Inflamed: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  “No, no.” Debra’s voice wobbled between laughter and tears as she dabbed at her eyes. “Nothing wrong at all. I just didn’t expect it.”

  “I also got some wine to go with the lamb.” Sean slid a bottle of merlot from a paper bag. “I wasn’t sure if you drank, but I’m told this is pretty mild and should go well with the lamb.”

  “I do drink a little.”

  “Great. And then for dessert—”

  “You got dessert?”

  “I cheated again. Tiramisu from Whole Foods.”

  “I know how to make tiramisu.”

  “Really? I love it.”

  “I do too.”

  Sean winked. “Finger biscuits, egg yolks, sugar, coffee, mascarpone cheese, and cocoa powder—those are standard breakfast ingredients, assembled differently.”

  Debra laughed. “I suppose that justifies eating tiramisu for breakfast.”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned. “We’ll have to see how store-bought tiramisu holds up against yours. Do you want the wine while I get the lamb chops going?”

  Debra perched on the island, sipping from her glass of wine, while Sean moved around her kitchen, preparing dinner. After a week of helping her clean up after dinner, he seemed to have no trouble finding things he needed in her kitchen; apparently, he was as observant as Aidan was.

  “I didn’t realize you enjoyed cooking,” Debra said. “I do, too.”

  “I figured it out when I was served one incredible meal after another.”

  “It’s simple food.” And usually whatever was on sale at the grocery store that week.

  “Put together in pretty amazing ways. Did you ever think of opening your own restaurant?”

  Debra laughed. “Oh, where would I find the money for that?” Her smile turned wistful. “It was one of my dreams.”

  “Before or after fireman?”

  “Oh, after, way after. During college, Holly and I talked about opening a restaurant. I’d do the cooking. She’d manage the staff.”

  “And then?”

  “And then it didn’t happen. I screwed up, and Holly and I didn’t talk for almost eight years. But about a year ago, she reached out.” Debra smiled. “Maybe because it was Christmas. Maybe because it was time we both healed. Anyway, we’re talking now, except that it’s over the phone a couple of times a week. She moved to North Carolina a few months ago with her husband.”

  “It’s hard to open a restaurant together that way. You could still do catering, though.”

  “Catering?”

  Sean used a pair of tongs to flip the lamb chops before dusting grated rosemary on the potatoes. “Remember the leftover beef stew that you sent home with me on Wednesday?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I brought it into work on Thursday for lunch. I reheated it in the microwave and the smell filled the break room. In a good way,” he added hastily. “The guys all wanted a sample. In the end, they ate my lunch, and I had to go to Subway to get a sandwich.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Debra chuckled. “Glad they enjoyed it.”

  “They loved it. In fact, Hank said his wife was tearing her hair out over organizing their anniversary dinner party. He’d suggested getting it catered, but she refused, saying she couldn’t find anything good and affordable.”

  “Hank Friedman? The fire captain?”

  He nodded.

  “I know Hank and Patti. I wonder if—” She shook her head. “No, it would be crazy.”

  “If you never ask, the answer is always no.”

  “I don’t think Patti likes me.”

  “Why?”

  Debra shrugged. “The same reason Ray called me ‘the other woman.’ I have a bit of a history in this town, and here, it’s hard to shake the past.”

  “Holly got over it.”

  Debra chuckled, but the sound was without humor. “Yes, she did. She was the one person I thought would never get over it, but she did.”

  “Maybe the others will too. If this is your entry point into your own business, can you afford to let it slide?”

  She stared at Sean. He stared back. He did not seem like he was joking or teasing.

  She swallowed through the lump in her throat. He believes I can do it. He really believes I can. “I…I’ll talk to Patti tomorrow.”

  “Awesome.” Sean set a plate of lamb chops and fingerling potatoes on the island. “Now, give it a taste and tell me if I’m good enough to set up a catering company, too.”

  The potatoes were a little too bland for her taste, but it was easily remedied with a toss from the saltshaker. The lamb chops, however, had been grilled to medium rare perfection. “This is terrible,” she moaned dramatically. “I have a competitor, and I haven’t even started my catering business yet.”

  Sean laughed. “Enjoy.” He looked out of the kitchen. “Hey, Aidan. Want to try some lamb?”

  “Yuck.” Aidan carried his plate into the kitchen. “I’m all done.”

  Debra glanced at it. “You ate the coleslaw too.”

  “Yup. Sean said I had to.”

  With a clatter, Aidan deposited his plate into the dishwasher and vanished down the hallway, Jewel at his heels.

  Debra looked at Sean. “Did you hypnotize my son?”

  Sean shrugged. “You heard our conversation. I told him he needed his veggies.”

  “You make it look easy. Veggies have historically been a major point of contention in this household. Why do you think I use so much mixed vegetables? They’re hard to pick out of the rest of the food.”

  Sean exploded into laughter.

  The sound warmed her and disturbed the butterflies hibernating in her stomach.

  “You’re sneaky,” he said. “My mom could have learned a thing or two from you.”

  “With Aidan, I usually feel like I’m a half-step behind.”

  “That’s the problem with smart kids. It’s hard to stay ahead of them.”

  “You must have been a handful for your parents.”

  “Me? I was the angel. My brother, though.” He shook his head. At that moment, his cell phone rang, the distinctive tune the same one she heard each evening. That evening, as with all the other evenings, he ignored the call. He did not even look at the screen to see who was calling. It was as if he knew.

  Neither spoke until the phone stopped ringing. “My brother,” Sean continued, as if the conversation had not been silenced by an incoming call. “My brother was trouble. A ton of trouble.”

  Chapter 6

  The next day, Debra smoothed down her dress, cleared her throat, and rang the doorbell on Hank and Patti Friedman’s house. She had rushed out during her lunch break. If Patti said no, the forty-five minutes would be more than enough time to return to the café to continue the shift. If Patti said yes, Debra had no idea how long the discussion might take.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side and the door opened. Patti, her blond hair scrunched into tight curls, blinked hard. “Debra?”

  “Hi, Patti. Someone heard Hank mention that you were planning an anniversary dinner, and I wondered if I might help you with that?”

  Patti’s brow furrowed with a frown. “Help with dinner? Why would you?”

  “Hank tried a sample of my beef stew a few days ago at the firehouse, and he said he liked it. I can help you plan a menu and even prepare the food so it’s easy to serve. That way you can focus on your guests and on having a good time.”

  “I…I remember you’d always liked cooking.”

  Debra nodded. “I’ve kept my hand in it over the years. I’ve thought of opening a restaurant, although financially it’s a bit of a stretch right now. I can do private catering, though. If you can provide me with a list of your favorite dishes, or Hank’s, or what you’re thinking of serving at dinner, perhaps I can provide you with a sample meal, so you can taste it for yourself and see if it’s something you’d be comfortable serving to your guests.”

  Patti drew a deep breath, indecision flickering in her eyes. Debra braced
herself for the refusal, but Patti’s lips stretched into a tight smile. “Okay, I guess we’ll see what you’ve got. Why don’t you come in for a minute, and we’ll chat about the menu?”

  On the other side of town, within the compound of the elementary school, first- and second-grade children swarmed around Sean and the other firemen, their questions overlapping each other’s in an eager attempt to be heard and answered.

  “Why are fire trucks red?” Good question. I’m not sure I know the answer.

  “Why can’t you turn on the siren for us to hear?” Because we’d all go deaf in this tiny space.

  “Why do some fire trucks have ladders and others don’t?” Because small town fire departments don’t have big budgets.

  Sean looked up and saw Aidan hanging out near the door of the school building, several feet away. He was about to raise his hand to wave Aidan over when another child said, “We don’t like him.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because his daddy is a bad man. His mommy is bad, too.”

  “Who says so?”

  “My mommy. She says I’m not supposed to talk to Aidan.”

  “I’m sure it’s not catching.”

  The child tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that whatever Aidan’s parents might have done doesn’t have anything to do with Aidan.”

  “My mommy says it does.”

  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. I’ve been hanging out with Aidan every day for the past week, and I’m still a good guy.”

  “You hang out with Aidan?” The child’s eyes went wide.

  “Yup, every day. He helps me train my dog.”

  The child’s eyes grew even widen. “Really? He helps you?”

  Sean nodded and raised his hand to wave Aidan over.

  Aidan’s gaze darted to the other children surrounding Sean before he pushed away from the wall and sauntered over. His chin was lifted defiantly, his eyes narrowed; he was a child on the defensive, prepared to bite even before any hand was raised to strike.

  “What’s up, buddy?” Sean asked.

  “You didn’t bring Jewel.”

  “She’ll need more training before she’s ready for big crowds. Maybe in a few months if you and I keep working with her.” Sean nudged his head at the fire truck. “Do you want to check out the driver’s seat? It’s got the best view.”

  “Really? I can?”

  The little boy beside Aidan chirped, “I want to go too.”

  “Aidan first.” Sean grinned at Aidan. “Come on up here.”

  Debra looked up through the kitchen window as the school bus pulled to a stop in front of her house. Aidan stepped out, and for the first time, there was a noticeable spring to his step. His usual sullen frown had been replaced by—if not exactly a smile—then at least a relaxed expression, one that seemed content.

  “How was school today?” Debra asked as Aidan walked into the house and kicked off his sneakers.

  “It was fine. Sean said hi.”

  “Sean?” Debra wiped her hands on the side of her jeans. She hoped the even tone of her voice did not betray the fact that her heartbeat had accelerated at his name. “When did you see…oh, fire safety day.”

  “He let me sit in the driver’s seat.” Aidan stomped up the stairs and vanished into his room. The door did not slam.

  Debra released her breath, a shaky exhalation of air that wobbled as precariously as her heart. She had no words for how amazingly Sean had altered their lives in a week and a half. Aidan was practically a different child.

  And as for her, she had been preparing dinner for three people for a week now, and damn if it didn’t feel great.

  More than great, it felt right.

  Chapter 7

  Eight years earlier, on Valentine’s Day, Debra had delivered a red-faced, screaming baby boy. On that day, Valentine’s Day had ceased to be Valentine’s Day for Debra, and had become Aidan’s birthday.

  For the past eight years, her only date on Valentine’s Day had been Aidan.

  This year, her date was going to be Aidan and ten of his classmates, assuming they showed up.

  Debra glanced at the clock on the wall. The party was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. Aidan prowled in the front yard, waiting for his classmates to arrive, and on the dining table, the food Debra had laid out grew cold.

  They weren’t coming.

  “Hey, Aidan,” she called to her son. “Stop kicking at the grass. It’s already dead. Why don’t you go to the backyard and kick a ball around for a while. I’ll let you know when your friends arrive.”

  Aidan scowled at her, and Debra’s heart ached at the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

  “Where’s Sean?” he demanded.

  “He’ll be here. Remember, he told us last night that he’d stop by for a few minutes before he goes to his annual fireman family get-together down at the firehouse. He needs to do that; it’s part of his work.”

  “And where’s Dad?”

  “I’m sure he’s on his way. He’s just late.”

  “I told my friends Dad was going to show up for my party. He promised.”

  Debra nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She pressed her hand against Aidan’s back and ushered him through the house and out the back door. She snatched up her cell phone as soon as the door closed on Aidan and called Peter.

  The call went straight to voicemail. “Where are you?” Debra tried to keep her tone calm, but she could hear the edge of panic in her own voice. “It’s Aidan’s birthday. I reminded you last week. I reminded you yesterday. You said you would be here. I hope you’re on your way. Aidan’s waiting.”

  She hung up as Sean strode along the pavement and toward the front door, a wrapped gift in his hand. She rushed to meet him at the door before he could ring the doorbell. “Hey, Debra.” His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “No one else is here.”

  “What do you mean?” Sean peeked his head into the silent house. “Where’s Aidan?”

  “I sent him to the backyard. I couldn’t bear to see him wait out front and have nobody show up.”

  “Where are his friends? He told me he invited his friends.”

  “I don’t know. I hand delivered the invitations with Aidan two weeks ago.” She wrung her hands. “No one’s showed up, and Peter’s not here either.”

  Sean swore under his breath. “I’ll be back.”

  “Wait, Sean, where are you going?” Debra shouted after him, but he had dashed out the door and vanished down the street. Her heart breaking for her son, she went out the back door and sat on the patio step.

  Aidan cast a glance over his shoulder. His scowl twisted into a sneer, and he turned his back on her to kick at his soccer ball. Debra’s hands clenched into fists; the knot in her chest hurt so badly she had to fight the urge to dig her fingers into it.

  “No one’s coming,” Aidan said, his young voice matter-of-fact.

  “I’m sorry, Aidan. Maybe Sunday’s not a good day to have a party.”

  “All my other friends have parties on Sundays.” Aidan grunted. “They don’t invite me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Debra whispered, wishing there was something else she could say, something else that would make sense to her lonely child.

  “They don’t like me.”

  “Sometimes, it just takes longer for people to get to know you.”

  “It’s because of Daddy, isn’t it? They think Daddy is a bad man.”

  Debra sighed. “Aidan, come here.”

  He trotted over and sagged down on the steps beside her. “Is that why he stays away? Because he’s a bad man?”

  Debra slid an arm around Aidan’s shoulders. “Your daddy and I made a mistake when we were much younger. Some people are still angry about it because we hurt a lot of people, including you.”

  Aidan’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  Debra stroked his tousled head. “Yes.”

  Aidan pulled away to stare up at her
. “But you’re not a bad person. You’re here.”

  Debra’s throat clogged with tears. “Yes, I’m here. I did something bad once, but I’m staying and trying to do something good now, with you.”

  Aidan seemed to ponder her words for a moment. When his eyes met hers, they had narrowed. “So why isn’t Daddy here too?”

  Sean rushed to the firehouse where the celebration was just starting. Jack looked up as Sean stepped into the large community room. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you had to stop in at Aidan’s birthday party for an hour or so?”

  “I did. There’s no one else there.”

  “What?”

  Jack’s exclamation was loud enough to draw all attention. The low buzz of conversation around the room ceased as the eye of every fireman, every partner, and every child was drawn to Sean. Sean cleared his throat. “None of the kids Aidan invited showed up. Debra prepared a feast, and—” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “I thought we could all go over, just for a while. For Aidan. It’s his birthday, and the kid deserves a party.”

  Uncertain glances flashed across the room. It seemed as if everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

  Patti Friedman broke the silence. “I do have to talk to Debra about her catering proposal.”

  Jack chimed in, “You had me at ‘Debra prepared a feast.’”

  Patti glanced at the table laden with snacks and drinks. “We have lots of food here too. How about we pack everything up and have the party at Aidan’s house instead?”

  Sean looked around the room, his heart pounding in his chest. Patti, the wife of Hank, the fire chief, had clout, and when she moved toward the table to pack up the boxes of pizza, the other wives followed. Within five minutes, the room cleared—firemen were capable of moving quickly when needed, especially where food was involved—and the children were ushered into cars.