Although Alex had busied himself with pouring a beer of his own, he felt Zoe’s pointed glance as if she’d reached out and touched him. “Funny, I don’t doubt that for a second,” she said, turning toward Brennan and continuing smoothly. “So how’s it going, Nick? I heard you’re training recruits now. That must be pretty exciting.”
“The academy’s keeping me busy. I can’t complain.”
It was about as wordy as the guy ever got about his return trip to Fairview and his career change, but after what Brennan had gone through in the two and a half years following his injury, Alex couldn’t blame him for being tight-lipped.
Zoe didn’t even skip a beat, though. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one who couldn’t stay away.”
“Yeah.” Brennan reached out to slide his arm around the woman sitting next to him, who’d just finished chatting with Station Eight’s other paramedic, Rachel Harrison, and damn. The guy’s entire demeanor changed as he looked at the pretty brunette. “I even brought reinforcements. Ava, this is Zoe Westin. Zoe, my girlfriend, Ava Mancuso.”
“Hi, Zoe. It’s nice to meet you,” Ava said, her warm smile dipping in obvious thought. “Wait . . . Westin. Any relation to the captain?”
Zoe’s nod knocked a few wisps of gold-blond hair from the low, tousled braid slung over one shoulder. “He’s my father.”
Ava darted a lightning-fast oh really glance in Alex’s direction, which—knowing her everything-on-the-table attitude—he probably should’ve seen coming. But thankfully, before Ava could put her curiosity to words, Rachel leaned in from the bar stool next to Ava’s.
“Ohhhh, you’re the chef, right?”
Cue up Zoe’s comfort zone. She said, “I am, but how did you know?”
“Cap brags. A lot.” The redhead pushed all the way forward, a grin on her face. “I’m Rachel. I’m on the ambo with the wordsmith over there.”
“Nice to meet you, Rachel.” Zoe laughed, dodging the crumpled-up bar napkin O’Keefe winged in the other paramedic’s direction. Alex grabbed the opportunity to run the length of the table, finishing the introductions with Crews and Jones.
“Hey,” Alex said, swiveling an assessing gaze from the jukebox on the wood-paneled wall to his left to the outward curve of the bar at the back of the place before settling on the far alcove housing a pair of pool tables and the bathroom on the right. “Are any of the squad guys here?”
Crews took a sip of his beer before shaking his head. “Oz said he already had plans. You know how he is. And Andersen is at home with his twins, but he told me to tell you ‘hey.’”
“Wrangling a set of five-year-old twins is definitely fair game in the good excuse department,” Alex joked.
Rachel nodded, leaning toward Zoe with obvious interest. “So, Zoe, you’re a chef. That must be a pretty cool job.”
Zoe smiled, her ease clearly growing. “It is, although it’s a lot different than I thought it would be.”
Ava gave a knowing nod. “My brother is a pastry chef. He runs his own bakery out in the Blue Ridge with his wife. Makes the most ridiculous Linzer cookies you’ve ever tasted,” she said, running an appreciative hand over the spot where her dark red shirt covered her stomach. “What restaurant are you working at now that you’re back in Fairview?”
“Ah,” Zoe started, her brown eyes going wide over the verbal stutter-step. She pressed her lips together, and Alex’s hand found her shoulder of its own free will, offering up a quick squeeze.
“Zoe’s running the new soup kitchen down at the Hope House transitional shelter. I’ve been doing my community service there.”
The words brought looks of curiosity to everyone’s faces, and both the gentle nudge and the interest seemed to bolster her resolve. “We opened the soup kitchen three months ago, just after Christmas, although the shelter has been there for just about two years now. Hope House has about seventy-five beds on the residential side of the shelter, although we do our best to feed everyone who comes in hungry and in need.”
“Damn.” Cole slipped out of his seat to grab an empty nearby bar stool, making room for Zoe in the middle of the long, communal table. “That sounds like a hell of an undertaking.”
Smiling her thanks, she sat down between him and O’Keefe. “Truthfully, it is. I only have enough of a budget to pay two part-timers, although they volunteer a lot of their own time to make up for the holes in the schedule. Between only being able to afford a skeleton crew and trying to scrape up enough food to go around, we’ve really been having a lot of trouble covering all the bases.”
“Great cause, though,” Jonesey said, and Rachel nodded in agreement.
“Tom and I go on a lot of med calls down in that part of the city. The living conditions are pretty scary, and the crime level doesn’t help.”
Zoe shot a tentative look in Alex’s direction, but his nod of encouragement was a total no-brainer. “There’s a lot of potential danger in the area around Hope House. I want to apply for a pretty substantial grant that will help us feed and take care of everyone more easily, along with putting some security into place to keep them safe, but with the shortage of hands, well . . .” She paused, her deep breath straightening her spine with determination that Alex was fast becoming addicted to. “I need help if I’m going to have any prayer of getting it.”
Cole sat back against his bar stool, his perma-relaxed expression tacked firmly to his face. “You know, I’ve got some community service coming up,” he said, and even though his words were completely no-big-deal, they still peppered Alex’s gut with unease at the way his friend had landed the hours in the first place. “I bet I can ask to do my hours at Hope House, if you think it’ll help.”
“Anyone volunteering at this point would be a huge help,” Zoe said, and Brennan tipped his chin at Cole, chiming in.
“I’m game to volunteer. I kind of miss working in a kitchen, and anyway, you don’t want these chuckleheads in charge of anything culinary unless they’re heavily supervised.”
“Trust me.” Alex laughed, toasting Brennan with the frosty cup in his hand. “She knows.”
Zoe lifted her cup to meet both of theirs, her eyes brightening with amusement as she admitted, “While you definitely don’t need a lot of experience with food in order to volunteer, if you’ve got some, it does help.”
She launched into a basic explanation of Hope House’s meal schedule and volunteer services, with everyone at the table offering to pitch in and help with either food service, kitchen work, or a bit of both. Their waitress brought a jumbo-sized plate of hot wings to the table, and Zoe kept track of the growing list of volunteers as they all ate, putting everyone’s contact information into her phone.
“You know,” Ava said, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. “It sounds like you’ve got the man power end covered with these guys for the next few weeks. But have you ever considered different avenues for gathering resources?”
Alex’s curiosity perked, and he wasn’t the only one.
“Like a food drive?” Zoe asked, the edges of her lips twisting downward at Ava’s nod. “I tried one right when I first started out. But my reach only extends to the people who need the food, and I’ve had my hands so full with the basics of getting everyone fed that I simply haven’t had the time or the man power to effectively spread the word about a food drive, much less coordinate drop-off points and pickup schedules.”
“You do now.” Ava flipped her cell phone into her palm, tapping it to life with a few quick touches. “I’m a reporter with the Fairview Sentinel. If you’d be willing, I’d love to run a personal interest piece on both the shelter and the soup kitchen. We could spotlight the services Hope House provides and talk up a food drive while we’re at it.”
“You would do that?” Zoe’s lips parted in surprise, but Ava’s fingers didn’t even slow as she answered.
“Nope. I did do that.” She lifted the phone, the backlit glow flashing across the dimmer lighting in the bar. “My editor should get back to me first thing
Monday morning on this, but I’m sure he’ll be game. I don’t mind helping coordinate the food drive in conjunction with writing the story. If you want, that is.”
Shock prickled all the way up Alex’s spine. He’d known everyone would be willing to help, but . . . “A newspaper story is a brilliant idea, Ava.”
“I helped my friends in Pine Mountain run a really successful fund-raiser for their bar and grill last year,” Brennan added, running a hand over the neatly trimmed goatee covering his chin. “I can reach out to them, see if they’ve got any suggestions you might find useful for getting the word out without spending a lot of cash.”
Before Zoe could agree with anything more than a wide-eyed nod, Rachel said, “My parents own the hardware store over on Atlantic Boulevard. I bet they’d let you use their place as a drop-off point for nonperishable donations.”
“Don’t forget all the local firehouses,” Crews interjected, and Alex leaned in toward Zoe with a grin he couldn’t help.
“You know Joss would let you use Vertical Climb as a drop-off point if we ask. Kyle even has a pickup truck. If I agree to take another birthday party full of ten-year-olds, he just might help with transporting donations.”
“Wow,” Zoe finally managed, sending her gaze over everyone sitting at the pine bar table. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know I came asking for help, but this is—”
“What we do,” Alex said as her eyes finally settled on his. Zoe’s gaze brimmed with gratitude and something else, something deeper that Alex couldn’t quite pin, and all of a sudden everyone else in the bar—hell, in the universe—felt really far away.
“Teflon’s right.” Cole’s voice, coupled with the reminder of his nickname and its deep roots at the firehouse, knocked Alex back to the buzz and chatter of Bellyflop’s busy bar area. “Zoe, your father has had each of our backs since we arrived at Station Eight. If you need our help at Hope House, we’ve got yours.”
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Are you kidding?” Rachel grinned, reaching for Zoe’s cup to top it off with a healthy splash from the pitcher at her elbow. “You’re Cap’s daughter, and Hope House sounds like a great place. Besides, those of us with XX chromosomes are totally outnumbered in this group. Lord knows we need another woman around here to help offset all these knuckle draggers.”
“Hey!” Jones and Crews protested in unison, but Rachel gave a snort that belied both her delicate features and her slender frame.
“Please. The last time we were all here, you guys had an arm-wrestling tournament to settle the bar tab. Don’t even get me started on the beer-pong-is-a-legitimate-sport argument, either.”
Alex cocked a brow at Rachel, looping his fingers through the handle on the pitcher to tilt the last of the beer into his cup. “Beer pong takes skill, Harrison. You’re just cranky because you lost last time and had to karaoke that Britney Spears song.”
“Keep talking, Teflon,” Rachel said over a genuine laugh. “We’ll just quietly add to Team Estrogen over here as we help Zoe plan this food drive.”
“That’s my cue.” Zoe held up her hands as a smile took over every inch of her face. “Let me grab a pen, and we can start getting a few of these details hammered out. Then I want to hear this karaoke story, with all the gory details.”
Someone produced a ballpoint pen from the bar, and Zoe didn’t waste a second getting started. She came up with a volunteer schedule that managed to accommodate everyone’s work and personal commitments, then shared some of the ideas she’d come up with for the grant application, patiently listening to everyone’s questions and suggestions of ways to help. The more Zoe talked about her plans for Hope House, the more her face lit up, as if she couldn’t possibly be meant to work anywhere else. Her eyes glimmered, whiskey gold with excitement as her notes overflowed from the back of one bar napkin to the next, then to a third, and damn, Alex had never seen anyone so fierce or beautiful in his life.
“Hey,” Cole said, interrupting his thoughts by holding up an empty pitcher to match the one just outside Alex’s reach on the table. “Looks like we’re all out over here. You want to head over to the bar for refills?”
“Sure.” Alex kicked his boots into motion, angling his way through Bellyflop’s now-bustling crowd. Nearly every seat at the mahogany bar was occupied, and he and Cole parked themselves by two of the last remaining spaces next to the pass-through.
“You slept with her.”
The empty pitcher in Alex’s grasp hit the top of the bar with a sharp clunk at Cole’s straight-to-the-point statement, but there was no fast-talking his way out of this. Anyway, as highly sensitive as the topic was, lying about it—or, okay, lying about anything—just wasn’t Alex’s speed. “You really should take that mind-reading show on the road. You could make a freaking fortune.”
Cole’s normally laid-back expression turned graveyard serious. “Jesus, Teflon. Have you lost your faculties?”
“No.” The word fired from his mouth, low and sharp around the edges, and Alex took a deep breath to smooth out his redirect. “I’m helping Zoe with this grant project, yes. . . .” He broke off, dropping his voice. “And yes, she and I are spending time together after hours. But we agreed to keep things casual. It’s not a big deal.”
Cole ran a hand over the back of his neck, shaking his head in obvious disbelief. “Not a big deal. You do remember Zoe is Westin’s daughter, right? The one he brags about every time her name comes up in conversation. And also when it doesn’t.”
“Believe me, I remember,” Alex said, replacing any heat the words might carry with straight-up honesty. “But she’s an adult, and so am I.”
Cole leaned one forearm against the bar, finally nodding. “Okay, family tree aside, I thought you wanted to do this community service as painlessly as possible. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds like Zoe helps a lot of people at Hope House, and that’s admirable as hell. But you seem awfully invested for a guy aiming for nothing more than a volunteer drive-by.”
Unease filled Alex’s chest instead of air, but he tamped the emotion down. “I don’t have any choice but to do this community service, and phoning it in when Hope House is so short staffed is a dick move, no matter where I’d rather be. Just because I’m helping Zoe for a few weeks doesn’t mean I don’t know the score, though, and Zoe knows it, too. I’m a firefighter. I belong at Eight, and Cap is more than just my boss. When I come back to the house in a couple of weeks, things will go back to normal.”
They had to. Alex’s livelihood—his life—depended on it.
He met his best friend’s eyes without hesitation. “Trust me, Cole. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
But Cole’s stare didn’t waver, either. “That, my friend, is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alex woke slowly for the first time in a dog’s age, sleep clinging to him like a lover as he rolled over beneath the warmth of the comforter. Not a terrible analogy, considering how the rest of the night before had shaken out. Zoe’s high-velocity excitement from their gathering at Bellyflop had been contagious, to the point that after they had gotten to his house, they’d barely made it to his bedroom before the last of their clothes had hit the carpet. And that had been after he’d made her come in the hallway.
Twice.
Huh. No wonder he’d slept like a baby.
His cock stirred at the sleep-edged memory of Zoe, with her panties in a pool of lace on the shadowy hallway floorboards as he’d knelt between her thighs, teasing and tasting her until she’d screamed. With her throaty, honey-covered moans and her blond hair wild around her face, she’d been the picture of lust-blown sexiness, and Alex blinked his eyes open, wanting to match the image in his mind’s eye with the sight of the woman who had fallen asleep next to him.
But his bed was empty.
Letting his eyes adjust to the sunlight spiraling in past the blinds, Alex scanned his room. The navy-blue sheets and ma
tching comforter were appropriately rumpled, albeit unoccupied. The pink top and faded jeans Zoe had worn to Bellyflop lay neatly folded on top of his dresser, in the exact spot she’d put them after retrieving them from the hallway last night. Soft, indistinct sounds filtered in through the doorless entryway to the alcove on the far wall of his bedroom, past the small, sunlit sitting area. Alex slipped from the bedcovers and into a pair of basketball shorts, shaking off the last of his sleep as he padded toward the short pass-through leading to the master bath. The bathroom door was ajar just enough for him to catch the sound of running water and the strains of a crooked song being hummed by a familiar, velvety voice.
Alex knew propriety dictated that even though Zoe had left the door cracked open, he should knock. But with the toilet itself set off to the side of the en suite behind a separate door, chances were pretty high he wouldn’t catch Zoe terribly indisposed. Even though Alex knew he was skirting the boundaries of propriety, he nudged the door just far enough from the frame to take a quick peek inside.
Zoe stood in front of the far-side vanity, a toothbrush in one hand and a wide-open expression on her face. The L-shaped room gave him a good enough vantage point to see her without being noticed, and he used the opportunity to take her in from head to heels. The hair that had tangled around her shoulders last night in provocative waves now sat in a tidy knot at her crown. Her face had been scrubbed free of any makeup she’d had on, leaving behind a trail of light freckles over her nose and a pair of bow-shaped, pale pink lips. The dark blue tank top reading Do Not Disturb and the pair of matching, ruffled short-shorts she’d slipped into offered Alex a flawless view of her decadent curves as she leaned in toward the mirror to brush her teeth.
A minute later, she paused in her humming to wipe a smudge of toothpaste from her lip with a washcloth, her eyes finally connecting with his in the mirror as he stepped farther into the room. Rather than jumping out of her skin or becoming self-conscious at his watching, though, Zoe’s face broke into a smile that took over her whole face, and all of his chest along with it.
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