When he looked up after slipping his phone back in his pocket, he skidded to a stop. The early-morning haze was just beginning to lift. The sun was barely poking its nose through the clouds, but there, at the bottom of the hill, beyond the curving waist-high stone wall, sat the ocean. Seagulls soared high above and low enough to skim the lapping water’s edge. As he breathed in, he could smell the faint hint of salt and promise. It was, he realized, an unexpected sight and worthy of attention and appreciation.
Attention that was interrupted by the growling of his stomach. Oh, yeah. Those protein bars had long worn off, and as tempting as the lemon ricotta pancakes sounded (his mother would approve), he had yet to find anything better on the planet than a down-to-earth, diner-style morning feast.
“Face it,” Roman told himself as he walked along Monarch Lane and enjoyed the fall decorating around shop windows and various buildings. “Frankie had you convinced at bacon.”
He’d missed the details yesterday, distracted by the idea of checking in at the firehouse and finding a place to stay. The collection of quirky stores and, even at this early hour, the wanderings of residents, were intriguing and appealing. He glanced to the left, catching sight of a group of older men standing in front of the hardware store. Across the street from that was a bookstore, the Cat’s Eye, with a hand-carved sign shimmering in the morning sun. He spotted an old-fashioned ice-cream parlor, a candle shop, a gift shop and...was that a comic book shop? Now that he put on his list for later today. If he could catch up on the three different series he’d lost track of, he’d be a happy man.
He passed a small bank, a shop offering glass suncatchers and other pretty little gifts, and a teeny, tiny hole in the wall, which sold the most exquisite hand-carved animals he’d seen in a long time. Not that he had a lot of giftbuying to manage, but this year could very well be the easiest holiday shopping season he ever had. There were quite a few souvenir shops offering everything from cold drinks and T-shirts to postcards (did people still send those?) and butterfly-shaped sunglasses for both adults and children. Pumpkins seemed to be multiplying by the second, stacked in front of doorways and in window displays, accented with lush orange, yellow and fire-red leaf-tipped branches.
The crisp November air raced over him, driving him through the jingling glass door into the Butterfly Diner. Retro for sure, but rather than red vinyl booths, they were in a rich orange hue complimented by the black trim on the wall. Formica tabletops and counters gleamed. Round orange upholstered stools whirled, and the aromas of coffee and frying bacon reached up and greeted him.
“Hello. Welcome to the Butterfly Diner.” A lovely woman with light brown hair and a friendly gleam in her big eyes approached. “And to Butterfly Harbor.”
“Is it that obvious?” He returned her smile and marveled at the crowd. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m., and every table, every seat at the counter were occupied.
“Not necessarily. I know just about everyone in town, and you’re a new face. I’m Holly Saxon. This is my place.”
“Holly! We need extra napkins, please!” The frantic female voice exploded from the back of the diner.
“Twyla? Can you—”
“On it.” Out of nowhere, a young woman who moved as if she was wearing skates scooped up a pile of napkins and headed over.
“Always this busy?” Roman asked.
“Thankfully, yes. We have our slow times. But breakfast is a must at least one time while you’re here. Are you okay with the counter or would you rather wait for a table?” Holly motioned to one of the stools that had just been vacated by a bespectacled man in a brown plaid shirt and jeans.
“Counter’s perfect.”
“Great. Take a seat. Here’s a menu. Any questions? Give a holler. You a coffee guy?”
“Explicitly.” He found her friendliness charming and just a bit unsettling.
“Okay then. It’s on the way. You good to go, Kurt?”
“Excellent start to my day, as always.” The middle-aged man gave her a thumbs-up. “See you tomorrow, Holly.” He’d nearly reached the door when he was waved over to the far corner booth, packed to almost bursting with six, no, seven elderly folks.
Roman settled into the vacated seat and found himself sighing at the aroma of the coffee being poured into his mug. “Smells like great coffee.” He lifted the cup to his nose, inhaled deeply and sipped. “Now that alone was worth the walk,” he told Holly before she moved away to take care of her other customers.
The men on either side of him offered polite smiles as Roman silently drank his coffee and skimmed the extensive menu. Not just breakfast, but lunch and dinner, too, all at incredibly reasonable if not obscenely cheap prices. When he saw the diner also provided a delivery service for a small fee, he couldn’t have been happier. Of course, he’d have to taste-test first, not that he held any doubt. Diners, in his opinion, tended to have the best food around.
The hair on the back of his arms prickled and Roman glanced up, scanning the counter’s occupants until his gaze landed on a small boy sitting on the stool farthest away from him. He was wearing a neat white button-down shirt with a collar so sharp it could draw blood. The thin burgundy tie was about as crooked as one could get, his too-big sweater sagging off one shoulder, but it was the boy’s laser-beam gaze behind round glasses that caught his attention. Eyes he’d already seen in the face of the owner who had welcomed him just moments before.
“Simon, finish your breakfast, please.” Holly swept back behind the counter, dropped the coffeepot onto its burner and grabbed a damp cloth. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she told Roman. “He’s not at his best in the mornings.”
“I can understand that.” If the boy felt guilty or uncomfortable for staring, he didn’t show it. If anything, he straightened on his stool and returned Roman’s curious gaze with a penetrating one of his own—as if he was trying to puzzle Roman out.
“So what can I get you?”
“Your bacon and eggs came highly recommended. I’ll take that, eggs scrambled, bacon crispy. And a couple of your pumpkin scones to go.”
“Great.” She didn’t bother writing anything down, just nodded. “I’ve got a fresh batch in the oven now, so as soon as they’re out, I’ll have Ursula package up two for you.” She retreated long enough to repeat his order to the cook. “So, where are you from...” She trailed off, and it was then Roman noticed the diner had dropped significantly in volume. Chatter had faded, and he had the distinct feeling people were waiting for his response.
“Ah, born and raised in Boston, but most recently Florida. And it’s—”
“Roman!” Bud Granger’s booming voice drowned out the tinkling of the howdy bell over the front door. “I just stopped by the station house to see if you wanted to grab breakfast, but Frankie said you were already gone. Morning, Holly.”
“Morning, Chief.” Holly’s gaze sharpened on Roman and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a bit of the friendliness faded. “And good morning, Chief.”
“I knew it.” Simon’s muttered declaration echoed through the diner.
Roman lifted his mug as if making a toast. “Nice to meet all of you. Roman Salazar.” Suddenly he felt like the new kid in an ultraexclusive school.
The collection of seniors in the corner booth, and, well, okay, it seemed everyone in the place, stared at him as if he’d just crawled out of a swamp. He swallowed more coffee, purposely kept his expression neutral. “Am I going to need a taste tester for my breakfast?”
“No.” But Holly’s denial didn’t exactly sound sincere. “Frankie’s got a lot of friends in this town. We don’t like to see her hurt or disappointed.”
Neither, Roman thought, did he. “Fair enough. I would imagine you don’t.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Roman spun on the stool and faced a stern-looking elderly woman with a bun so white and so high it reminded him of the Matterhorn. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held out his hand and tried not to smile at the reluctant appreciation on her face when she accepted. “Roman Salazar.”
“So I heard. I’ve known Frankie Bettencourt since before she could walk. She’s a good girl. A bit rambunctious and headstrong, but she’s a good girl. She deserved that promotion.”
“So I’ve heard.” And so he’d probably be hearing for the foreseeable future.
“Now, Mrs. Hastings—” Bud stepped forward then took one step back when Mrs. Hastings swung on him.
“Don’t you now me, Bud Granger. I might not be school principal any longer, and I might not be able to give you detention, but I can still put you in your place.”
Bud held up his hands in surrender and offered Roman a quick glace of sympathy. Roman had a decision to make. He could surrender, too, or he could make inroads from the start. “Mrs. Hastings, I completely understand your feelings and everyone else’s, as well. I can only imagine how upset you all must be that Frankie wasn’t given the job you clearly expected her to get. The job she obviously deserved.”
“He’s not wrong there,” a male voice muttered from the seniors’ table. The sentiment kicked a good-size hole in Roman’s ego.
“I can only promise to do the best I can as chief. With Frankie’s help.” Roman met Mrs. Hastings’s sparkling eyes. “And I hope you’ll all give me a chance to prove my being here isn’t a mistake.”
“Didn’t say we weren’t going to give you a chance.” Mrs. Hastings tapped her cane twice on the linoleum floor. “I just wanted to say my piece and let you know a lot of us aren’t happy about the entire situation. Frankie shouldn’t have been treated this way.”
“No,” Roman said. “She shouldn’t have.” He surprised himself when he realized he meant those words. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here and I plan to do the job I’ve been hired for. I’m well aware I’ll need to earn your respect. And your trust.”
“You can do that by promising you won’t push Frankie out any farther.”
“Is that what you all think?” Roman couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he’d tried. “That I want to get Frankie fired?”
“Don’t you?” Mrs. Hastings challenged.
“You’re one of Gil’s lackeys, ain’t ya?” A rotund silver-haired man in overalls and a worn San Francisco Giants cap pointed a fork at him. “Just here to do the mayor’s bidding? He’s never liked Frankie. Not since she caught him under the bleachers with Penelope Carter before the spring fling. You ask me, he earned that nickname fair and square. Doesn’t matter who gave it to him.”
Was that what was behind Gil’s overlooking Frankie for the job? Had they dated at one time? Was there still something between them? Roman glanced at Bud, who, much to Roman’s frustration, merely shrugged. The retiring chief was obviously letting him endure this trial by fire on his own.
“Well?” Mrs. Hastings tapped her cane again. “What do you have to say about that?”
Roman glanced over at Holly, who looked to be the only one other than Bud willing to give him a chance. “I can only say one thing, Mrs. Hastings. I plan to do my job. Not the job Mayor Hamilton thinks I should do, but the job where I will put the needs of the community front and center. Always. But I am well aware my word doesn’t mean much at this point. Rest assured, it will. I promise you that.”
The sharp clang of a bell made everyone, Roman included, jump.
“Enough browbeating the boy.” A cackling, craggy voice echoed unseen from the kitchen. “How about we give him a chance? He’s already shown good sense choosing where to chow down.”
“On Frankie’s recommendation.” Roman had to wonder, however, if she’d anticipated the reception he’d receive once his identity was known. “The scones are for her.” He admitted to Holly and earned a thaw in her frosty gaze.
“See that?” The voice surged again. “Now back to eatin’, all of you. Boy’s got time to prove himself. I say we give him that time.”
Roman knew better than to turn his back on Mrs. Hastings. “Ma’am?”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes, but there was an amused twitch to her lips. “You’ll do. For now. Come sit with me and we’ll chat some more. Holly?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hastings?”
“He’ll be joining me for breakfast. You, too, Bud.” She waved her cane at the current chief. “No need in me taking up a booth to myself, and besides, I like men with a healthy appetite. Come on.” She made her way back to the booth near the family in desperate need of napkins.
“You’d best go,” Holly said as she topped off his coffee and the restaurant returned to normal. “Ursula and Mrs. Hastings are pretty much the law of the land in this town. You earn her trust, you’ll be okay. But Chief Salazar?”
“Roman, please.”
“Fine. Roman. Just so you know, earning Frankie’s trust will go a lot further.”
“Understood.” Roman nodded. “Understood.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU FINISH WITH the checklist, Jasper?” Frankie asked the station’s teenage volunteer.
Jasper had arrived, as he usually did, less than fifteen minutes after school let out. Granted, she only knew this because he’d signed in on the call sheet, as she’d been out answering calls. Nothing serious. Just...typical. One frantic panic attack due to a sparking microwave that had set off Carla Bouvenet’s smoke alarm. Jonathan Fitzgibbons now sported an Ace bandage for his sprained ankle thanks to a worn-through porch plank he’d promised to fix two months ago. She’d applied a butterfly bandage to Brian Tart’s hairline because his wife accidentally walloped him with a length of new rain gutter they were trying to install. And then there had been Petunia, Peter Preston’s pet parrot, who took any opportunity to fly out the front door and perch on the highest branch of the historic oak tree across the street in the park. That the parrot knew Frankie by name should have added a little levity to the situation, but given Frankie was now sporting some extensive scrapes and scratches from the untrimmed branches, she’d found herself wondering what the pet bird population might be in other towns. That could become a deciding factor for her future.
She rubbed at the sore spot on her hand where Petunia had pecked her before stepping onto Frankie’s stiffened fingers.
“Sure did.” Jasper glanced up long enough to point to the clipboard hanging near the file cabinet. “Tested all the oxygen tanks, checked the pressure in the hoses, cleaned the masks, you know.” His smile was quick and distracted. “All the usual. It’s a routine now. Doesn’t take me long.”
And, knowing Jasper, he’d been as meticulous as always. “What’re you doing now?” She stepped into the chief’s office just in time to see Jasper click to another window. His laptop sat on top of the desk. Well, more like a table that her father had made for her and Monty for their tenth birthday. How many hours had she spent doing her homework at that table, the sights and sounds of the firehouse so familiar to her? “Jasper.” She folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the chief’s desk. “What’s going on?”
Growing up, she and Monty had also earned reputations—in fact, Mrs. Hastings would have called the pair of them troublemakers. Although in hindsight, they hadn’t come close to what Simon Saxon and his sidekick Charlie Bradley had accomplished in the last couple of years.
Jasper O’Neill, on the other hand, had scared folks with his penchant for black-as-death clothing and a loner attitude that had made those closest to him worry about him. What he’d been hiding, however, was an intelligence trapped by circumstance and years of bullying and misunderstanding. With a mother who had been ill most of his life, an older sister overwhelmed by responsibility as the main money earner in the house and a younger sister he helped care for, Jasper had been drowning. It had been Paige Bradley and her now husband, Fletcher, who had looked deeper int
o his situation and lent a helping hand.
Now, at almost eighteen and graduating with honors next spring, Jasper had finally come into his own to become one of Frankie’s most reliable volunteers at the firehouse. Despite being too young to be an official volunteer, he had proven himself by helping stop a rash of increasingly violent vandalisms. Having the local sheriff and other deputies take him under their wings had made a tremendous difference, as had the college extension courses he’d been taking the last year and a half. Now that Jasper had embraced that which made him so unique, there would be no stopping him.
“Jasper, what are you up to?” she asked again when he didn’t respond.
“Nothing, really.” He flinched, and Frankie couldn’t tell if he was feeling guilty or just uncertain. “I was...” He trailed off. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell someone.” He clicked open the other window and sat back. “Here. Go ahead. Look.”
“I will only if you want me to.” Frankie was never one to push someone into talking about something they didn’t want to.
“No, I want you to. It’s kind of your fault, anyway.”
Curious, Frankie moved in and scanned the website on the screen. Even as she struggled to keep her voice calm, her heart surged into her throat. “You’re thinking of becoming a firefighter? Jasper, that’s great!” He wasn’t a hugger, so she settled for patting his shoulder.
“You sure?” Jasper didn’t look convinced. “I’ve been going back and forth between this and the military, looking at different options as far as what will help me get into crime scene investigation. I like fire.”
Frankie choked on a laugh.
“Okay, that sounded weird.” Jasper joined her and offered a quick smile. “I get how it all works, you know? The chemical reactions, the way fire acts. I love the process of puzzling it all together. And I think I’d be really good at it.”
The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish Page 5