by Jill Shalvis
Her mother’s grip on the teapot became white knuckled. “She doesn’t remember the first fire.”
“I remember more of it,” Summer admitted.
Camille’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“Some.”
Camille looked as if maybe she wanted to say more but instead she pinched her lips together.
Tina didn’t share her restraint. “What do you remember?”
“Opening the door. Hearing—” Overcome by the memory, she dropped her face into her hands.
Tina made a sound of sympathy and stroked Summer’s hair. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. Don’t think about it anymore, okay? Let’s just stick with this fire.”
“It wasn’t so bad, really.” She swallowed the horror. “I just can’t stand the smell of myself. It makes my eyes water.” Liar, liar. She wiped her eyes on the napkin Tina handed her. “Anyway, when I woke up I was surrounded by smoke and was a little disoriented, that’s all.”
“Anyone would have been,” Camille said very quietly, giving the outer appearance of being as tranquil as the tea she began to pour.
And yet there was worry and sheer terror in her eyes. Summer absorbed both and knew she couldn’t tell them how she’d panicked, how she’d gotten lost in her old nightmare. She couldn’t tell them that she’d had to dial 9–1–1 blindly because of the smoke, or that by the time the firefighters had found her, she’d given herself up for lost for the second time in her life. “At least they stopped the flames in time to save the building. That’s good news.”
“No, the good news is that you’re alive and relatively unscathed.” Tears made Tina’s voice thick as she wrapped her arms around her niece from behind.
Camille began to add sugar to Summer’s tea with fingers that shook so violently Summer was surprised the sugar even made it into the cup. “The insurance company is not going to be happy with us.”
“They can go to hell,” Tina said fervently, placing a noisy kiss on Summer’s cheek. “We pay a fortune for that coverage and we’ve done nothing wrong.”
Camille just kept adding sugar to Summer’s tea.
“In fact, they’ll be lucky if Summer herself doesn’t sue us,” Tina said.
“What? I’m not going to sue you,” Summer said, horrified. “The whole thing is my fault. The candles—” She broke off as her mom let out a choked sound and dropped a sixth teaspoon of sugar in Summer’s tea.
Tina exchanged a worried look with Summer. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
But in Summer’s opinion, that was the problem. No one had ever forced Camille to face anything that bothered her. Including Summer. “I think we should get it all out.” She leaned close to her mom. “I’m so sorry, Mom. God, so sorry.” Her voice caught. “But I think I forgot to blow out a candle. I think I burned the place down.”
“No. Oh, darling, no,” Tina said fiercely. “I lit those candles, because I loved watching them burn.”
Camille’s teaspoon clattered to the table as she covered her mouth.
Socks, sensing her mistress’s distress, jumped into Camille’s lap and butted her head against Camille’s belly.
Summer scooted closer. “Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
“We all are, thank God,” Tina said firmly, taking each of their hands. “Because no one got hurt. Anything we lost can be replaced.”
“I know you’ll still want to leave today,” Camille said to Summer. “No one’ll blame you for that.”
Summer looked into her mom’s jade eyes, usually soft and relaxed, now dark with emotion. “You’ll need help through all this new investigation and insurance fiasco. I gained all that experienced with the warehouse fire. I’m too good at it now to pass the torch.”
“Honey, no.”
“I want to.”
“You have your work.”
“I’m going to call in and explain why I need more time.” She set a hand over her mother’s, stilling the tenth teaspoon of sugar from going into her cup.
Camille began to stir her tea and didn’t say a word.
Summer exchanged a helpless glance with Tina. “I thought maybe it was helping you, Mom, having me around.”
“It is,” Tina said for her sister. “It is.”
Summer wanted to believe that, but she wanted a lot of things. She also wanted to find her place in a world that she used to belong to. Ironic that she could find her way through a jungle, over a mountain, down a river, and yet right here in her own hometown, she felt so lost. “I’m so sorry about the store,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I wish—”
“No. No regrets,” Camille said so forcefully it surprised everyone. “Trust me. Living with them is too hard.” She turned over her hand and squeezed Summer’s. Once, twice.
Love you.
Summer let out a half laugh, half sob, and squeezed her back three times.
Love you back.
And could only hope this was a sign of good things to come.
Chapter 12
By that afternoon, Summer was in the back of the original Creative Interiors. She sat surrounded by opened boxes, going through some of the stock that Bill had just brought in from his and Tina’s garage, secretly munching on the bag of cookies he’d sneaked her.
Tina kept coming into the room to check on her, telling her that no one expected her to work today, she should be resting, taking it easy.
Summer refrained from admitting that being alone, without any distraction such as a naked fire marshal in her bed, would drive her right into the loony bin.
Braden sat behind her in a corner chair, working on the computer, muttering to himself. Chloe kept finding reasons to come talk to Summer, and every time she did, she took sidelong—and not particularly discreet—glances at Braden.
He, on the other hand, kept working, not looking up from his screen, not doing anything, possibly not even breathing.
“So,” Summer said to Braden after Chloe had left for the fifth or sixth or hundredth time. “You do have a thing for her.”
Braden looked up. “A thing? Sounds like an infection.”
She thought about what she felt for Joe, and how no matter that she wanted to be easy and light, it was so damn messy and complicated. “It can sure as hell feel like an infection.”
A low rusty sort of sound escaped him.
“Did you just laugh?” she asked, shocked.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Tell me the truth. You missed the how-to-make-friends day in kindergarten, right?”
“So I’m not social.” He shrugged a lean shoulder. “That’s not a crime.”
No, it wasn’t. But his defensiveness was certainly interesting. “Does it have anything to do with why you don’t drink anymore?”
His indulgent smile faded.
“I’m not trying to pry or anything,” she said.
“Like hell.”
“Okay, I’m prying.”
“My past is not relevant to this job.”
“You’re right.” But she had a feeling it was relevant to why he was so cynical and sarcastic. And while she instinctively liked him, her first loyalty was to Chloe, brat or not. “Just tell me. Do you really like Chloe or are you playing with her?”
“Do you really like your fire marshal, or are you playing with him?”
Summer narrowed her eyes.
Braden went back to his work.
“I like him,” she said softly.
Braden looked up in surprise.
“I like him a lot.”
“Well good for you.”
“And?…”
He sighed. “And you’re a pest.” When Summer just waited, he let out an annoyed breath. “Jesus, you’re stubborn too. Okay, listen, I like your cousin. Happy?”
She grinned and he groaned. “Go back to work, Summer.”
She did. But cataloging inventory was making her eyes cross and not taking up enough brain waves. She did like Joe, she always had. Liking him had never
been a problem. They’d once shared a deep, abiding, mutual affection. A binding connection. But after her father’s death, such connections scared her.
Since then, anything she’d felt for a man had been light. Easy. And purely physical. Sex for her was as it should be—a simple relief. Necessary as air, but no real ties required.
“You’re thinking so hard my head is hurting,” Braden said, startling her.
“Sorry.”
“Actually, you’re making me hungry, too,” he said, and closing his laptop, left to get lunch.
Camille came in with Socks in her arms, and for a moment, Summer saw her mother as a stranger would. Tall, willowy, hair pulled back, only a minimum amount of makeup on her face, but still beautiful despite the dark circles beneath her eyes and her tight expression. “The marshals are on their way,” she said to Summer. “They need to take interviews.”
Her stomach both dropped and fluttered. “Me?”
“And some others, too, but you, yes. They wanted to catch you before you left.”
“Oh. Did you by any chance tell them I wasn’t leaving?”
“No.” Camille bent to stroke Socks, her eyes were filled with worry. “Because I thought you might still change your mind.”
“Mom. No.”
“This morning you had trouble even thinking about the fire.”
“I’ll be okay,” Summer said.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
Again.
Her mom didn’t say the word, but it hovered between them as the ghost of her father had for twelve years. “I’m fine. It’s you who’s having to go through all of this: property damage, insurance nightmares—”
“Summer, listen to me.” Camille’s sudden urgent tone scared her, so did the way she set down Socks and gripped Summer’s hand. “None of that matters. If you want to leave, I understand. I mean that.”
Summer searched her mother’s face for the reason why she wanted Summer gone so badly, and found none. “I told you, I’m sticking,” she said slowly. Want me to stick.
Her mother’s stiff shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly.
With relief? With regret? Summer had no idea. “I wish there was something else I could do.”
“Your being here is enough.” Camille squeezed her hands twice. “God help the both of us.”
“Mom.” Summer felt scared for no reason. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Yes, it is. Because life goes on.” Camille’s smile was heartbreakingly sad. “That’s what Tina always claims anyway.”
“It’s been twelve years,” Summer said softly. “It’s okay for life to go on.”
Camille looked down at their linked hands. “I know people think I’m crazy to still miss him so very much.”
Grief battered Summer, grabbing her by the throat. They’d never talked about this. They’d been wrong to never talk about this. “I don’t think you’re supposed to stop missing him. You’re just supposed to be able to keep loving, even other people.”
“Is there a manual for that?”
Summer choked out a laugh and leaned in for a hug that felt so right she thought she might never let go, but at the sound of a knock, Camille jumped and turned to the doorway.
Two tall, lean, tough, rangy fire marshals stood there. One neatly groomed, wearing an easy smile and those Harry Potter glasses, the other wearing a camera around his neck and looking at Summer in a way that upped her body temperature to unsafe levels.
Last night had been…amazing. Nice to know that when she needed stress relief, Joe Walker could provide it. But she hoped like hell he remembered that that’s all it’d been.
Camille dropped Summer’s hand to become the consummate hostess, moving forward with her best “come drink tea out of my fancy china” smile. Kenny followed her, leaving Joe alone with Summer.
He stepped close enough that no one could overhear them. His face was all hard, angular planes. A handsome face, one that was only gaining character as he aged. “You hanging in?”
“Sure.”
His welcome smile faded. “Truth, Red.” His eyes were filled with concern, and there was a seriousness to his mouth that made her feel like throwing herself in his arms and having him pull her in tight and keep her safe.
A direct contrast to the reminder she’d just given herself about him being only a stress relief. She reminded herself that she was ill-equipped to deal with anything deeper. “I’m good. How are your shins?”
“Bruised.” His eyes were warm and soft on hers. “Did you sleep okay after I left?”
“Sure. There was no one to steal the blankets.”
“You know damn well who steals the blankets, and it isn’t me.” He rubbed a thumb over the dark smudges beneath her eyes. “What time are you leaving?”
“Change of plans. I’m going to stay until everything is settled again. The insurance stuff.”
“As opposed to other stuff.”
“Like?”
His gaze held her for a tenuous beat, then he shook his head. “Let’s start with what I came here to do before we head down a road you’re not ready for.” He gestured to his clipboard. “Ready?”
Her heart clutched. No. No, she wasn’t ready. “How about that weather, huh?” She fanned her face. “It’s sure a hot one.”
His eyes filled with regret. “We have to do this.”
“I know.” It was his job, but the thought of reliving it made sweat pool at the base of her spine. “Sure you wouldn’t rather talk about my rug burns?”
The muscle in his jaw worked for a moment as he wrestled with his professionalism. It was fascinating to watch. “Maybe we can save that for a later conversation,” he finally said.
“I’d really rather talk about—”
“Red. I’m sorry.”
So calm. She wondered how many of the twelve years that she’d been gone it had taken him to master his control like that.
If only he could teach her to do it.
“Let’s sit,” he suggested.
She let him lead her to the small love seat by the refrigerator across the room from where Camille was pouring tea for Kenny.
Summer stared at Joe as he moved around the small table in front of the love seat and sat next to her, thinking she’d kissed those firm, unsmiling lips, she’d had her fingers in his too long, wavy, uncombed hair, and it was damn hard to forget that whenever she’d been in his arms, she felt alive, gloriously alive. As she watched, he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bounced. She wanted to bite it. Bite him. His hands, big and agile, held his clipboard and a pen, and she remembered what those long, tapered strong fingers could do to her nipples. What they felt like on her, inside her. Off balance, she shook her head, but couldn’t clear it. “I’m losing it.”
“You had a traumatic experience,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.” She lifted her gaze and let him see what she was thinking about, and he swallowed again.
“Red,” he said softly, with a desperation that made her sigh.
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temples. “Go ahead. Ask away. What do you need to know? That I think I started the fire by accident, causing my mom and aunt untold amounts of anguish and money?”
“You didn’t.”
“Or that the insurance company is going to up their rates—” She stared at him. “What?”
“I don’t think the candle started the fire.”
Thank God was her first selfish thought. Then she took a good look at his expression and the grimness in it, and got a very bad feeling. “What did?”
“Before you fell asleep downstairs, were you alone in the shop?”
Her bad feeling spread. “Why?”
He tapped his pen on his clipboard and just looked at her.
“Joe, you’re scaring me. Did someone do this on purpose?” God, the implications of that boggled, because everyone knew she’d been there. That someone could have…“Joe.�
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He looked bleak.
“Okay,” she said, shaken. “See, this is where you talk.”
“We found traces of an accelerant. Gasoline.”
“Oh, God.” She gripped the small table in front of them. “What do we do?”
“First, you relax.” He said this gently, prying her rigid fingers off the table to stroke her hand, making her realize she’d begun breathing too rapidly again. “Keep breathing, okay?”
“I am.” The spots would come next, she knew it.
He saw it all, her growing panic, her struggle to overcome it, she knew he did. Every little flicker of emotion crossing her face, every little tremble of her fingers as she let go of his to rub her temples again, now panicky because suddenly she couldn’t control her breathing. “Oh, damn.”
“I suppose this isn’t a panic attack either,” he said, and set aside his clipboard to scoot close and rub her back.
“Don’t be silly. I’m tougher than that,” she panted.
Letting out a rough sound that might have been sympathy, compassion, or sheer frustration, he held her down when she tried to rise. “You never used to have panic attacks.”
“They’re not all that bad.”
“Come on.”
“All right, they’re bad. But rare. Really,” she said to his disbelief. “At least until I came back here.”
“Because of that first warehouse fire. When you got caught beneath that beam.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Now who’s the liar,” he chided softly. “Tight places upset you, and so does talking about the fires, two of which you’ve been trapped in. Now I’m asking you to talk about them, and I’m sorry, so fucking sorry. But I have to know what happened to make it right.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“How about we just take it slow. Together, okay?”
She nodded, and concentrated on breathing for a few minutes. Feeling like a wimp, she glanced over her shoulder to where Kenny was clearly entertaining her mother, making her smile. “It took me until this morning to get a real smile. He gets one just by walking in the door.”
“Kenny gets a smile from any woman, and he could do it at a hundred paces.”