Saved by the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  Going to great lengths to rehearse in secret, the guys had worked out a squeaky-clean, church-worthy four-song list that dipped into gospel, soul and just enough rock to enthrall the youth group. By the second song, the audience was clapping along. By the third song, they were on their feet. When the bass guitar and drums kicked into the familiar introduction to “Stand by Me,” Jesse was pretty sure he saw Charlotte go pink. This was going to be fun.

  * * *

  Charlotte watched Jesse up there on that stage and felt her heart run off against her wishes. She didn’t want to be falling for this boisterous, all-too-charming fireman, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do to stop it. Melba sat next to her and would catch her eye after this remark or that heart-slaying grin, and she tried to feel neutral about the guy. Clearly Melba could see she was failing. Of course, Melba had no qualms about pairing off with a man from the fire department, even if she was kind about Charlotte’s resistance.

  Charlotte had gone so far as to talk to Clark about it. Clark had grown up in a firefighting family—the son of the former chief—and he had freely shared that things had been hard on his mom. He told her he understood her hesitation and respected it. “I remember how much my mom had to endure,” he said. “I understand why you’d choose to avoid it. I’ll say this, though. If the right guy comes around and happens to wear a uniform, I think you’ll find a way to handle it.”

  Charlotte was terrified the right guy was standing right in front of her. She shut her eyes for a moment, even as she felt Jesse’s presence from the distance across the room. Jesse was dead wrong about a crowded room making being with him any safer. Lord, You know the effect that man has on me. If this isn’t where I should be heading, I’m going to need an escape. I’m losing perspective.

  Melba leaned over and whispered in Charlotte’s ear, “He keeps looking right at you, doesn’t he? I mean, it sure looks like it.”

  That was not helpful. Charlotte had spent the past twenty minutes trying to tell herself the sensation of Jesse singling her out in the crowd was just an emotional illusion. The trick of a good entertainer—an amazing entertainer, really, Charlotte admitted to herself as she watched him sing on the stage, backed up by the rest of the Red Suspenders. The combination of silly plastic fire hat and bad-boy black sunglasses was downright irresistible.

  As the band began the introduction from what Charlotte knew had to be “Stand by Me,” Jesse took off his sunglasses and made a show of peering into the crowd. Charlotte told herself to slump down in her chair, useless as that tactic might be. Her breath—which had momentarily stopped—let out when Jesse called, “Maria? Maria Bradens? Where are you, darlin’? I know you like this one.”

  Oh, please let him just play this to Maria. Don’t let him realize what his voice singing this does to me.

  “Home with the sitter!” Clark called back, laughing.

  That was right. Maria wasn’t even in the building. With a pulse that ricocheted between fear and thrill, Charlotte watched as Jesse unhitched the cordless microphone from its stand. He stared straight at Charlotte, those high-voltage eyes at full force. “Well now, I’ll need someone else. Another fine young lady who might be partial to this song.” His voice was silken, all confidence and charisma as he stepped down off the stage and began walking right toward her. “Any takers?”

  Charlotte felt as if her cheeks were as red as his hat. She tried to hide her face behind her hands but Melba pulled them down. As the fireman behind the keyboard launched into the song, Jesse passed his hat to Clark, pulled Charlotte to her feet and began to sing the lyrics, about not being afraid even when the night was dark. It was as if he sang directly to every fear and every worry. His voice seemed to find every bit of resistance she was trying to hang on to, every memory of her mother alone and staring at the unused place setting on their kitchen table. He was pulling all the stops out, pulling her under in the process.

  When he turned back toward the stage, Charlotte practically fell into the chair. She’d forgotten how to think. She’d forgotten how to breathe. When he pitched his voice up into a soulful wail for the second verse, showing a level of talent she’d never expected—nor had anyone else, from the level of applause that was roaring up from the audience—she’d have followed him anywhere.

  And that, right there, was the problem. He is irresistible.

  What he did next hit Charlotte as clearly as if someone had tossed a glass of water in her face. Two rows down, Jesse found the high school French teacher and began singing to her. The woman looked exactly as Charlotte had felt when she’d been in that position: dazzled. Jesse asked her how to say “Stand by Me” in French and began singing the chorus in French, even getting her to sing with him.

  Was his attention—the attention that, a moment ago she thought was just for her—an act? She watched the woman lay her hand on her chest and sigh, realizing she’d done the exact same thing herself. When he picked a third woman out of the audience and charmed her just as effectively, a foolish, hollow feeling crept up Charlotte’s chest. She had no idea if Jesse was genuine in his attention to her, genuine in his attention to each woman he’d singled out of the audience, or simply applying his talents at showmanship.

  Either way, it drove home a point she’d managed to miss—or chose to miss. Hadn’t Jesse made it clear after that kiss back at the cottage that he felt no pressure for them to be serious? She’d been too dazed then to recognize what he was really saying—just as she was barely clearheaded enough now to realize the truth.

  He wasn’t ready to offer her anything serious.

  Jesse, who displayed so much of his charm but hid so much of his nature, who gave away his talents but locked up his dreams, who was as impressed by her drive as he was bewildered by it, didn’t know how to truly, deeply commit. Not to God, not to a woman, not to his business plans that never seemed to get off the ground—not even to just one woman when it came to dedicating a special song.

  Worse yet, part of her didn’t even care. Even in the face of all her reservations, he enthralled her as he caught her eyes one last time before he stepped back up onto the stage. Despite everything she just saw, her breath caught as it felt as though he was singing just to her.

  Charlotte was defenseless. The past few minutes had startled her into the awareness that she would fall for him far too easily—and get her heart broken when he stopped short of returning that love. On her good days, her resistance might stand up for a while. On a bad day, she’d give in instantly. Hadn’t his kiss in her kitchen proved that? Her attraction to Jesse overrode her good sense even when she tried to stop it. With a gulp she realized that if he had tried to kiss her right in the middle of that song, with his eyes pulling her in like that, she very well might have let him, and returned it with the same intensity if not more. In front of everyone. Despite all the reasons she knew she didn’t want to get involved with him. Because she wanted to get involved with him. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him. She’d always imagined herself falling that hard for the perfect guy—and Jesse Sykes was not the perfect guy. He was a great guy, an amazing guy, but he was not the right guy for her.

  Sure, it was impulsive. It was probably even cowardly and childish, but none of that stopped Charlotte from making the quickest exit possible while the crowd moved toward the stage to congratulate the Red Suspenders for stealing the show.

  She was glad she’d walked to the church tonight, grateful for the space and dark and calm to help sort out her thoughts. Jesse was magnetic—in every sense the word implied. As she worked the brand-new lock on her front door, she recalled the unsettling realization she’d come to the other night: her extravagant renovation plans were partially to keep Jesse around.

  Lord, I’m a mess. I’m getting all tangled up here. Help!

  As she dropped her handbag in the hallway, her cell phone rang. She didn’t even have to look at the screen to
know it was Jesse. “Hey, where’d you go?” He sounded so exuberant.

  “I’m home.”

  “Home? You went home?”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied, leaning against the wall without even switching on the light. “Look, that was just a bit much for me.”

  She heard him push out a breath. “What? The song? I know you like that one. I was just having fun.”

  Could he have picked worse words? “Just having fun.”

  “Wait, what’s wrong here? Did I embarrass you? I’m sorry if I did that, okay? I thought you’d like it. I like singing to you. You looked like you were having fun.”

  She couldn’t help her reply. “Oh, they were all having fun, I’m sure. You’re quite the showman.”

  Someone tried to grab his attention, and she heard Jesse shoo them away. “Are you upset that I sang to you in front of everyone like that?”

  She wasn’t, and that was part of the problem. “No. It’s just... I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of there, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay. I’m not quite sure what I did wrong here, but I don’t want to leave it like this. Talk to me. Better yet, give me ten minutes and I’ll be over there.”

  “No, don’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what a stab that might be but then wondering—with the way he was always careful to hide what he was feeling—if that would be any kind of a dent to him at all.

  “I’m at a loss here, Charlotte. C’mon, talk to me.”

  “It’s... I’m okay. Stunned, maybe. Give me time.”

  “I sang to lots of people. But I especially sang to you. We’ve got a history with that song, don’t we? Wait...are you upset that I didn’t sing it only to you? Is that what this is about?”

  It sounded so petty, so hopelessly infatuated when he said it, that Charlotte cringed and sank against the wall. There was more to it than that, but she couldn’t put it into words. She couldn’t even answer him.

  “Whoa. It’s not like that. It was an impulse, an entertainer thing.” After a moment he said, “I’m a jerk. A show-off. Let’s talk about this. Dinner tomorrow, right?”

  It wouldn’t help. She’d just see his eyes and the whole tumbling would start all over again.

  “Charlotte...don’t make this into something it wasn’t. If you won’t let me come over there now, at least let’s do dinner like we planned.”

  “I just need to...I don’t know, sort this out somehow. Good night, Jesse, you were amazing. Really, really amazing.”

  She heard him fending off someone else, then come back to the phone. “Dinner. I’m not hanging up until you agree to dinner.”

  She didn’t have the nerve to fight him off right now. “Okay. Dinner.” She ended the call.

  Would anything change in twenty-four hours? Was she being fair if she didn’t allow Jesse a chance to explain himself? Charlotte had no idea. Half an hour of sitting still and trying to listen for God brought no clarity. Fifteen minutes of petting Mo and staring into his wise yellow eyes didn’t help, either. Knitting—her usual solace of preference—lasted less than ten minutes. Finally, in desperation, Charlotte turned on her laptop to look over her e-mail.

  There, at the top of her inbox, was an e-mail from Borroughs Yarn and Fabric Supply in Stowe, Vermont. Every knitter knew Borroughs was a great company, a maker of high-quality yarns. Now they were developing an admirable reputation for inventive patterns and clever supplies for all kinds of textile arts. They’d already taken many of the steps she’d been trying to get Monarch to consider in utilizing digital media. Their blog was gaining serious traction—they were getting it right and seeing results. And they were asking her to come out for an interview after the upcoming Fourth of July holiday to discuss the possibility of heading up their new online commerce department.

  I need this. Even if I don’t get the job, it will put a bit of space between Jesse and I so I can think. Thank You, Lord. I knew You’d make a way.

  Charlotte replied that she’d let them know as soon as her flights were booked. Now she’d have something to put some space between her and that charismatic, problematic fireman.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Vermont?” Melba looked as shocked as Charlotte had expected her to be.

  “Well, just part of the time. Or all of the time if I want it, and the company and I can come to an agreement.” They were having a spontaneous post-church picnic on a blanket in Melba’s backyard, watching Maria kick and wiggle.

  “Vermont?” Melba said again. “And you’re actually considering it?”

  “I was laid off a month ago today. I’ve been putting out feelers every day since then, and all I’ve got to show for it is a few phone interviews that made me feel inept and a stack of carefully worded deflections.” Maybe it wasn’t such a smart idea to have kept how badly the job search was going from Melba all this time. “There aren’t as many jobs out there as I thought there were. Monarch’s not the only company feeling the pinch.”

  “But you’re here. You want to be here.” Melba scooped up Maria as if to shield her from the news. “Don’t you?”

  Charlotte sighed. “Of course I do. But I need a job, and there don’t seem to be any jobs for me here.” It was the first time she’d spoken that truth out loud, and it let loose the growing tendril of fear in the pit of her stomach she’d been trying so hard to ignore. She’d been so sure of her path up until now. So convinced God had led her straight to Gordon Falls.

  So sure she never wanted to be attached to someone like Jesse Sykes.

  Melba settled Maria into her lap and furrowed her brows. “Did your mom finally get to you?”

  Charlotte’s mom, usually supportive, had lately begun to express concerns about Charlotte buying the cottage and sinking so much of her inheritance into the renovations. She hadn’t said anything during the sale and the first days, but telling comments had started sneaking their way into conversations. A doubt here, a question there, a disapproving silence after renovation updates on the phone. The unspoken current of “and you still don’t have a new job” ran constantly under every conversation. “Let’s just say she hasn’t been enthusiastic in her support.”

  Normally she didn’t let her mother get to her that way, but the undeniable truth was that Charlotte was starting to worry about it herself. The gorgeous high-end kitchen faucet that cost twice as much as the standard—was that really what she needed? The armoire from the antiques store—was that really “the most darling thing she’d ever seen” or had it seemed that way because she’d gotten two rejections that day? The credit card bill had come last night, and it hadn’t been pretty. Sure, she had the funds for now, but she couldn’t—shouldn’t—keep up the spending like this. Things were starting to come unraveled around the edges; she knew it on some level, just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Don’t let her get to you, Charlotte. You love that house. You belong in that house.”

  That was still true. Charlotte leaned back on her elbows, admiring the emerald-green of the leaves as they fluttered in the breeze overhead. It was so wonderfully green here. Everything seemed to be thriving—well, everything except her. “I didn’t say I was going to sell the house. I just may not get to live here for a while.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll still finish the renovations, but I might have to rent it out for a while.”

  Melba twirled a leaf over Maria’s head, watching how her eyes followed the shapes and colors. “I can’t imagine anyone in that house but you. You can’t rent it to just anyone.”

  “Actually,” Charlotte said carefully, keeping her voice as neutral as possible, “I was thinking of asking Jesse if he wanted to rent it. I know he just lives in an apartment now and it might make it easier to finish the renovations.”

  “Yes.” Melba raised her e
yebrows. “Let’s talk about Jesse. About what’s going on between you two. You could have lit half the valley on the sparks flying between you two at the talent show last night.”

  “He’s a showman.”

  “Yes, he is. But while he sang to some other people, it was a whole different thing when he sang to you. And you still haven’t told me about Friday’s dinner in your kitchen. I want to hear it all—everything from dinner to why you disappeared after the talent show.”

  Bit by bit, Charlotte unfolded the entire story of dinner at the cottage. It felt useful to put the thing into words, to try and describe—if she couldn’t hope to explain—what had sprung up between her and Jesse. Melba’s response was an unlikely mix of surprise and “I told you so.” She, of all people, could understand the pile of conflict mounting in Charlotte’s heart.

  “Wow,” she said when Charlotte finished her tale and fell flat on her back on the blanket. “I mean, really, wow. This is a side of Jesse I don’t think anyone’s ever seen. He’s mostly just a goofball around the firehouse, but it seems the man is an insufferable romantic.”

  Charlotte put her hands over her eyes, the vision of Jesse’s magnetic gaze heating her cheeks all over again. “So what if he is? That doesn’t mean he’s capable of—or even looking for—commitment. Come on, your own husband called him ‘an insufferable bachelor.’ I don’t want to be just another member of the Jesse Sykes fan club.”

  “I’m sure you can tell the difference.”

  “No, I can’t. Not yet,” Charlotte admitted, rolling onto her stomach to bury her face in the blanket. “I was defenseless when he sang to me in my kitchen, too. ‘You Send Me’ while he made the Alfredo sauce.”

  “The Sam Cooke song? I think I’d melt right into the Alfredo.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did. And the kiss...” She rolled back over and draped her hand over her face dramatically. “Glory, but that man can kiss. I was a goner. If it hadn’t been for Mo, I’d have been in serious trouble. I am in serious trouble.” She sat up. “That’s what makes it so hard—I can’t tell what’s genuine. If he was just a guy on the make, I don’t think he would have backed off when I asked him to in my kitchen. There’s really something there. But you saw what he did to those other women in the audience. I don’t know what’s real. I’m not even sure he knows.”