The Fireman I Loved to Hate

by Jenna Gunn

  This elevator ride is longer. Alyssa hums a little and bounces her baby, who stays asleep. I fidget in my unfamiliar clothes; they still have that acrid, just-bought smell.

  When the elevator doors open again with a cheerful ding, I feel my stomach flutter and lurch. I still haven’t thought of anything to say. Alyssa seems oblivious to my discomfort, however, and takes the lead again, navigating the identical twisting hallways with ease.

  “He should be awake,” she says quietly as we come near a closed door.

  I’ve been trying hard not to glance into the open rooms as we pass. The stress of being in a hospital is starting to get to me; I swallow hard, trying not to think too much about the smell of antiseptic, the sounds of coughing floating through the hallway. Alyssa reaches for the door in front of us.

  It sure is a hospital room, all right. There’s a big window with its white curtains thrown open; I’m sure it overlooks the roof of the next building, but I can’t see past all the flowers cluttering the windowsill. From the doorway, I can only see the bottom half of the bed, meaning I only see lumps beneath the blankets. The person in that bed could be anyone.

  “Lyssi my sissy!” says Alex’s voice as Alyssa walks in ahead of me. “Back so soon?”

  Well, now I know it’s Alex.

  “Hey there,” Alyssa says warmly.

  I gently shut the door and follow her into the room. Alex is grinning over at Alyssa and her baby, sitting upright. He’s wearing a T-shirt, thankfully, and not one of those paper-thin hospital gowns, but he’s got tubes and IVs strapped to him, and one of those nose things that helps you breathe in his nostrils. He’s got some dark stubble growing along his jawline; it makes him look even more handsome than before.

  He spots me as I edge timidly into view. Immediately, his gaze is rooted to mine. His mouth hangs open.

  “Raina?” he asks in disbelief.

  “Found her wandering around like a lost puppy,” Alyssa tells him brightly, patting his shoulder.

  “Hi,” I say, quite underwhelmingly.

  For a few long, uncomfortable moments, no one says anything. The only sound is the faint muttering of the TV in the corner.

  “Welp!” Alyssa cries, breaking the silence. She pats her kid’s back. “I’m out. Gotta take this little one home to Grant.”

  “Pet Cocoa for me,” Alex tells her.

  Alyssa grins at him without replying; she walks toward the door, but before she leaves, I swear I see her wink at Alex.

  She shuts the door behind her. I turn toward the bed.

  Alex and I are alone.

  Chapter 24

  She looks gorgeous.

  I mean, she always looks gorgeous. I’ve thought that since I met her. Maybe it’s her showing up so unexpectedly, or the fact that I haven’t seen her in weeks, but today she looks more beautiful than ever - even in her strange outfit.

  I hear the raindrops splattering against my window; she must have gotten here just as it started. Her hair falls in curly wet curtains around her face. Her navy T-shirt is maybe three sizes too big, and it has a graphic of a palm tree with “CHARLESTON, SC” in block letters beneath it. The hem falls just above her knees. She’s wearing the strangest orange-patterned leggings I’ve ever seen.

  She’s so beautiful.

  “How are you?” Raina asks shyly. She doesn’t come any closer; she stands just where I can see her, nervously twisting the handles of a plastic bag from the gift shop downstairs.

  I shrug. “I’ve been better. Been worse, too,” I add with a grin.

  She touches her cheek below her eye. “You have a bruise.”

  I reach up to touch my own face. “Oh - yeah. I’ve got a couple. It’s nothing major. I’m just waiting for them to tell me I can go ho - ” I interrupt myself with a small coughing fit, which have been fewer and further between as the day has worn on.

  Raina doesn’t say anything or even move as I finish coughing and gulp down some water. I clear my throat, which feels like claws raking against it, and set my cup down. “Is everything okay?” I ask her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “That’s because I’m stupid!” she blurts out.

  I blink, stunned. “...okay,” I say.

  She tosses the plastic bag into the plastic-covered recliner near the door and rakes her fingers through her wet hair. “Alex, I - I’m sorry.”

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t find any words. My heart is swelling; my eyes start to sting.

  “I’ve been stupid and unrealistic,” Raina says. She begins pacing near the foot of my bed. “I’ve been thinking that - that I’m holding out, y’know, waiting. Waiting for a perfect guy. One who’s chivalrous and kind and dashing and straight out of a novel.”

  I don’t say anything when she pauses; she seems to be gathering her thoughts. My heart thumps. Is she saying what I think she is?

  “But what I’ve really been doing,” she continues finally, “is being a coward. I’ve been hiding behind this - this delusion, this image, of an ideal man, when really I’m a damn coward. Because when I actually find a man like that, I push him away.” She pauses and pushes her wet hair back from her face, balling her hands into fists. “But I don’t have an excuse! I’m just scared, because I’ve never - I’ve never felt this way before.”

  Beneath the blankets, my hands clench into fists. She’s saying what I think she is. She’s saying what I’ve been wanting her to say all this time.

  She drops her hands to her sides and walks closer to me, standing by my bedside. “Alex, I really want to be with you. And I’ve been a jerk.”

  Butterflies whirl in my stomach. I yank my hands from under the covers and grab her arm.

  She yelps but doesn’t resist when I pull her to me and kiss her, and it’s not like the last time, when she was stiff and standoffish. Now she’s soft and eager. Now her hands cup my face, her fingers trace my cheekbones. I slide a hand over the curve of her waist. She melts into me and makes a sound at the back of her throat, a strange groan of satisfaction, almost like a purr.

  I pull away only briefly to whisper, “Do you really mean it?”

  “Yes,” she murmurs back immediately.

  I press my lips to hers again. I revel in this feeling. I finally get to hold her, kiss her, like I want. There’s still a pang of fear in my chest, worry that she might pull away and go cold, but it doesn’t happen. She leans against the bed, sits on the edge of the mattress. She’s careful not to bump my IV or my nasal cannula.

  “Oh!” says a surprised voice.

  Raina jerks backward, blushing. The doctor stands in the doorway.

  “I’m interrupting.” He grins.

  “A little,” I reply, and he laughs.

  “I just came by to tell you that you’ll be home in a couple days,” he says.

  I grin and look over at Raina, who’s sort of curled up into an adorable ball on the bed with her face in her hands. The doctor and I share a look before he turns and walks out.

  “He’s gone,” I say once the door snaps shut.

  Raina peeks out from between her fingers. Even though it’s partially hidden, I can tell her face is cherry red. I hold a hand out to her; she shyly takes it and lets me pull her toward my chest.

  She’s so small; she lays down and barely takes up any room. Her hair is cold when she leans her head on my chest. Water drips from her head and stains my T-shirt. I put my chin on top of her head, grinning like an idiot.

  “You really wanna be with me, huh?” I ask her.

  “Yes,” she squeaks quietly.

  I kiss the top of her head.

  Chapter 25

  When I really get into writing, I fall into a sort of meditative state, like the purgatory between waking and sleeping. My mind and body work on their own. Sounds fade away into the ether. My fingers dance across my keyboard, or my pen glides across the paper in a frenzy. I’m no longer myself; I’m just a vessel for the story.

  So it’s easy for me to miss phone calls.
r />   My cell phone buzzes and blares out my ringtone at full volume, startling me so much that I smash a slew of jumbled letters in the middle of the document I’m writing. All at once I crash back into consciousness and become abruptly aware of my room, the screen in front of me - and the fact that my right foot has fallen asleep. I wince as I snatch up my phone.

  It’s Alex.

  The memories come rushing back. He texted me yesterday to let me know he was being released from the hospital and that he’d call me tomorrow - that is, today. So this morning, before I started writing, I made certain that when he called, I’d notice.

  I swipe my thumb over the green circle to answer the call and bring the phone shakily to my ear. “Hello?” I say breathlessly.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I reply immediately, breaking into a smile. I push back from my desk and start flexing my toes to work out the pins and needles. “How are you?”

  “I’m great,” Alex replies. His voice is almost completely back to normal. “How’s the writing going?”

  I glance at the screen. “I’m on chapter three.”

  “Already?”

  I smile and pull my knees up to my chest. “Honestly it’s taking me longer than usual.”

  He chuckles; my heart skips a beat. “Well, do you think you’re at a stopping point?”

  “I can be.”

  He laughs again. “I wanted to know if you’d want to go on a date.”

  “Tonight?” I blurt out.

  “Well, that was my intention,” he says with mock seriousness.

  “Hmm.” I pretend to think. “What kind of date?”

  He laughs, louder this time. “The kind where a guy picks up a girl he likes and takes her somewhere. And the girl wears a jacket, because it might get chilly tonight.”

  “Oh, so it’s the kind of date where a girl is outside most of the time?”

  “Yep. Oh - hold on.”

  I hear him cover his phone, and then some far-away coughs; they’re much better than when I saw him in the hospital. “You okay?” I ask.

  “What? Oh, yeah.” He clears his throat. “So, does the girl want to go on an outside date with the guy?”

  “I think the girl does,” I reply, smiling.

  “Well then, I think the guy will pick her up in a couple of hours.”

  I grin. “The girl reckons that’s a date.”

  “So does the guy.” He laughs. “I’ll see you soon, Raina.”

  The way he says my name makes my stomach flutter. “Okay.”

  As soon as we hang up, I leap to my feet and find Trisha’s number in my contacts. She answers groggily.

  “Hello?”

  “Were you asleep?” I demand, hurrying from my office into the living room. Carmen and Monroe meow plaintively at me when they see me.

  “What are you, the nap police?” Trisha snaps irritably. “And hello to you too, by the way.”

  “Yeah, hi. I have a date.”

  Her voice changes immediately. “With the fireman?”

  “With the fireman.”

  Trisha shrieks so loud I have to hold my phone at arm’s length; both the cats stop meowing and stare, their ears twitching. “IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME!” she yells, still too loud for me to want to bring the phone close to my face.

  She continues yelling about how I’ve been stupid, it’s about time I swallowed my pride, etc; I set the phone on the counter and go about feeding the cats and changing their litterboxes. I don’t even need to put it on speaker.

  Once I’m done emptying Carmen’s small litterbox, I hear Trisha’s yelling subside, so I pick up the phone again. “You done?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she replies with a sigh. “Nothing like some good old yelling to wake you up from a nap.”

  “I need to talk to you about my outfit.”

  She squeals, making me hold the phone far away from my face once again.

  I stand in front of my full-length mirror an hour and a half later. My phone battery is severely drained. Trisha hung up fifteen minutes ago.

  Jeans, nice shirt, one of my dressy jackets. I’ve managed to tame my hair somewhat with copious amounts of mousse, a comb, and an ungodly amount of bobby pins.

  I hang around in my living room as the sun begins to set outside. I haven’t been on a date in at least a year; what if I’ve forgotten how to act? Plus, Alex and I have walked a very strange path. He hated cats, then he didn’t. Our first romantic interaction was sex followed by me throwing a temper tantrum. What in the world is it going to be like to actually just...be with him?

  There’s a knock on my door, and even though I’m expecting it, I jump. I go to open it, throwing a glance over my shoulder at the cats; Carmen and Monroe are curled up together, fast asleep. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and open the door.

  It’s a stranger.

  Specifically, a strange man in a top hat and tailcoat. He touches the brim of his hat with a white-gloved hand. “Miss Raina Groves?”

  “Yeah?” I blurt out uncouthly.

  He takes a step to the side and indicates my driveway with a wide, sweeping gesture. My jaw drops open.

  “Your carriage awaits,” he said.

  And holy crap, it does. Parked behind my car is a white carriage with velvety-red accents. Another top hat-clad man sits on what I can only describe as the driver’s seat, his white hands holding long reins, which jostle a bit as the actual horse they’re attached to tosses its head. The horse itself is snow-white, tall, and proud, with a free-flowing white mane; it could be a unicorn if only it had a horn.

  Sitting in the back of the carriage on one of the deep red seats is Alex. He waves at me.

  “Oh,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat up. I step outside and fumble with my keys to lock the door. The top hat man waits patiently, then leads me across my own yard to the carriage. Alex grins from the seat as the man takes my hand and helps me step up and settle into the seat.

  “Hey,” Alex says as I slide in beside him. The top hat man shuts the door and walks around to claim his seat on the bench next to his partner.

  “Hi,” I say breathlessly. “What - what is this?”

  “It’s a horse-drawn carriage.”

  I smack his arm playfully. “I know that.”

  He laughs and puts an arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him. “There’s a historical festival in town. I thought we’d take a tour.”

  The driver clicks his tongue and slaps the reins on the horse’s rump. It docilely starts off, turning around in my driveway before trotting us down the road.

  “Fancy,” I breathe.

  Alex and both drivers laugh; I look at them, mouth open.

  “What?” I demand of Alex.

  “That’s the horse’s name,” he replies.

  The co-driver turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Almost everyone says the same thing when they get in,” he tells me. “So that’s what we named her. Fancy.” He turns back around, and I see only his back again.

  I sit in mystified silence as Fancy pulls the carriage down my road. It’s a beautiful evening; the sun is beginning to sink below the horizon, and the chill of night hasn’t yet set in. I lay my jacket on the seat next to me. Alex’s arm is a comfortable weight on my shoulder, and his fingertips brush gently against my upper arm. The street is deserted except for our carriage.

  Down the road, I catch a glimpse of the festival set up in a fallow field. It’s really just a cluster of stalls, but with the fairy lights twined around the posts and candles flickering from people’s hands as they walk, it looks positively magical.

  Alex leans into me and puts his lips against my ear. “So, do you reckon this qualifies as being swept off your feet?”

  “Absolutely,” I breathe in reply.

  He chuckles and presses a kiss against my neck. My worries melt away. We’re good together, me and him.

  Fancy and the carriage take us in a loop around the field, and then our ride is over. Alex and I wander the stalls, look
ing at the different wares - old-fashioned candles and soap, kitschy jewelry, replicas of old paintings. One stall is really just a demonstration of an old butter-churning technique, and another is just a display of a ton of historic relics - I take a picture for Mr. Jimmy.

  It doesn’t take long to see everything. Alex buys me a candle and I buy him a bar of soap, which makes him laugh. He pulls me close and kisses my lips. It feels nice to be out in public with him, on an actual, real-life date.

  “Want me to take you home?” he asks. “Or we could go to my place - I’ve got frozen mozzarella sticks.”

  “That wouldn’t be anachronistic at all,” I reply with a grin.

  “Well, I quit the butter-churning business when I started my fireman training,” he jokes. He brushes some of my hair behind my ear. “Really, though, I do have stuff to make for dinner.”

  “Honestly, now I’m craving mozzarella sticks.” I grin up at him.

  “My car’s this way.”

  He takes me to a roped-off section of field serving as the parking lot for the festival. His house isn’t in Rockville proper - if you can call any part of the tiny town Rockville proper - but it’s only a short drive away. It’s a small one-story home with no front porch to speak of and a pointed roof.

  “It’s small,” he says apologetically as we pull up. “But I spend most of my time at the station.”

  Its size doesn’t worry me any. He pulls into his gravel driveway and opens the car door for me, which is very gallant of him. He grabs my hand and doesn’t let go as we walk up, even as he grabs his keys to unlock the door.

  “I haven’t had anyone over in a while,” Alex murmurs, pushing the door open.

  In the split second before he turns on the inside light, this statement makes me imagine all sorts of horrors that could lurk within - dishes piled to the ceiling, empty pizza boxes and beer cans, mess littered over the floor - but my fears are unfounded. The worst thing about this house is that it’s just...bare.

  I step inside. Alex takes my jacket and hangs it on a hook by the door. I wander into the living room, which has a couch, a TV, and nothing else. There’s one picture hanging on the wall; it’s a family portrait of Alyssa, the baby I saw, and a man I assume is her husband. My heart swells. Alex loves his family.