls
. “I calm myself, and hold on to the fact my big brother will not be one of the point oh-oh-one. Why is that so wrong?”
“Because someone will die,” I snarl. “A hundred someones each year. And that’s why your brother’s job repulses me.” I take one last pastry from my dish, toss it into my mouth, then slide the plate away. “I’m done. Thank you for bringing this to me.”
“Are you coming back down?”
“No.” I push up from my stool, move it back in so the end of the counter shelters it, then I toe my heels off and groan at the freedom that single act brings. “I’ve been awake since four this morning, and the official part of tonight is over, which means I’m done. I’m putting my baby to bed, then I’m sliding into the bathtub for a few hours. Tomorrow,” I take Abby’s arm when she doesn’t make a move to leave, “the hotel is open for guests, which means I need sleep tonight.”
“Have you hired your housekeeping manager yet?”
“Nope.” I lead her toward the door. “But I’m interviewing one in the next couple weeks. If that goes well, he’ll take over, and I’ll be able to take a minute to breathe.”
I open my double doors and reveal Arlo standing with her head held high, but her hands wringing together.
Surprised, I jump back and slam a hand to my heart. “Arlo? What the hell are you—”
“I’m sorry for not taking my job seriously, Ms. Mazzi. I was only playing with you, but if you truly get to know me, you’ll realize humor is my default mode. It’s a coping mechanism, in a way. But your son was always safe with me. I promise.”
“It’s…” I draw a deep breath and shuffle Abby outside so she’s on the opposite side of the threshold. “It’s fine. I don’t have any cash on me right now, but I’ll come find you tomorrow and pay you for your time.”
“You don’t have to pay me for tonight.” Arlo steps forward before I can close my door. “It was my pleasure to hang out with Max. But,” she adds before I can escape, “I come with an offer.”
Startled, I let my eyes and brows narrow. “An offer?”
“Yeah. You, uh… offer me a job, and I’ll promise to do better. Then you can pay me.”
“A job?” My mind flashes to the housekeeping interview I have coming up. To the fact I’ll need someone to clean rooms and wash sheets. “Um… I mean… I could do with the help, but—”