Her Roman Candle (The Fireworks Series)

by Fiona Starr

  Her Roman Candle

  The Fireworks Series

  Fiona Starr

  Steamy Starr Stories

  Contents

  Happy 4th of July!

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About Fiona Starr

  Also by Fiona Starr

  The Flirt Club!

  Happy 4th of July!

  Welcome to Milltown, Colorado, population 15,000, where the only things hotter than the annual fireworks show are the men in uniform and the women who want to light their fuses.

  Join the authors of Flirt Club in The Fireworks Series of stories that celebrate small-town summers, bbqs, and all things that end with a bang!

  Where will you be when the fireworks start?

  * * *

  He's too hot to handle... almost.

  After discovering my almost-fiancé had not one, but two "other women" with engagement rings on their ring fingers, I have decided to give the whole romance thing a break and spend the summer with my granny. Getting back in touch with my childhood summers full of small-town memories—bonfires at the lake, ice cream on Main Street, and of course, the biggest fireworks show in the state—sounds like the perfect way to disconnect and reset. That is, until I meet Roman Chandler, one of the newest residents of this tiny town who is about as hot in his uniform as his name suggests. Too bad I've sworn off anything with a wick, right?

  * * *

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  POPPY

  The smell of freshly baked Irish soda bread reaches me upstairs as I unpack the last of my things from my suitcase. The scent conjures memories of lazy summers at the lake with my family, wandering the shops on Milltown’s Main Street in the evenings with my cousins, and sitting on the park swings while we devour ice cream cones from Dottie’s Ice Cream Parlor. It’s the scent of Grandma Lynn’s house, which is the only place I want to be right now.

  I take a deep breath and sigh. “Smells wonderful, Grandma Lynn.” I raise my voice so she can hear me in the kitchen.

  “I added extra raisins, just the way you like it. Tea will be ready in a minute.” I can tell by the soft tone of her voice that she’s already talked to my mom and knows at least a little about what happened between me and Matt. As if my call last week asking if she wanted a guest for the summer wasn’t clue enough that my life has gone completely off the rails.

  A couple of weeks ago, everything seemed fine. Matt and I had just signed the lease and we were getting ready to move into our first apartment together in the city. He’d just been promoted at his law firm, which was based in Chicago but had an office locally. They were expanding their presence in Denver and Matt was on track to make partner one day.

  My marketing consulting business was finally taking off, too. I just got back from a trip where I signed two new clients—one of which was a referral from an existing account. We were both on our way and looking ahead to a bright future together.

  Then everything fell apart last week while I was in Chicago on business. I had wrapped up my last meeting and made plans to have dinner in the city with Gwen, an old college friend I hadn’t seen in years. We were waiting for our table on the restaurant’s rooftop bar when Gwen spotted a group of her friends nearby. We joined them for a drink. One of the women—Leah—took a picture of the group of us and tagged us all on social media. She had to ask for my username to tag and follow me.

  A few minutes later Leah says, “Poppy, how do you know Matthew Standen?” She turns her phone to show me one of the pictures I’d added of Matt and me from a recent trip to Aspen.

  Her question seemed innocent enough. I didn’t think anything of it. “He’s my boyfriend. Do you know him?” It didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility, given that his law firm had their headquarters here in Chicago.

  It was like the air in the bar stopped moving. Suddenly, all of Leah’s friends got quiet and looked at each other, as if waiting for someone else to say something. Gwen was at a loss as well. They were all obviously uncomfortable.

  My blood turned icy inside me. “What? Is something wrong?” I asked, like Captain Obvious… I looked from one face to the next, searching for a clue.

  The woman next to Leah, her name was Chrissy, shook her head, her face all fury. “That piece of shit.”

  Leah’s eyelids fluttered, then she looked at me and our eyes met. She wasn’t angry with me. She seemed as baffled as I was. She opened her mouth and closed it, and then started over. “Matthew Standen is my fiancé.” Her words were a whisper, but they felt like a wrecking ball crashing through what I thought was my pretty damn near perfect life.

  I sat there, staring at her. I couldn’t say anything.

  Leah took in a deep breath as she flipped through images on her phone. She stopped on one and handed me her phone without a word.

  I enlarged the photo on her screen. It was definitely Matt—my Matt—smiling back at me. He and Leah were cheek to cheek, her left hand flexed for the camera to show off a gigantic diamond engagement ring. I checked the date of the photo; it had been taken three weeks ago.

  I read the caption on the photo, a part of me expecting to see a different name, as if this was some other guy with a similar name. I needed to see anything other than Matthew Standen under the picture. But not only was it my Matt, but he was tagged in this picture.

  For some reason, seeing him tagged online was like a second slap-in-the-face surprise to me. My Matt didn’t have social media accounts. He said he liked his privacy, and that it was simpler that way professionally. He was pretty serious about it, and I wanted to respect that so I rarely posted pictures of his face. But the one from Aspen last month was a favorite, and if he didn’t have an account, and there was no link connecting him… where was the harm?

  I clicked on his username, which brought me over to his account and the hundreds—freaking hundreds—of pictures he had shared over the years, many of which featured him and Leah in various romantic and fun shots.

  She was engaged to my boyfriend.

  “Poppy? Are you all right?” Gwen’s voice sounded in my ear from a million miles away. A hand touched my shoulder as I stared at the pictures on Leah’s phone. They went back a long way.

  “How long ago did you meet?” I asked Leah.

  Her blue eyes were wide and brimming with tears. “We met in college. We’ve been together for five years.”

  Her words bounced through my consciousness, ricocheting off the memories I had of meeting Matt two years ago. Holy shit. He was already with Leah for three years by then. And now he’s engaged. That makes me the other woman.

  “Oh, my god.” My mouth went dry.

  Needless to say, the night ended there. Gwen made sure I got back to my hotel all right. She didn’t want to leave me but I was in no mood for hanging out. I packed my bags and checked out of my hotel, calling the airline on my way to the airport to change my flight to the next possible departure.

  When I got back to our new apartment, it was after two in the morning. Matt’s car wasn’t there, but that wasn’t a surprise—we hadn’t really moved in fully yet. Most of my stuff was still boxed up at my old place. We both had until the end of the month to leave our current places and we were planning to rent a moving truck in a couple of weeks.

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. But there was no way I was getting any sleep, so I dr
ove over to his place and let myself in with my key. I walked directly to his bedroom and flipped on the lights. He was in bed with someone. Another woman.

  Driving over I imagined all the things I wanted to say. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to throw something at him. I wanted to punch him in the face. But when I saw him squint as the lights came on, and saw her looking at me from the bed next to him, her face one of shock—not guilt—I realized there was no point. There was nothing here worth fighting for.

  She had a wild mane of curly dark hair that stood out like a cloud around her face. “Baby? Who is this?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep as she nudged Matt.

  “Yeah, Baby…,” I mimicked her. “Who is this?”

  She scooted to a sitting position and glared at me. “I am Rhonda, Matt’s fiancée.” She shoved his shoulder again and the ring on her finger winked at me in the light.

  Matt sat up. “Poppy? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, is it not my night? Did I get the fucking schedule mixed up, Matt? Are you kidding me?”

  “Matt, baby. What’s going on?” Rhonda raised her voice.

  “Allow me, Rhonda. My apologies, you seem very nice, and judging by what I now know, you’re not to blame. It seems Matt here has a problem with monogamy. But also with promises. See, I just got back from Chicago where I spent the night having drinks with Leah Merchant.”

  Matt’s face went totally white.

  “Who is Leah Merchant?” Rhonda asked, looking from me to Matt and back again.

  “Oh, she’s his other fiancée. The one he’s been with for five years.”

  “Other…?” Rhonda gaped at me before springing into action. “Oh. Oh hell no. Hell no!” She jumped out of bed and pulled a robe around her as she laid into Matt. He dropped his head into his hands, looking like a man whose house of cards was finally toppling.

  I walked out of his apartment, leaving his key on the table by the door.

  I feel so stupid for letting myself get caught up in Matt’s fictional life so easily. I really had no idea he was cheating—with two other women, no less. And what the hell was he planning to do with two fiancées?

  “He’s the idiot,” I mumble to myself. I can’t deny the pain I’m feeling. I spent last week raging and feeling sorry for myself. But now it’s time to pick up the broken pieces and move ahead. I have to acknowledge that it’s a good thing I got away before things progressed any further.

  I need to stop talking about this like it’s a bad thing. Yeah, it really blows that he was such a douchebag. It sucks that I lost my apartment and it feels like I’ve wasted two years of my life. But I’ll bounce back.

  The sound of silverware clinking against dishes rings through the hall.

  “Tea’s ready!” Grandma Lynn calls from the kitchen.

  “Coming!” I call. I smile as I tuck my empty suitcase under the bed. I’m lucky that my grandma’s here and gave me a soft place to land.

  ROMAN

  I step into The Stars and Stripes Bar and smile. I’ve been back in the states for a little over two weeks, but this is the first time I actually feel like I’m home. There’s baseball on the television above the bar, the smell of buffalo wings in the air, and the distinctive crack of a pool ball making contact followed by the muffled thunk of one sinking into the pocket.

  “Grab a seat anywhere, honey. I’ll be right with you.” The waitress smiles as she walks by with a tray full of red plastic baskets of food.

  I watch her walk away, her red hair lighting a flame of memory so sharp, it almost hurts.

  Anna had red hair like that.

  After three years serving as an intelligence officer in Kabul, they finally brought me back stateside. I’d originally planned to move to Denver to be near Anna. Once upon a time we both wanted the same things—we’d get married and settle down, find a house, have some kids, and grow old together. The whole apple pie and lemonade thing…The American Dream.

  But that all fell apart when Anna decided after two-and-a-half years that she’d waited long enough. So, with only six months left, I scrambled to change my living arrangements. Turns out my uncle had a place here in Milltown that he was thinking of selling now that he’s retired to Arizona.

  I take a seat at a table with a view of the television and look over the menu.

  “What can I get you?” The waitress’ name tag says her name is Roxy. She’s got a brilliant wide smile, legs that go on forever, and that blazing red hair.

  I order a draught beer, a cheeseburger, and some wings. When my beer arrives, it’s icy cold in a frosty pint glass. I take a sip and make a mental note to add that to my growing list of things that say home.

  Roxy returns after a while with my food and places two red baskets on the table.

  “Haven’t seen you in here before. I’m Roxy.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Roman.”

  “Welcome! What brings you to Milltown? No, let me guess.” She eyes me up and down, taking her time. “Navy?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Army.”

  “Order!” a voice calls out from the back of the bar.

  Roxy looks over her shoulder. “I should get back. It was nice to meet you, Roman.”

  I dig into my burger and try to focus on the baseball game. But it’s no use. My mind is all over the place. I am glad to be home but this isn’t how I envisioned any of this. I had hoped to be spending this time with Anna, maybe picking out rings or something, making plans, making up for lost time. Losing Anna has made me realize how alone I am.

  Sure, I have friends… but I don’t have anyone special. I never really thought Anna would leave me. We both knew what my job entailed and that the deployment, while long, wasn’t permanent. Still, three years is a long time to wait, I guess.

  Well, there’s no use dwelling on it; what’s done is done. I finish the rest of my beer and wave for Roxy to bring me the check. It’s still early and I have time to make a run to the big box hardware store for more supplies so I can get an early start in the morning.

  POPPY

  The next morning, I wake early and head into town. After talking to Grandma Lynn for hours last night, it’s clear I need to let go of any wallowing and just move forward, clear my head. Armed with a list of errands courtesy of my grandmother, I take off, eager to have something to do and glad to be back in Milltown for the summer.

  With tomorrow’s Fourth of July celebration almost here, the town is pretty busy. I park my car near the grocery store and decide to walk the short block to the bakery. The little bell tinkles as I open the door to Milltown Bakery and I’m taken in by the delicious scent of coffee and doughnuts and confectioner’s sugar. There are two customers ahead of me as I step into the line, all of us craning to see what’s available in the bakery case. More customers come in behind me as I get to the front of the line.

  Clara Morton looks up at me. “What can I get… Oh! Poppy!” She smiles even wider. “How good it is to see you! You look well.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Her husband appears from the back of the shop. Mrs. Morton says, “Dave, look who it is! Poppy’s in town. Are you here with your family or is it just you?”

  “Hi, Mr. Morton. It’s just me, visiting my grandma.”

  Mrs. Morton smiles. “How nice. Please tell her we send our hellos. What can I get you?”

  Mr. Morton moves to help the person behind me.

  I point to a doughnut sitting by itself on the side of one shelf in front of me. “I’ll have a coffee, light and sweet, and a jelly doughn—”

  “…and a jelly doughnut,” the guy behind me says.

  Mr. Morton eyes us both and then the single jelly doughnut and waggles his brows. “Oh no… a doughnut dilemma.” He and his wife laugh together.

  I turn to the guy. He’s easily a foot taller than me and built like Adonis. My gaze travels up his well-muscled and tanned arms and over his wide shoulders. When our eyes meet, it’s like something inside me bursts
alive.

  “What’s it worth to you?” His voice is deep, and his smile reveals a dimple in his cheek.

  I play along, what the hell. “Oh, I think my claim is stronger. How badly do you want it?”

  He bites his lower lip in contemplation and then shakes his head. “The last jelly doughnut? I’m not sure I can let it go.”

  Clara looks at me and then the guy and smiles. “I know,” she says, taking the jelly doughnut out of the case and placing it on a cutting board behind the counter. “How about you both split it? On the house.”

  “Oh, no…” I begin. “I’ll choose something else.”

  “I insist.” She places each half on a separate little plate and comes around the counter. “This way, you two. Dave, would you bring their coffees, dear?”

  The guy shakes his head like there’s no way he’s going to disagree, and he motions for me to go first. We follow Mrs. Morton out the door to one of the cafe tables on the sidewalk. She places the plates on the table and smiles as Mr. Morton delivers our coffees in paper cups, placing each one in front of us. “There you go, enjoy.”

  “Thank you, really.” I settle into the chair and watch Mr. and Mrs. Morton as they hurry back behind the counter to help the next customers. “Um, hi,” I say, feeling shy and a little apprehensive, and maybe a little bit pleased.

  “I’m Roman.” He extends his hand to me and I take it, watching as his huge fingers close over mine, enveloping my hand completely.

  “I’m Poppy.” I can feel my cheeks heating up and I want to look away, but he’s still holding my hand.