January On Fire: A Firefighter Fake Marriage Romance

by Chase Jackson

  “So the wedding is still on?” I asked.

  “We will proceed with the event as scheduled,” he confirmed.

  “Great, thanks.” I was about to hang up the phone, but then I got an idea:

  “Would it be possible to make another reservation?” I asked.

  “That would depend, sir…” the man said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well…”

  ***

  As soon as I pulled my truck into the parking lot of Elizabeth Park, I could appreciate why Cassidy had chosen it for our wedding venue.

  I had been to the park before, as a kid; we had gone on school field trips here, and I even had one distant memory of our mom taking us here before she died....

  But I guess as an adult, I had forgotten about the park, and it’s impressive sprawling rose garden. Now, seeing it for myself, I immediately remembered how massive the place had seemed to me when I was a kid. And I also understood why Cass had picked it.

  A lawn of manicured grass sprawled out in all directions, and there were several aisles lined with rose-covered awnings that lead to a single ivy-laced gazebo in the center of the garden.

  Staring at the gazebo in the soft pink light of the setting sun, I could almost imagine what Cassidy would look like, walking down the aisle towards the altar as rose petals fluttered around her…

  “What do you think, sir?” a stubby attendant asked me, jerking me back to reality.

  My eyes settled on a small round table that had been set up at the end of the aisle, right in front of the gazebo, where the altar should be…

  The table was draped with a pale pink tablecloth. Tall stick candles burned. Condensation bubbled over an ice bucket that contained a bottle of champagne. Two place settings had been arranged, waiting…

  “It’s perfect,” I said.

  It better be perfect, I added silently. I had paid an arm and a leg for the park staff to arrange this private, ‘romantic dinner for two’ in the center of the rose garden. And I had to admit: they had done a pretty good job of pulling everything together on such short notice.

  I had made the arrangements with the park staff yesterday over the phone, after paying the remainder of our wedding deposit.

  Planning a candlelit dinner at sunset was the easy part; figuring out how I was going to convince Cassidy to meet me there was the challenge. She wasn’t returning my phone calls, and I didn’t want to turn up at her house unannounced.

  That only left me with one option: flowers.

  I ordered two dozen roses and paid for them to be delivered to her doorstep, along with a card inviting her to dinner. That was my final plea.

  I ran through what I wanted to say to Cass; what I would tell her, to convince her to give me a second chance…

  Every time I tried to write the script in my head, I ended up at the same place; there was only one thing I could tell Cassidy, and that was the truth: “I love you…”

  “Do you know when Miss Laurent might arrive?” the attendant asked me. “I expected that you would arrive together…”

  “She should be here shortly,” I assured him, even though the racing flutter in my chest indicated that I didn’t quite trust whether or not she’d turn up at all…

  “Very well,” the attendant bowed. “I’ll escort her to your table when she arrives.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded. Then I took a seat at the table.

  The attendant left me alone, and I stared out at the sprawling rose garden around me.

  White chairs were set up on either side of the aisle, and I imagined the seats full of people… familiar faces. I imagined how my mother would feel, if she was alive… if she was here, to be part of the audience. For the first time, I imagined her watching with a smile. And at that moment, I decided that she would have given us her blessing.

  I felt a peace fill my heart. But then I glanced at the empty place setting across the table from me, and the peace melted away.

  There was still one thing left to fix… and it was the most important part of this entire equation. Was Cassidy going to show up?

  My eyes flicked down the aisle, and I waited… I waited to see if my bride would show up, or if I would be left at the altar, waiting forever...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | CASSIDY

  DING-DONG!

  I was taking a shower when I heard the chime of the doorbell echo through the empty walls of the house. I was home alone -- Dad had taken Mom to a follow-up appointment with Doctor Burke, and that meant there was nobody else around to answer the door but me.

  Who could it be? I wondered as I leaned into the stream of steamy water and rinsed the sudsy shampoo out of my hair. Mailman? Window salesman? Door-to-door missionary?

  Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away… I thought. Then I heard the doorbell chime a second time.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  Must be important… but what could it be?

  I twisted off the shower taps and reached for the towel rack. I buried my face in the cotton bath towel and rubbed at my eyes until my vision was speckled with stars. Then I wrapped my damp hair into a towel-turban and pulled on my fluffy pink bathrobe.

  The doorbell rang again as I padded down the stairs.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” I called.

  My feet were still wet from the shower, and my footsteps left a trail of watery half-moons as I tiptoed across the wooden foyer floor towards the front door.

  I could see the outline of a man standing on the front porch through the panel of decorative glass in the door. His figure was abstract and distorted by the pattern in the textured glass, but I could see the fuzzy shape of shoulders and arms. Where his head should have been, there was a giant plume of something bright red.

  I unbolted the deadlock and opened the door, and I immediately found myself staring into a massive arrangement of bright red roses.

  “I’ve got a delivery for a Mrs. Lah-rant,” a strained voice grunted from somewhere behind the bouquet.

  “They’re beautiful!” I gasped, ignoring the mispronunciation of Laurent. I reached forward and wrapped my hands around the delicate glass vase, then I carefully carried the bouquet over to the hall table that was positioned against the foyer wall.

  “These must be for my mom,” I said absently as I admired the arrangement.

  Flowers had become a common occurrence in the Laurent household, ever since Mom had first been diagnosed. It was amazing how many old friends and distant relatives had come out of the woodwork and sent flowers or cards, sharing loving words of support and encouragement. I knew the flowers meant the world to my mom… especially during that period of time when she had been admitted to the hospital.

  “She’s been battling cancer for a few years now, and it recently went into remission and--” I started to explain proudly, but when I turned back towards the door and noticed the bored, apathetic expression on the delivery man’s face, I cut myself off.

  “...and I’m not sure why I’m babbling about this,” I said quickly with an awkward chuckle.

  “I just need a signature,” the delivery man huffed, pushing a clipboard towards me. I quickly scribbled my name on the dotted line and handed it back.

  After the delivery man left, I glanced back at the flowers. There were at least two dozen roses -- maybe more. Each bud was perfect, and the deep red petals were velvety soft.

  I wonder who sent them? I thought. Red roses are kind of romantic… maybe Mom has a secret admirer from the hospital?

  I knew I was being nosy, but I couldn’t resist sneaking a peak at the white card that was tucked in the bed of flowers. I plucked the card out gently and glanced down at it, and then my heart got caught in my throat as a raspy gasp squeaked from my lips.

  To: Cassidy Laurent

  I gasped. It had never even crossed my mind that the roses could be for me.

  Then the gears clicked in my head: Brady.

  With the excep
tion of a cheap bunch of wilted carnations that my ex-boyfriend had purchased from a gas station (last minute, after somehow forgetting that it was our anniversary), I had never gotten flowers from a guy before.

  My stomach twisted and I swallowed heavily as I turned the card over in my hands. The message was printed in a plain black typeface:

  I want to make this right. Meet me at the altar tonight, 7 p.m.

  I read the words over and over, it felt like a mudslide of emotions were released inside of me.

  I felt like crying and puking and curling up into a tiny ball all at once. And most of all, I felt like I needed a friend. I needed to tell the truth… to confide in someone, and to spill out all the feelings that had been brewing in my heart...

  I shuffled towards the living room and plonked down on the couch, then I dug a hand into the front pocket of my bathrobe and gripped my cell phone.

  Before I could think twice about it, I hammered out a text to Vanessa:

  911

  The three-digit code was a text message shorthand we had devised back in high school. Texting “911” was a cry for help, and it was reserved exclusively for emergencies; disastrous dates, bad haircuts, split jeans…

  And now, apparently, for unexpected flower deliveries from fake fiancés…

  The message had barely left my outbox when I felt my phone vibrate with an incoming call.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” Vanessa’s voice chirped through the speaker.

  I slumped back into the nest of throw pillows that adorned the pastel blue sofa and I forced myself to swallow a deep gulp of air as I pressed the phone’s slick glass screen against my cheek, still damp from the shower.

  I had no idea what to tell her… I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I had sent my panicked “911” text.

  “Roses,” I finally managed to choke through the lump that had formed in the back of my throat.

  “Huh?”

  “Roses,” I repeated. “He sent me roses.”

  “Who did?”

  “Brady,” I said.

  “Brady… as in your fiancé Brady?” Vanessa said, sounding confused.

  As soon as I heard the word ‘fiancé,’ I felt the lump in the back of my throat burst and turn into a dry sob. I pinched my eyes shut to stop the hot tears from welling up, but it was too late… fat blobs were already rolling down my cheeks.

  “Shit,” Vanessa’s voice instantly softened. “Cass… are you crying?”

  “No,” I croaked as another involuntary sob escaped from my throat. I sunk deeper into my nest on the couch, as if burying myself in a pile of doily-covered throw pillows could somehow absolve how pathetic and confused I felt.

  “Where are you?” Vanessa demanded. The confusion in her voice was gone, replaced with urgent concern. “Are you at your mom’s house?”

  I sucked in a shaky gulp of air and nodded my head silently. Even though she couldn’t see me through the phone, Vanessa knew me well enough to decipher my silence as confirmation.

  “Ok, stay there,” she said briskly. “Help is on the way.”

  The phone line went dead with an abrupt click, and the sound of a raspy dial tone echoed in my ear.

  I was immediately flooded with regret and relief. I knew that I had overreacted, and I knew that I was being ridiculous… but I also knew that I needed a friend now more than ever.

  It’s just a bouquet of flowers! I told myself. What’s the big deal?!

  I forced myself to sit up on the couch, then I blinked through the fuzzy sheen of tears that stained my eyes. My vision slowly cleared, and the vase of red roses came into focus. I blinked and the quick flash of Brady’s grey eyes stained my vision.

  And just like that, I felt a fresh wave of emotions crash over me.

  I felt pangs of affection and desire swell in my stomach, and I simultaneously felt the grip of devastation and guilt tugging on heart. My insides were being torn in every direction; it felt like the emotional equivalent of being blasted with icy-cold A/C and sweltering hot heat at the same time.

  I was still wallowing when I heard the doorbell ring.

  Vanessa had arrived in record time, and she was standing on the front porch holding a pair of white Styrofoam cups in her outstretched hands. I recognized those cups right away: strawberry milkshakes from the shake shack we used to frequent as teenagers.

  Those frothy pink milkshakes had been our go-to brand of liquid comfort back in the day, before we were old enough to drown our sorrows in cheap bottles of wine or happy hour cocktails.

  Every bad breakup or failed first date was remedied with a round of milkshakes from the ‘shack.

  “Drink,” Vanessa insisted, forcing one of the cups into my hand as she stepped over the threshold and into the house.

  I sucked up on the straw, flooding my mouth with tangy sweet strawberry swirls and tiny ice crystals that melted on my tongue and crunched between my teeth.

  “Feel better?” Vanessa asked, appraising the expression on my face.

  I nodded, taking another sip. The milkshake was just as magically potent as I remembered...

  “Good,” Vanessa said. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  I took a deep, shaky breath.

  This is it, I told myself. No more lies… just the truth.

  “It’s a long story,” I said, unsure of where I should even start.

  “That’s fine,” Vanessa said, taking a sip from her own Styrofoam cup. “I have plenty of time.”

  As soon as I opened my mouth, it was like I had turned on a faucet in my head. Everything came pouring out like a stream of water. Vanessa didn’t push or pry. She waited patiently, her face still and blank and her eyes wide open. She listened, never stopping me to ask questions or press for more information.

  When I had finally exhaled the last fragment of my story -- the roses that had been delivered, and Brady’s invitation to meet him at the altar -- I fell back onto the sofa. My mouth was dry from talking, but my chest felt light and empty for the first time in a long time.

  “So that’s the truth,” I said finally. I glanced up, studying Vanessa’s expression for any hint of a reaction. “Vanessa, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I never wanted to lie to you--”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” she said. She gave me a small, almost sympathetic smile. “I get it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. Then she quickly clarified: “I’m not saying it was a good idea. Actually, I think it’s probably the shittiest idea I’ve heard since, like, The Parent Trap.”

  I chuckled meekly and nodded in agreement: “It was pretty stupid…”

  “I understand why you did it, though,” she added. “You were trying to make your mom happy.”

  “And I failed epically,” I sighed. I scraped my straw along the bottom of the Styrofoam cup and sucked up the last drops of melted strawberry slush.

  “Well duh,” Vanessa smiled and shook her head. “Things are bound to go wrong when you spend your entire life trying to make other people happy instead of taking care of yourself.”

  “I do take care of myself--”

  “Oh, really? When’s the last time you went on a date?” Vanessa asked me bluntly. “Before this whole fake fiancé debacle, I mean.”

  “Erm…”

  “When’s the last time you went on vacation?” Vanessa continued. “Or just went to the bar with your girlfriends for a night out? Or went to get a manicure?”

  “I don’t remember--”

  “You don’t remember because you never do those things. Ever since your mom got sick, you haven’t done anything for yourself.”

  “That’s not true,” I said softly. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Cassidy, you gave up everything,” Vanessa said. Her words were harsh but her tone was soft. “Your career, your apartment, your social life… you sacrificed so much so that you could move home and take care of your mom. You’re the most selfles
s person I know, and I love and admire you for that. But you can’t live like that forever. You have to take care of yourself, too.”

  I blinked through the foggy mist of tears and settled my eyes on my hands, unable to speak.

  “That’s probably why your mom was so desperate to see you get married in the first place,” Vanessa said. “She just wanted to see you happy. She wanted to know that your life would go on, with or without her.”

  In the back of my head I heard the faint words that my mom had whispered that day at the hospital, and I realized that Vanessa was right.

  “Stop worrying about other people,” Vanessa said gently. “What do you want?”

  I shook my head slowly and bit my lip. I glanced down at the white card that I had pulled out of the bouquet; Brady’s invitation to meet him tonight, at the altar.

  “I want to see Brady,” I said.

  “Ok,” she smiled. “What time did he ask you to meet him tonight?”

  “Seven,” I said slowly. I had lost all track of time, and when Vanessa glanced down at the watch on her wrist, I felt a coil of panic twist tightly in my stomach.

  “Shit, we’ve got less than an hour,” Vanessa said. “Time to cut the chit-chat and get your ass upstairs so I can work my Fairy Godmother magic.”

  ***

  The tires screeched to a halt on the asphalt as Vanessa slammed on the brakes in front of Elizabeth Park. I jerked forward in the passenger seat and the seatbelt dug into my chest, tightening over the silky white dress that I was wearing.

  “Sorry,” Vanessa muttered from the driver’s seat, jerking up on the parking brake. She glanced down at the digital clock display on the car’s radio console and added: “I got you here with a minute to spare!”

  “And you almost killed me in the process,” I remarked darkly. Vanessa had just driven us across Hartford in rush hour traffic, weaving through cars and speeding through yellow lights.

  “You can thank me later,” Vanessa winked. “Now go get your man!”

  She nudged me gently out of the car, and I stepped out into the dense, muggy summer heat. Even though the sun was already setting over the trees, the air still felt heavy and hot as it wrapped around my bare shoulders and snuck under the handkerchief hem of my white silk dress.