“I was just thinking about what it was that specifically drew me to fire science. It’s not like there was a big fire in our neighborhood or anything that really stands out. Like a lot of little boys, I liked the trucks, was enamored with the sirens, the uniforms.” He shrugged. “But like I said, most little boys are. With me, it stuck. It was just what I seemed destined to do.” A smile followed that pronouncement.
“I also had an incredible mentor,” he told her. “Mickey Flynn is one of the best. Not just North Carolina, but the entire country. He spent years in departments, worked his way up the ranks and eventually started teaching master’s courses at the academy where I was enrolled. He’s been an inspiration to me my entire career. He was the first to explain to me that callings from the Lord weren’t just to preach in a pulpit or evangelize on a street corner.”
“He sounds like a great guy.”
“He is.” Cameron’s smile carried a wistfulness that Summer interpreted as respect for his friend. “He’s going through a rough period right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
Cameron hesitated for a moment. Then said, “He’s fighting cancer. But if ever there was a fighter, Mickey is it. He’s gonna come through.”
“I’ll keep him in my prayers,” Summer said.
He glanced over at her, then simply said, “Thank you.”
They were quiet for a bit after that. Cameron then turned the conversation to her.
“What about you?” he asked. “Who were the childhood mentors for you?”
“My mom,” Summer said without hesitation. “She and my grandmother were amazing women. Gram went to be with the Lord many years ago. She and my mother are women of powerful faith who taught all four of us Christian values, how to love, honor and respect each other and...” she said, drawing the word out for dramatic effect, “how to bake a mean chocolate chip cookie.”
That earned a chuckle from Cameron. “Well, I thank your mother and grandmother for that.”
Then, “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Cameron said as they turned into the downtown district. “I know this isn’t the type of date you’re probably used to. But I thought it would be fun.”
The Street Stroll in downtown Cedar Springs was an occasion for merchants to stay open late. The extended shopping hours coupled with a free outdoor concert on the library’s lawn guaranteed crowds on the warm summer evening. Special deals drew bargain hunters and those who just wanted to get a bit of fresh air.
Cameron parked the car in a municipal lot. He slipped his hand into Summer’s as if holding hands while walking down Main Street was normal for both of them.
With a start that gave her a moment’s pause, Summer realized it was normal. For other people.
But for her, the intimacy of holding hands seemed too much too soon. Without being obvious about it, she freed her hand from his by reaching for a Street Stroll brochure in one of the corner stands.
A lot of residents were out and about, and the atmosphere was festive.
Main Street lived up to its name, serving as a centerpiece for Cedar Springs. In addition to places that existed in Summer’s youth, like Mercer’s Hardware and the quilting and fabric shop where she’d spent many hours picking out fabrics for doll clothes, there were all sorts of new places including restaurants, specialty shops and even a few art galleries.
“You’re right about Main Street changing,” she said as they passed a small internet café. “When I was growing up, there were a few shops bookended by the library and City Hall, but nothing like this. It looks like a lovely little village.”
“Exactly,” Cameron said. “Cedar Springs has really gone through something of a renaissance. The grocery store that used to be on Main Street moved out to the Commerce Plaza with other big-box retailers. That was a couple of years ago,” Cameron said. “With more and more people moving here from Raleigh and Fayetteville, it’s almost like a suburb of those cities.”
Summer smiled. “A small town with a city vibe.”
“Exactly.”
“But not really so small anymore,” she said. “I read in the paper that the crime rate has gone up.”
“That’s one of the downsides that comes with growth,” Cameron said. “We’ve seen some residual problems in law enforcement and emergency management. On the fire side, we’ve had some unsolved arsons. And there’s a task force that’s been looking into a few things that we think might be linked to organized crime.”
“Organized crime? In Cedar Springs?” Summer said with a little laugh. “I’ve been gone for a little while, but not that long. There’s nothing here to attract that sort of activity.”
Cameron gave her a sidelong look. “Exactly.”
“Howdy, Chief Cam,” a man said as he passed by. He tipped his hat to Summer, who smiled. “Evening, ma’am.”
“Good evening,” she replied.
Cameron said hello and as they continued their stroll, Summer observed. “You won’t find that in the big city.”
He smiled. “You’ve got me there.”
“The downtown revitalization program has worked so well that city planners are looking at some other areas to replicate the design,” he said. “They’re bringing in an architect and community planner who’s going to present his findings, and then the planning commission will make its recommendations.”
“Those recommendations will undoubtedly be to the detriment of town history and property owners.”
He looked at her askance. “What would make you think that?”
“My sister, Spring—the doctor—is into historic preservation and isn’t at all happy with what she’s seen so far. The plans roll straight through our property.”
“No site has been selected,” Cameron said. “The architect hasn’t even made a preliminary design. There will be plenty of public meetings for residents to give input. Only after all of the sites and designs have been studied will the City Council vote. It’s far from a done deal.”
“That’s not what I hear,” Summer said. “And I read in the Gazette that Mayor Howell seems particularly keen on getting this project pushed through, no matter what.”
“There are a lot of rumors going around, but rumors aren’t fact,” Cameron said as they passed a young family. The father was holding a curly haired toddler while the mother pushed a large and complicated-looking stroller that presumably contained an infant.
“It’s been controversial,” Cameron said. “But no one disputes the fact that the Main Street revitalization effort worked. Five years ago, downtown was practically a ghost town. Now it’s a vibrant oasis.”
Summer paused at a tall pedestal display featuring a curious statue.
“Those are paper clips and bolts,” she said pointing to the figurine on the pedestal.
With a hand at her back, Cameron steered her inside the nearby art gallery, its double doors open to entice strollers to consider a look-see.
“Good evening,” a woman in a black dress, black tights and high-heeled black boots greeted them. “Welcome to Object d’Art. My name is Allison. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like additional information on.”
She handed each of them a double-sided placard. “All of our artists specialize in reclaimed or recycled materials.”
“I noticed the bolts and paperclip piece outside,” Summer said.
The art gallery assistant told them with a smile. “The artist scavenged the site after the old Piggly Wiggly was torn down.”
“Is it all contemporary art?” Summer asked, as Cameron went to inspect a large collage hanging on a wall.
“For the most part.”
Summer thanked the woman and then joined Cameron in looking at the artwork. As they were leaving, Allison invited them to the opening of a new exhibit. She gave each of them a little card and a chocolate truffle in a lacy
paper cup.
“Please, if you don’t take them, I’ll eat them all. I got them at Sweetings this morning and there are three left.”
“Thanks,” Cameron said, accepting the treat.
They ventured back outside to continue their walk. “When did black become the avant-garde and go-to color for the art world?” he asked, as he took her hand.
She glanced down at their clasped hands but didn’t say anything or pull back this time.
“It has to do with keeping the focus on the arts,” Summer said. “At least that’s what I told Winter when she asked that very question when we were in Atlanta a while back. We were attending the gallery opening for one of her friends and in pink, I stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of black-on-black clothing.”
Cameron chuckled. “I’m sure you were beautiful.”
Summer glanced at him and smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
To deflect the sudden familiarity, she decided to take the conversation in another direction.
“I’ve never seen you at First Memorial, so I take it you worship at one of the two other Common Ground congregations.”
He nodded. “I’m a member of The Fellowship.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of that. Is it a new church in Cedar Springs?”
“Relatively,” Cameron said. “Pastor Rick and Theresa Hines started the ministry about five years ago. It began by meeting in a school cafeteria and has grown into a dynamic and diverse congregation of more than eighteen hundred members.”
The shock must have been evident on her face. “That’s incredible growth for a new congregation. Where are the people coming from?”
“A lot of members of The Fellowship live or work right here in town. Some drive in from Raleigh and Fayetteville. And there is a fairly large contingent that drives in or takes one of the church buses and travel about one hundred miles to get to services.”
“Really?”
“Sure. The transportation ministry has an entire fleet of buses and minivans to get people to services and activities, like a car wash that the youth missions team is having. I’m signed up to help out. Want to go wash some cars to help them raise money for an upcoming missions trip?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Sounds like fun and for a good cause. But buses to church? That’s dedicated,” she said. “I cannot fathom driving that distance to go to a worship service. In Macon, our church was about ten minutes away and that seemed far compared to what I was used to. We all, my sisters and I, I mean, we grew up and were baptized at First Memorial here in town. It was all of a two-minute drive to get to church, five minutes if there was traffic. Sometimes we just walked to Sunday school and would come home after morning worship with Mom or Dad.”
“First Memorial Church of Cedar Springs?”
“Yes.
“Hmm,” Cameron said.
Before she could ask what that meant, he continued. “The growth of The Fellowship has sort of matched that of Cedar Springs. You know, I never really thought about it in that way,” Cameron said. “Hmm.”
“What?” Summer asked.
“Just thinking. That makes me wonder if the police chief should have a meeting with the head of the security teams at both The Fellowship and Common Ground.”
“Your church has a security team?”
“Congregations of any size should. Even a small church, say one hundred members or so, needs to have someone who is security-conscious. Are the hedges trimmed so intruders can’t hide? Is there sufficient lighting in the parking lot? The bigger the congregation, the bigger the potential security issues.”
Summer shook her head. “I guess you’re right. I just never thought about it. Growing up at First Memorial, there were deacons or trustees who saw to those things.”
Summer paused at a trash can to toss away the paper cup from the chocolate treat and to lick her fingers.
“That was good. I’m going to have to check out Sweetings,” she said. “This is the third time someone has mentioned the shop.”
“The stuff they make should be outlawed,” he said tossing his paper cup as well. “It’s just that good.”
“Well, that’s a positive recommendation.”
When Summer turned, she let out a small gasp.
“What?”
“Look,” she said, pointing toward a window display of decorative teapots at the small shop closest to them.
His gaze followed hers. “You’re a tea drinker?”
She nodded. “I have a collection of teapots.”
“Want to go in?”
She bit her bottom lip, unsure. This was supposed to be a date. But it had been his idea to go on the Street Stroll. Wasn’t the whole purpose to go into the shops?
So far this was ranking as one of the oddest dates she’d ever been on. First a discussion about crime and city management; now she wanted to go shopping.
“You sure you don’t mind?”
He glanced at the sign on the window and taking her hand headed toward the door. “There’s a Street Stroll special going on. Buy one, get one free.”
Summer grinned.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged from the shop, Cameron holding a medium-sized white-and-lavender shopping bag trimmed with lace. It should have looked ridiculous in his hands, but the image of the big man with the dainty bag made Summer smile.
“Promise me I get the first cup from the blend,” he said.
“Deal,” Summer answered. “It was so nice of her to make that special blend for me.”
“I think she recognized a true tea connoisseur walking in the door.”
“Well, Tea Time just got a satisfied customer who will be returning,” Summer said. She paused and turned to face him. “I really am glad we got together tonight. I was so nervous. I haven’t been out on a date in...well, it’s been forever. I was a wreck leading up to tonight. And,” she said, glancing at the ground for a moment, “the reason I tried to bail yesterday was because I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Dating again. The idea of it.”
She decided to keep to herself the part about him making her wary.
“Most women wouldn’t admit such a thing.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “I, sir, am not most women.”
“I got that,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I thought you were a lot like my ex-wife and I was thinking about canceling on you.”
That stopped Summer in her tracks. She gazed at him open-mouthed, not sure which part surprised her more, the mention of an ex-wife or that he’d wanted bail on the date with her. She also didn’t know which revelation stung more.
“I...” She shook her head as if to clear it. Since she’d initially canceled on him, she’d get to that later. “What do I have in common with your ex-wife?”
He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “You’re both from wealthy families.”
She frowned. “That’s pretty generic.”
He shrugged again. Summer got the distinct impression that there was more, but he seemed reticent.
“How long have you been...?”
“Divorced?”
She winced as if he’d uttered a profanity.
“I take it there’s never been a divorce in the Darling family.”
“Well, no. Not to my knowledge. Spring is the family historian and she’d know for sure. The history dates to the early 1600s....”
“Of course it does,” he muttered.
“But I don’t know much beyond my great-great-grandparents.”
Cameron snorted. “And they were all in the social registry, of course.”
She cocked her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cameron shrugged. “You know. Wealthy people keep track of that sort of thi
ng. My guess is there aren’t a lot of people in Cedar Springs who can trace their family tree to the fifteenth-century.”
Spring had to concede that point, but she still didn’t like what seemed to be a deliberate snub from him.
“Genealogy is important to a lot of people. And,” she added, “for the record, there are several people who can trace their family’s roots even further than my family.”
Cameron held his hands up, acquiescing to her. “All right, all right. Can we talk about something else?”
“Yes,” Summer said. “I’d like to talk about going home. Now.”
* * *
Later that night, Summer stared at her reflection in the mirror at her vanity table.
They’d managed to avoid the awkward first-date good-night moment at her front door. Because once she got the door unlocked, she’d practically slammed it in his face.
Talk about first-date disasters. If she didn’t know better, she would have guessed that Cameron deliberately goaded her tonight. What would have been the purpose, though?
Then a possible reason dawned on her. He was peeved that she’d turned him down twice: first at Manna when he’d asked her to dinner, and then yesterday when she’d backed out of their date. She’d only agreed to the Street Stroll date because she’d planned to go anyway.
She should have trusted her intuition about him. Intuition said run for the hills, but what had she ultimately done? Investigated the valley and gotten caught in the brambles.
Her sisters, she knew, would demand a full accounting of the date. That was something Summer was not looking forward to.
Holding her bare hands before her, she studied them, and then again her reflection in the mirror.
The bare ring finger on her left hand told a story. But that particular chapter had ended...and not with the happily-ever-after she’d anticipated. The chapter of her life with Garrett had indeed ended, and she’d turned the page on to a new one, literally and figuratively. She was in a new yet familiar place. She had a new house, was making new friends, and there was the opportunity for even more. If she wanted it.
It wouldn’t be with Cameron Jackson, though. That she was certain of.
The Fireman Finds a Wife Page 6