“It doesn’t have to be. I don’t think this has to be a big, complicated deal. I do know I don’t want tonight to end here, like this.”
“Maybe it’s better that it does. At least for the sake of my pants.” If not my convictions.
Jesse ran one hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go upstairs and get those into water or soap—or whatever you do to get blueberry out of something—and I’ll clean up here? Then we’ll figure out what comes next. No sweeping off of any feet.”
It seemed as good a plan as any. She needed fifteen minutes out of the pull of his eyes, away from the way he seemed to fill the room and cloud her thinking. “Okay.”
Charlotte dashed upstairs, slipped into a pair of jeans and filled the bathroom sink—the beautiful bathroom sink Jesse had installed three days ago—with cold water and soap. She dunked the stained pants into the sink and scrubbed a few seconds before stopping to stare at herself in the mirror.
What do you want, Charlotte? What do you want to do about that man downstairs in your kitchen?
She knew Jesse. Knew his character and personality as if they’d spent years together instead of weeks. He probably thought she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her prayer over the food, but she’d seen it. It was so strong she’d nearly felt it. Still, all that awareness wasn’t the same as a man of faith, a man whose soul could match with hers. In all the time they’d spent together they’d only skittered around the topic of church and God. She knew his dreams, but not his values. And quite frankly, it wasn’t hard to guess at his reputation where women were concerned.
And then there was the question of firefighting. It wasn’t his whole life, as the police force had been for Dad, but it was a big part. Would it always be there, or would his volunteer duties eventually fade as his business grew to take more and more of his time? And was dating your general contractor ever a good idea? The questions seemed to rise up and swallow her clarity the same way the rising bubbles rose up to cover her hands.
Mo wandered into the bathroom, drawn out of his hiding spot in her bedroom by the lights and sounds of her spontaneous load of laundry. Charlotte pulled her hands from the suds and pointed a finger at the cat. “The jury’s still out on you, mister.”
Mo simply sat down on the tile and wrapped his tail around his legs, a picture of all the calm and patience she currently lacked. If he had any advice or warning, she couldn’t decipher it from his eyes. Charlotte would have to work this one out on her own.
She touched the framed photo of Mima as she passed it on the hallway table at the top of the stairs. What do I do, Mima? Why is this man in my life now when you aren’t here to tell me what to do with him?
Charlotte had enough married friends to know that to come downstairs to a man responsible for a spotless kitchen was a wonder indeed. He had his stuff packed up in the grocery bags but his face told her he wasn’t the least bit ready to leave. “Talk to me,” he said as he sat down at the table she now noticed was set with two cups of coffee. “Tell me what’s whirling around in that pretty head of yours.”
She sat down. Talking about this was a good idea, and she was glad for the table between them. She knew he wasn’t clouding her thinking on purpose, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t very good at it. “I’m worried this won’t turn out to be such a good idea.”
“Because I’m working on your house.”
She owed him the further explanation. “That’s just part of it.” She ran her hands across the thighs of her jeans, wiping the last of the water from the upstairs washing project. “My dad was a policeman.”
His face changed, understanding darkening his features. “I didn’t know that.”
There was a lot he didn’t know. That was the whole point. “I’ve spent a lot of nights watching my mom get eaten alive from the stress of waiting for bad news. I made a promise to myself that I’d never let myself in for that kind of life.”
Jesse leaned back in his chair. “You’ve known I was a firefighter literally from the moment you met me.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t be friends with you.” That felt like a weak defense.
“Friends don’t kiss like that. But this doesn’t have to become superserious overnight, Charlotte. It’s not an all-or-nothing proposition.”
Charlotte’s chest was filled with a mixed-up host of reactions. He’d felt it. Of course he’d felt it—how could he not feel what she felt humming between them? Only Jesse looked so much more in control of the situation than she felt. “Look, I’m kind of an impulsive person.” Was she explaining her choice in backsplash tiles or how she’d kissed him back?
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Did he have to smile like that? All velvety and cavalier?
She struggled forward, telling the flutter in her stomach to behave itself. “It makes it hard to hang on to certain...challenging convictions.”
Jesse gave her a look that said he rather enjoyed challenging people’s convictions. Right—there was one of the problems with this whole situation. “Okay.”
“My faith is really important to me. Maybe more now than it’s been at any point in my life. It’d be a bad idea to get serious with someone who couldn’t share that with me. I know you don’t get that, but—”
“I do get that.”
She hadn’t expected that response. “You do?”
“I liked your grace. Never heard it done quite that way before. I’m okay with it.”
“I’m glad to hear that, but it goes a bit deeper for me than table grace. There are—”
He cut her off. “Do you know I said yes to emceeing the talent show at your church tomorrow night? I figured maybe it was time I stopped ditching that stuff.”
Oh, he’d managed to say the one thing that made resistance harder. “Clark didn’t tell me you’d said yes.”
“I told him I wanted to tell you myself. Surprise you at the end of tonight. I’ve seen you, and Chief, and Melba, and even JJ when you talk about going to church. I want to know what it is you all have over there. I just don’t know how to try it or if it will stick. But you came up with the perfect introduction, didn’t you? Doesn’t that count for something to you?”
Lord, couldn’t he be a jerk or something? You know me, I’m going to go all optimistic and hopeful now and I’m having enough trouble thinking practically already. “If we’re going to be...” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence without revealing how very attractive she found him, and Jesse surely needed no encouragement in that department.
“Hey,” he said, taking her hand. She knew she ought to pull away, but she couldn’t muster up the resistance. “Who actually knows what we’re going to be? I’m not so sure why you have to plot this out right now. Can’t we just wait and see?”
He meant well, but Charlotte knew herself, and she had a bad habit of throwing herself headlong into relationships that ought never to have been pursued. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know there was some serious chemistry between them, and that could make it hard to pull back before it was too late. “Well, the term playing with fire does come to mind.”
“I’m a fireman. I think we’ll be safe. How about I finish my coffee and leave like the gentleman I am? I’ll see you at the talent show tomorrow night, and maybe we can try a dinner Sunday. Someplace easy and friendly, like Dellio’s.”
Those events—she refused to call them dates, even in her head—felt safe.
“I won’t even be sitting near you at the talent show. There’ll be something like sixty people between us. Then at dinner we can talk some more,” he continued. “I can hear you say grace again.”
If he was willing to come to church and be part of the talent show, if he was willing to let her say grace over burgers in public, there had to be an openness to faith about him. He was putting in an effort; she ought to at least meet
him halfway on this. “Okay.”
Jesse finished his coffee in one gulp—something she’d seen Melba’s fireman husband do, so it must be a professional requirement—then stood up to leave. She stood up, as well.
He held his hand out, an oversize request for a formal handshake. “Friendly, see?”
When she offered her hand, he pulled it to his lips and left a soft kiss there. “Well, mostly.” Without any further explanation than that, Jesse gathered up his things and headed out the door.
* * *
Jesse stood in his kitchen, staring at the still unemptied grocery bags, sorting through the puzzle of his feelings. Exactly what had happened tonight? He knew how to wow a lady, always had. It was an extension—however egotistical—of his urge to please people. He liked making customers happy, helping fire victims, making women feel special.
Whatever it was he felt for Charlotte, it was a whole new thing. He found himself disturbingly desperate for her—but not at all in a physical sense; it was so much more than that. This was much more consuming than a merely physical attraction. There was some gaping, empty hole he couldn’t seem to hide from her. Worse, not only could she see it, she effortlessly filled it. As he paced his kitchen, Jesse had the uncomfortable sensation that his life had just cracked open to make room for her and nothing else would ever fill the space that made.
He tried to tell himself that urge to make her happy, to watch the delight spark up in her eyes, was ordinary, an ego boost, the way it was with everyone else. Only with Charlotte, it wasn’t. It was the closest thing to a purely selfless urge he’d ever had, and he had no idea what to do with that. Oh, sure, lots of people thought of his work at the firehouse as selfless, but it really wasn’t. It was a hero thing. He liked playing the hero—the stakes at the firehouse were just a bit higher than when he built someone the garage of their dreams.
The old Jesse would have kissed her again even when he knew better. He’d never, ever have pressed his advantage with a woman, but he would have been far bolder than he was tonight. It was as if someone had changed the rules on him without notice.
Without his consent. Chief Bradens really was right: Charlotte hadn’t learned how to go in small steps—not in relationships or renovations or maybe even in life. Could he be the man to show her how to slow things down? Lighten up and have a little more fun? Learn that a few dates and kisses could be just that—a few dates and kisses? It was worth a dinner at Dellio’s to find out.
And beyond that...he’d figure it out when he got there.
Chapter Twelve
Well, who would have guessed it?
Jesse stood on the stage of Gordon Falls Community Church’s meeting hall, hand on the microphone, about to open the church’s talent show as its guest emcee and baffled by the open welcome in all the faces he could see. He’d thought of himself as an intruder—an impostor up here on the stage, where someone well-known in the church should have been. No one else seemed to see it that way. Everyone had been nothing but warm and friendly.
“Good evening and welcome to tonight’s Taste of Talent. If you haven’t filled your plate from the dessert table at the back of the room, you don’t know what you’re missing. And hey, if any of you find yourselves overcome with the urge to bring me some of that raspberry cheesecake, by all means don’t hold back.” He couldn’t help himself from directing that last remark right at Charlotte.
Instead of feeling awkward, the past half hour of setup had been surprisingly fun. What he’d told Charlotte was true; he’d never had anything against going to the church. So many of his friends already did. It was just that he dreaded the hurdle of that first visit. By happenstance—or design—this gig handed him the perfect opening. “We’re going to start things out tonight with a touch of class, and a lot of brass. Let’s listen to the Senior High bell quartet.”
He looked out over the sea of friendly faces from his stool at stage left, seeing proud, smiling parents among them. Honestly, even here he felt like a bit of a celebrity—and he was a man given to enjoying attention. “Aren’t they talented?” he asked the audience, as the quartet cleared their many bells from the stage. “There’s more where that came from. This is one talented congregation, I’m telling you. Here’s what’s up next...”
And so the evening progressed, act by surprising act. Jesse’s initial comments about the flood of talent were just to be nice at first, playing to the audience. Eventually, they gave way to genuine astonishment, soundly trouncing Jesse’s preconceptions of hokey church festivities. Max Jones, Charlotte’s cousin and no stranger to the firehouse through his sister, JJ, did a hysterical lip-synch of an Elvis tune with the high school boy he’d been mentoring for almost a year, Simon Williams. “Talk about true rocking and rolling,” Jesse cracked as the pair—who both used wheelchairs—popped a dual pair of wheelies and spins as they moved offstage. Jesse felt a warm glow as he watched Simon’s dad, Brian, also a firefighter, give his son a standing ovation. The kid had come a long way, and he knew that Brian credited the support of this church as much as the partnership Simon had with Max. Jesse and Max—and a few of the other younger firefighters—had made a few mistakes in their efforts to help Simon, but everyone had learned their lesson, and even Simon’s mom had given Jesse a warm welcome.
And where had Fire Marshal Chad Owens hidden his surprising juggling talents? He was normally a laid-back guy, but the audience hung their mouths open when he proved a pretty talented trickster. Those open mouths served them well, for Chad’s finale was to juggle a dozen of his wife, Jeannie’s, beloved chocolate caramels, tossing them into the audience as his final trick. Jesse would have eaten a handful if the sticky confections wouldn’t have rendered him speechless for five minutes at least. He stuck with one, making a big show of chewing with the appropriate mmms. “Well now,” he managed, still sounding as if he had a mouthful, “guess they really meant it when they called this Taste of Talent.”
There were other acts—some silly, some heartwarming. Even the regrettable ones—someone needed to tell Nick Owens an eleven-minute drum solo was hard on the ears—brought a smile and a hearty round of applause from the audience. The trio of curly-blond-haired girls who couldn’t have been more than five didn’t do much more than sway and spin in their frilly pink tutus, but no one cared. Instead, everyone cheered and snapped photos like paparazzi when the ballerinas took their bows, bursting into louder applause, mixed with laughter, when one little girl rushed over and hugged Jesse’s leg, leading him to take her hand and twirl her like a ballroom dancer as she left the stage.
Every time Jesse thought the evening couldn’t get more enjoyable, some new moment would capture his heart. He was having such a terrific time, Jesse decided he’d have to eat his words and thank Charlotte for pulling him in to the event. Charlotte must have been thinking the same thing, for every time he caught her eyes, her smile broadcast “See, I told you this would be fun.”
What really brought the house down, however, was one of the final acts. Jesse knew JJ’s husband, Alex, played the ukulele and was known for his campy musical sense. As such, it wasn’t a big stunner when he took the stage and began strumming “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” What no one saw coming was when Violet Sharpton and Karl Kennedy—of Karl’s Koffee fame—sashayed onstage and broke into a snappy duet. No one knew either of them could sing, but they were fabulous. When they added an adorable half-limped, cane-assisted little soft-shoe dance on the final verse, Karl yelping, “Slow down, son, I can’t hoof it that fast with my bad hip,” to a guffawing Alex, the crowd spared no effort to urge them on. They got a standing ovation, and deserved one. Jesse himself was smiling and laughing so hard he could barely take the microphone as the curtain behind him closed.
“I don’t know how we’re going to follow that act, folks,” Jesse proclaimed, wiping his eyes. He hid his satisfaction at the frantic scrambling behind him from the o
ther side of the curtain. “Oh, no, wait,” he said in mock surprise. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Drums behind him hit the ba-dump-ching that was the standard musical punctuation for bad jokes, and Jesse knew his own surprise was nearly ready. He’d successfully managed to keep his contribution a secret. If a church was going to ask him to emcee a talent show, they’d better be prepared for what they got.
A hidden set of drums began a steady beat behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting for the first time ever on this or any stage, for your listening enjoyment...” A base guitar joined in with a bluesy swagger. “I give you...Jesse Sykes and the Red Suspenders!”
The curtain parted to reveal a band composed entirely of hidden talents from the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department, decked out in black shirts and those cheesy red plastic fire helmets Wally’s sister had found at the local party store. And, of course, red suspenders. The applause and laughter from the audience was enough to fuel Jesse’s gloat for a month.
It had started out as a joke, a wisecrack from Yorky when they found out Jesse had been cornered into serving as the evening’s master of ceremonies. A “wouldn’t it be funny if...” that took on more and more momentum until the idea seemed too good to pass up. When Wally shared that he played the drums and Tom Matthews offered to fish his bass guitar out of the attic, the Red Suspenders were born. Jesse reached behind him, knowing Tom held out his next props. As the lead guitar riff began, the hoots of encouragement and surprise doubled. When Jesse donned the red hat and a pair of sunglasses, the crowd went wild. Chief Bradens was laughing so hard he was alternating between wiping his eyes and hiding them.
Saved by the Fireman Page 11