The Accidental Kiss

by Heatherly Bell

  Marco was right. The problem was Dylan didn’t understand why Joe wouldn’t want to have some direction in his life. A purpose. He wouldn’t have to be an EMT or firefighter forever if he didn’t enjoy it. But it wasn’t as if there was any other direction in his life. If there were Dylan would back off. Probably.

  He found Joe in the kitchen surrounded by some of the crew, including Smitty and Tony, who’d been around when Emilio Reyes had been part of the crew.

  “Little Joey Reyes,” Tony said, though Joe had a good six inches on him now. “What’s it been? Six months?”

  Smitty grabbed him a bear hug, as was the big man’s way. “Missed you, son. Ought to come around more often.”

  “I’ve been living in Santa Cruz working as a surfing instructor and a part-time lifeguard. But the shop’s being sold, so I got a little time off.”

  The news slid through Dylan with no small amount of relief. Joe wouldn’t have come to see family if he wasn’t thinking it might be time to move back. He was probably considering options.

  “Hey, why don’t you let Smitty show you the new rig?” Dylan said.

  “Let me guess. It’s red and super shiny.” Joe grinned, tipping back on his heels.

  “You should come out for the open call next month,” Tony said.

  “Guys, you all know I’m a surf bum.”

  “Even so, even so,” Smitty said, arm hooked around Joe’s shoulder, leading him to the bay. “Couldn’t hurt to see this baby. You know, your dad used to love the beach, too. Did I ever tell you about the time he and I went fishing at Bodega Bay?”

  Joe turned slightly and caught Dylan’s eyes as if he wanted to be rescued. But Smitty was really proud of that new rig.

  Dylan simply shrugged as he made his way to the kitchen to grab a post-work-out snack.

  16

  “Can’t eat because of nausea. Nauseous because I can’t eat. Well played, pregnancy. Well played.” ~ meme

  Later that same evening, the rotation crew were all waiting for Tony to serve them spaghetti and his famous meatballs. Only Tony believed them famous. Charley would more be more inclined to call them infamous.

  “Hey,” Johnny said. “Is that girl that played pool with us the other night seeing anyone?”

  “You mean Charley,” Smitty answered for Dylan.

  “Man, she’s really cute,” Johnny added. “Low maintenance. Just my type. Think I stand a chance?”

  A hot spike of jealousy flared in Dylan. Johnny stood a chance over his dead body. Mine.

  “She’s sort of a sore subject ‘round here,” Tony said as he drained the pasta.

  “Why?” Johnny pressed, clearly not aware of Dylan’s level of irritation.

  “Because she’s the one that got away.” Smitty smiled with satisfaction.

  Dylan groaned. These guys really could write a Hallmark movie of the week. He had no idea what they were talking about. She’d never been more than a good friend to him. But they were convinced he couldn’t possibly be best friends with, of all things, a girl. But that’s the way it had been for years. Still, what had recently developed was nobody’s damn business. He was still coming to terms with it himself. For now, he wanted it to be his and his alone.

  “Let me tell you something, Johnny-boy.” Tony took a heaping serving of pasta and set it on a plate. “Our LT here could have any woman he wanted.”

  Dylan snorted. Before or after the fake engagement? Either way, not true.

  “Must be nice,” said Johnny, eyeing the plate as Tony piled on the sauce.

  “And also, if anyone cares, not true,” Dylan added.

  “But he and Charley? Never quite happened,” Smitty continued, shaking his head.

  “And we always wondered why,” Tony said. “She’s perfect for him.”

  “Man, that looks delicious,” Dylan said, re-directing.

  “Oh, it is.” Tony served them their generous plates right to the table. “Dig in, guys!”

  Dylan had poised his fork above a meatball when the fire alarm’s set of tones, growing in volume, resonated through the fire station.

  “Two-alarm fire on 20th Street. Believed to be at least one child still trapped inside,” the dispatch operator said over their loudspeaker.

  There was one word Dylan never liked to hear on the job: children. Everyone moved fast. They all met at the housing bay, where their turn-out gear and boots were literally lined up next to the engine truck for them to step right into. After gearing up, Dylan jumped in the truck next to Tony, pulling on his comm headset and air harness.

  “ETA is three minutes,” he confirmed into his headset. He turned to his crew. “Anyone know the closest fire hydrant?”

  “Got it,” Tony said through his set.

  Many times the guys used the headsets to talk to each other on the way but there were few words spoken now. Anyone trapped inside was always cause for concern but a child…Dylan could only hope for the best-case scenario. Maybe they’d get there in time. Before the toxic fumes of smoke made the child pass out or worse.

  Their unit was the first to arrive and went to work immediately. A crowd of onlookers and residents had gathered on the sidewalk watching the black smoke billow from the second-floor windows. Tony unfurled the hose on the smoldering building, and two men stretched the line, one of them turning it on the house. The other stood behind him as back-up.

  As LT, it was up to Dylan to check around the structure for any unknown hazards and for the best entry point. Craig Lyons, LT from a second unit that had responded behind them, approached Dylan as he was coming back around from the side of the residence. “Kitchen fire. The residents say the little girl was cooking and told them she’d started a fire. She got one of her sisters out but the other one is still missing.”

  “Anyone else trapped?” Dylan asked.

  He frowned. “Neighbors are looking for the mother. It’s just her and the kids living here.”

  Dylan nodded. “Front door is our point of entry.”

  By now, Tony had stretched the line and one of the men was turning the powerful spray of water straight to the roof, where the flames leapt out. The rescue crew would be working with the line crew when they entered the residence.

  Dylan joined Smitty at the front door with the thermal imaging camera. He gestured for Smitty to get behind. Dylan led the way through the front door, crawling under the smoke since they wouldn’t be able to stand until the outside crew was finished ventilating the roof. For now, visibility in this smoke was less than zero. The camera would show him the differential heat between the heat of a human body and the heat in the residence, whose ceiling had to be getting close to two thousand degrees.

  He continued to crawl, Smitty behind him, and as he approached the kitchen confirmed the fire had started there. A black hole had burned directly through the ceiling straight to the second floor. The missing child could be on the second floor, maybe hiding somewhere, terrified.

  But with any luck, or maybe a miracle, still alive.

  Dylan crawled up the steps. In the second room, the camera led him to a heat differential and under the twin bed he found the missing child. He couldn’t see anything in the thick black smoke, but he could feel the small and limp body, grabbed the child in a bear hug, signaled to Smitty, and followed when he turned back to lead them out.

  Give her air from your mask. Just rip it off and do it. Now.

  But he couldn’t. Couldn’t break the rules and take off his air mask. The rules were there for a reason. Logic told him that if he couldn’t breathe, if he burned out his lungs, he couldn’t help anyone. The creaking of the roof told him this structure was about to cave. Swinging the child over this shoulder in a fireman’s hold, he walked low to the ground. Seeing an opening that was closer, and knowing the child needed oxygen immediately, he headed that way. Interminable seconds later that felt more like hours, he neared the exit.

  He focused on process as he’d been taught, to avoid the sinking sensations curling through him
now. Adrenaline, pure and powerful, flooded him. He might not get out of here alive. The crew might have to pull his charred remains out with God help him, this child in his arms. A large piece of the structure fell right in front of them and Dylan instinctively used his body to shield the child and take the hit. But the frame missed them both. In another minute, he was pulled out by a strong pair of arms.

  “Close one,” Smitty said.

  Too close.

  He ripped off his mask and gave the child some oxygen on his way to handing her over to the EMTs. It didn’t happen often, but for what seemed like several minutes but was possibly only seconds, Dylan stood by watching them work. Unable to move. He wanted to be told the girl was going to be okay, but he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was never that simple.

  One of the ambulances left with her shortly after, sirens wailing. Hours later, after some of his men had ventilated the roof so that they had some visibility, and the fire was one hundred percent contained, the mother showed up. But by then CPS had arrived and taken the other two children into their custody.

  “What happened?” She ran toward the house, screaming. “Where are my babies?”

  “They took your kids and Angela went to the hospital. Where were you?” a neighbor yelled.

  “I had to work!”

  “Work? You’re high, Kathy.”

  Dylan stopped listening and in the next seconds he was forced to sit down while an EMT from a second ambulance checked his vitals and listened to his lungs. He was going to be okay, this time. But he’d meant what he said to Smitty. That was too close for comfort. The roof had creaked, the wood had snapped. The fire, its fierceness and intensity, had humbled him. And reminded him that like his father he was simply…mortal.

  “How you doing, LT?” Tony asked, as Dylan walked away from the ambulance.

  “Hard to say,” Dylan said because it was the simple truth. He couldn’t quite put into words the feeling he had at the moment. His adrenaline levels still hadn’t come down.

  “I’ve seen this many times. Just don’t be surprised if everything tastes better for a while,” Tony went on. “Sex is going to be better. Nothing is going to piss you off. Too bad it doesn’t last. Enjoy it while you can. You’re lucky to be alive so enjoy every freaking minute of that.”

  “How long will this last?”

  “It’s different for everyone. Mine lasted a couple of weeks, but I’ll tell you, once you’ve been that close to death, some part of that appreciation for life never goes away.”

  When they got back to the station, gear sooty and black, bodies exhausted, the spaghetti was cold. First, they had to face the task of cleaning their gear. After all that was completed and assessed, the spaghetti was frigid and bitchy. And Dylan was past the point of hunger. His stomach burned with another kind of intensity entirely. Adrenaline still riding high, he felt like running five miles. Climbing a mountain. Sailing at midnight.

  Having sex with Charley all night long.

  “I’ll warm the spaghetti up. It’s always better the second time around, anyway,” Tony said.

  “I’m starved,” Johnny said.

  “I’m so hungry I could eat my left arm,” Smitty said.

  Later, Dylan let the hot water pound his tired muscles in the shower, a stunning realization hitting him hard. He wondered why he’d never seen it before. The reason he hadn’t noticed this spark with Charley was nothing more than fear. It was what had held him back from asking her out years ago, knowing that she’d already lost so much. Why give her the burden of being with someone in his profession, too?

  But there was the thing. She was willing to risk it all. And suddenly it occurred to him that damn if he wasn’t right there with her.

  17

  Cooking is love made edible.” ~ Apron

  “And then, Dylan carried the poor child right out of the house,” Mrs. Perez said to Charley while ordering a loaf of French bread and a dozen donuts. “Too bad he’s engaged. That’s the kind of man I want my daughter to date, rather than these losers she keeps on picking.”

  “Um—” Confess now, or let the prank die a slow death?

  The word was getting out slowly but surely given that Jenny knew the truth. Eventually Mrs. Perez would hear. Dylan wasn’t engaged, but he was definitely otherwise occupied.

  With her.

  The bakery was humming by six a.m. when she opened the doors. Padre Suarez came in an hour later, blessed the pastries, and had his usual. When the morning rush slowed Charley almost didn’t notice the man who’d walked in and held the door open for Padre Suarez as he left.

  Sean.

  “Hey, baby.” He whipped off his shades and gave her a toothy smile. “What’s going on?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Knew that New Orleans wouldn’t be the same without you. The next big thing is Paris anyway. And you’re coming.” He glanced around the shop. “But hey, look at you. Baking.”

  “Well, this is my family’s bakery.”

  He waggled his brows. “And everything is rising to the occasion?”

  “Yes, Sean. It all came back to me. Like riding a bicycle.” She went back behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”

  Sean was a bit of a snob when it came to anything sweet, since he believed he was God’s gift to pastries. He lingered over the glass case, passing loafs of crusty bread, glazed donuts and scones and finally pointed. “What are those?”

  “My special pastry puffs.”

  “I’ll have one.”

  She batted her lashes at him. “Feeling brave today?”

  “I guess you could say that.” He pulled out his wallet.

  Sean was such a mean critic that she didn’t want him to sink her spirits. The puffs were something new she’d tried, mixing unexpected flavors but also sticking to some classics. They certainly weren’t classic bakery fare but more like a gourmet artsy quiche.

  “These are on the house. Just tell me what you think.”

  “You know I will.”

  Oh, she knew. His criticism had hurt her feelings more than once. More like daily. He’d once ever so helpfully told her that her jeans made her butt look too big. Looking back, it had spelled the beginning of the end for their short romantic relationship. After that, they’d gone back to just being work friends and Charley had never once looked back. But his opinion as a cook meant a lot to her because he had so much more experience than she did, working in his family’s French restaurant and making connections in the culinary world early on.

  Sean took a bite, closed his eyes and cocked his head as if meditating. She waited in suspense for his verdict, wishing she’d put a little cayenne pepper in for him. Just so there would be an excuse when he hated it.

  He swallowed, coughed, and hit his chest. “What in God’s name did you put in here?”

  “Why?”

  “Because…they’re not sweet.”

  “They have butter. Lots of it. And the crust melts in your mouth. Does every pastry have to be sweet?”

  “Why, yes, now that you mention it, at least in a bakery. It’s all about expectations. Know your audience, baby. And then deliver.”

  “What if I want to be a little different? Maybe I’m trying something new. We’re expanding, and I’ve got a lunch menu planned.” Milly didn’t know it yet, but they were, whether she liked it or not.

  “Back to the drawing board with those,” Sean said with a slight shake of his head.

  That was possibly the nicest thing Sean had ever said about her cooking. “What are you doing here? You didn’t just drop by to check up on me.”

  “You’ve talked about Miracle Bay so much, and it’s been years since I last worked in San Francisco. When I was looking for somewhere else to land quickly, I checked it out. Working for a pop-up on Valencia Street. I start next week.”

  “Sorrel’s?” She’d seen the signs. They were operating from a former storefront.

  “That’s the one.”

  But
Sean didn’t fit into this world. He was part of her other world, the world that never crossed lines with Miracle Bay. With Dylan.

  Her safe place.

  Sean would now infiltrate her world, reminding her that she’d been on a quest for years that hadn’t led her anywhere. She wasn’t a first-class chef, she hadn’t been to Paris, she didn’t have a bistro, and she wasn’t in a committed relationship with anyone but her cutlery set. And damn it all, she wanted all of those things. A serious relationship with a man. Her own bistro someday where she would be the head chef. She’d paid her dues, almost ten years of dealing with irrational chefs and pompous men like Sean.

  “Want to go out tonight? Check out some of the restaurants and make fun of them?”

  Another thing about Sean? He had a mean streak a mile wide. Charley secretly believed it was his destiny to host a reality TV cooking show in which he yelled and belittled all of the contestants, all with a smile on his face.

  “Sorry, but I’m busy.”

  The bakery’s door jingled, and Jenny strode inside. Her face red, brows lowered over squinted eyes, there might as well be smoke coming out of her ears. She came up to the glass case, nearly shoulder-checking Sean.

  “If you wanted him for yourself, all you had to do was say so!”

  “Um, hi Jenny.” Charley dug her hands inside her apron and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Don’t you ‘hi’ me. There’s no sunset kiss or true love. No engagement for Dylan. You lied to me and made me look like a fool. I never did understand you and Dylan and your stupid little jokes. And by the way, half the neighborhood thinks you’re already screwing and have been for years. So why not get on with it and do him so the rest of us can give up.”

  “Sorry, Jenny. I went too far that time with my prank.”

  Jenny went hand on hip and swiveled her neck. “You think?”

  Sean, who had been checking out Jenny’s goods the entire time she’d been yacking, spoke up. “Hello.”

  Jenny turned as if she’d just noticed him. She tossed her long dark hair, then appraised him from the top of his spiky blonde hair to the tips of his Birkenstocks. “Hey there.”