by JA Lafrance
I get it, he’s exhausted. And he’s right…we’ll get dispatched to another call before we clock out and each call can last hours. But I’d never be able to live with the guilt of sitting down, shooting the breeze while people wait for their ambulance to arrive. Every minute, every second counts for them. I know this from direct experience. I lost someone once and if the ambulance had been faster…
Whether it’s a true emergency or someone who thinks an ambulance ride to the hospital will mean they jump the queue over sitting in the waiting room for hours in the ER, I’m 100% focused when I’m clocked in. Donald is dedicated, too; he puts everything he has into it, but he teases me that in a couple years, my green shimmer will dull just a bit.
I hope I never lose the zest for saving lives, don’t ever lose the sense of urgency, won’t ever pick chatting with some nurses for a few minutes during shift change over the chance to save a life.
Four minutes after we’re back in our ambulance, we’re dispatched to another call. We wind up clocking overtime because of an apartment building fire. It’s a bad one. Not everyone survives, but some do, by the skin of their teeth, and I know it’s because of Donald and me, who got there quickly.
Christina — A month later…
I drop my keys in the dish beside the door inside my apartment and see my roommate April, wearing a shit-eating grin. She jerks her thumb toward the table. “Another one.”
Ugh.
Another dozen flowers in a pretty vase, this time: blue roses.
I got a dozen red roses yesterday and two days ago a pale pink bunch. They’re pretty, colorful, and an absolute waste.
“Today, there’s a note,” April announces with unconcealed excitement.
You’d think they were for her or something.
I open the envelope.
I’d love to have dinner with you. Please meet me at Bistro Bleu at 7 o’clock tonight. The reservation is under your name.
“God, I hope you don’t have a creepy, ugly stalker,” April says.
“Just a creepy gorgeous one?” I counter.
“Finally, the mystery man will be revealed.” April is reading over my shoulder.
“I’m not goin’,” I say.
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe.” I slip the card back into the envelope and tuck it back into the card holder sticking out of the bouquet.
“You’re no fun,” April grumbles. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna wake up one day old and lonely with no great adventures to talk about.”
She would absolutely go on a blind date without a care. She’d be tickled if she had a secret admirer.
Me? I don’t have time for games. If someone wants to ask me out, they should just ask. Face to face. This stuff actually annoys me. I’m busy. Ridiculously. I have neither the desire nor time for guessing games.
Okay, and I’m also a little cranky right now.
I need a shower and some sleep. It was a busy night and tomorrow might be my day off, but I have errands and I’m down to my granny panties so I need to spend the day doing laundry, paying bills, and then hitting the rec centre to help at dinner time.
That centre means a lot to me. They provide services to the homeless, the disabled, and the lonely. Meals. Mental health support. Showers. Day programs for the elderly and for overwhelmed caregivers who benefit from having a place to go with their special needs kids or elderly loved ones. It’s a place where they can get a cup of coffee, a change of scenery, and some moral support. It’s a place where the needy are given care, compassion, and more. The centre needs all the volunteer hours I can give them. I feel like I never give them enough.
“You’re gonna swing by Bistro Bleu to see who it is, though, right?”
“I don’t play these games, April. You know me better than that.”
“Yeah, I do know you. Where’s your sense of adventure, Tina? What if the man of your dreams is sitting at that table?”
April is a romantic. I’ve known her since the eighth grade, and she will still be a romantic when she’s a grandmother. I’m too pragmatic for silly stuff like this. If I’m going out with someone, I wanna know who they are and what their motives are. Sending bouquets three days in a row? Expensive roses—what, because my last name is Rose? Eyeroll-worthy. Trying to get me to go to a swanky restaurant without knowing who I’m meeting? No way.
“The man of my dreams? Ha; funny. More like creepy stalker of my nightmares.” I wave my hand dismissively and head down the hall.
“Maybe I’ll go check him out,” she offers.
“Don’t you dare,” I say before I close the bathroom door.
I haven’t dated anybody in a while. But anyone who knows me knows I’m a no-nonsense girl. Anyone who doesn’t know me probably wouldn’t get that I’m a busy girl with barely enough time to pee, never mind date. I’m always being told to live a little, that I’m too serious.
Either this person will go away, or they’ll step out of the shadows and name themselves so I can tell them they should go away.
Hunter
A month ago, I almost died. And maybe I was asking for it. I’ve been taking too many chances lately. I’ve never played it safe. But this time? My recklessness brought me a wake-up call.
The crash into that guard rail finally knocked some sense into me.
I’m not invincible. And maybe I’m ready for more substance in my life.
That saying about your life flashing before your eyes? That didn’t happen to me.
Instead of seeing my life for what I’ve seen and done and who’s been in it, I saw the life I could have. I saw gorgeous blue eyes, dark curls, and heard a sweet, calming voice that asked me my name and told me I was gonna have to dig deep and hold on, because I was too young to cash in my chips. That I had so much more life to live.
I listened, and then, in that weird place between here and the white light, I saw her face. It was her face I saw beside me. I saw her face on little kids that I knew were my kids. I saw happiness. I saw ball games and ice cream sundaes, and I saw her twirling with me through a life with laughter, adventure, and hot sex. Insanely hot sex. Her voice kept me alive.
Her words. Her blue eyes. Her actions with the machines that beeped and squeezed.
My father later told me I’d flatlined in the ambulance.
I almost died and she brought me back. But for a minute, there in the place between here and the white light, a place covered with a filter that was the same shade as her blue eyes, I was actually happy. Happy at what might be if I had that girl as mine.
I know she was with me in the back of that ambulance. I know she’s the one who brought me back.
I almost died.
But I didn’t.
Somewhere between the white light and the ambulance I saw what I’d miss if I gave in.
And now it’s time to make changes in my life and get the beauty I saw. Claim what I want.
After spending a month recovering from the crash, I’m ready for it. Going back to the life I had before the accident isn’t an option.
That life is filled with money, fast cars, fast women, and hedonism. But, though I’m only twenty-nine, I’ve had enough of that shit to last more than a lifetime. Two or three lifetimes. I’ve sown my wild oats all over the place. It’s a jungle of wild oats. It’s time to plant actual roots.
I looked into the paramedic that saved my life.
I needed to see where this could go. I needed to know if the happy I never had but saw shaded with blue could happen with Christina Rose.
Tonight, I wait at Bistro Bleu.
I’m sure she saves a lot of lives. I’m also sure it’s recent enough that she’ll remember me. I’m told I’m pretty memorable.
I arrive half an hour early and take the liberty of ordering.
And…
She doesn’t show up.
I knock on the door, the black bag with the braided twine handles—containing not only our salads and our entrees, but also the desserts I pre-o
rdered in hand.
The door opens and I’m looking at a cute redhead whose jaw drops. She’s got her phone to her ear and a handbag slung over her shoulder, obviously on her way out.
“One sec, Fay. Hi there,” she greets me while simultaneously talking into her phone.
“Well hello.” I give her my signature melt-the-panties smile. This is the smile that gets me past barriers that aren’t already down due to my name. “Is Christina here, by chance?”
“Did you send the three dozen roses?” she whispers, a bright light in her eyes.
I put my finger to my lips. “Shh.”
She pinches in front of her lips, turning an imaginary lock.
“You’re Tina’s secret admirer. Holy shit. Fay, Tina’s secret admirer is Hunter Collins! Yep, that Hunter Collins.”
I hear a squeal through the phone.
So much for the lock and key this girl just drew two seconds ago.
“I’m April. Come in. Tina’s in her room. I’ll get her.”
People know me around here because of my father. My rich and famous self-made reality TV wealth guru father. A multi-page spread in a local lifestyle magazine a few years ago got me on an It list, and not only does it mean I never wait in line but also that I’m frequently the subject of the local rags. I’ve earned a rep as an eligible bachelor slash playboy. April gives me another once-over before speaking into her phone. “Call you back. I’m leaving in two minutes. Just gotta see Teeny’s face first. Right? I know! Bye!”
If Christina Rose is half as enthusiastic about me as April and Fay are, this’ll be easy.
She raps on a door in the small apartment. I look around.
The apartment is simple, cheap furnishings, decent stereo, and nice art on the walls. It has personality, though. It looks like two 20-something broke girls live here, but they’ve done a decent job with the space.
The Tragically Hip’s Bobcaygeon is blaring from the room with the closed door. If this is Christina’s taste in music, we’re off to a good start. The door flies open and there’s the girl of my dreams.
She’s a mess. And yet, my slacks still grow tighter in the crotch.
She’s got a lot of dark curly hair and it’s piled on top of her head in a knot with pieces falling out, framing her pretty face. She wears thick black-framed glasses, a slouchy grey sweatshirt that falls off one shoulder with paint stains on it, and a frayed jean skirt. She’s got bare legs, bare feet with metallic blue nail polish on her toes. Her blue eyes bounce from her roommate to me and for a split second she looks oblivious. And then I watch realization dawn.
She remembers me.
“Okay, well, I’m off. See you later,” April says, a Cheshire cat smile on her face.
“Wait April, please? This’ll just take a minute.”
“I gotta bounce, girlfriend,” April says.
Christina’s eyes shoot daggers at her friend as she grabs her roommate by the wrist. “Wait.”
I’m just standing outside her bedroom door, smiling while Christina glares and April smirks.
I get that she didn’t know who the flowers were from and though I’m surprised she didn’t do a walk-by to at least see who was waiting for her at the swanky restaurant. And now that she’s seen me, I would’ve expected something else.
For her to make an excuse about not showing up.
For her to make an excuse about her appearance.
For her to look like she cares that she isn’t dressed to the nines.
I’m dressed nice. I’m standing here looking good, smelling good, and showing her what she would’ve missed tonight if I hadn’t come here after she stood me up.
That’s why I’m surprised she’s not showing me a different reaction.
She looks annoyed.
“Remember me?” I prompt.
“I do. Glad you’re upright with all your major organs inside your body.”
I smile. “All but one major organ.”
She flinches. Laughter bursts from April’s mouth.
“Why are you here?” Christina demands.
“I’m here because you didn’t show up at Bistro Bleu.”
“I’d think that my not showing up would signal I’m not available for dinner. Quite honestly, I’m not available at all.”
“You’re not in a relationship,” I tell her.
Her head jerks back. “How do you know whether I am, or am not in a relationship?”
I shrug sheepishly.
She gives a quick shake of her head.
“I gotta go,” April whispers. “Fay’s waiting.”
“Fay can wait a few more minutes,” Christina says through gritted teeth.
Fuck me, but she’s adorable.
“Thanks for the effort, Hunter, but I’m not interested.”
“No?”
“No. Especially not in you.”
Whoa. “What?”
“Forgive the bluntness here, but I’m not interested in someone splashing money around recklessly, and—”
“Recklessly? Explain.”
“Overpriced flowers three days in a row, expensive restaurants, and being all—” She waves her hand, “You.”
She says you as if she is thinking, Ew.
“I’m just not interested. Thanks anyway.” She gracelessly trudges to the front door and swings it open. “Glad you’re feeling better.” She points toward the hallway.
I’m thrown. In fact, I’m so thrown, I go out into the hall. By the time I realize she’s walked me out and turn around, her apartment door is closed.
I stare at the door, dumbfounded.
Christina
I’m up to my eyebrows in potato peels when I see him through the window in the swinging door. He strolls in and I can’t believe my eyes, so I hard-blink. Yep, definitely Hunter Collins, the playboy, the womanizer, the guy who nearly got killed on the highway a little over a month ago, whose hand I held as he was extricated from his pretzel of a sportscar. That Hunter Collins is standing in the middle of the rec centre, looking around. He’s got messy blond hair that perpetually looks like he’s just had a girl run her fingers through it. He’s also wearing that ever-present cocky smirk. He’s in what I would imagine are casual clothes for him: jeans and a button-down. But they’re $300 jeans and his shoes probably cost more than my car.
He speaks to Frannie, the program director, who points at the kitchen door. Her face is beaming. It takes a lot to charm Frannie, and this guy is succeeding at it. Sheesh.
I’m wearing $29 jeans, the hoodie he saw me in last night, $12 knockoff Chucks, and my eyeglasses. No makeup. And to add to the whole non-glam package that is me, a hairnet.
I don’t care, though. I don’t care that he won’t look at me like he wants to have me for lunch, because I’m not interested in being lunch. I wasn’t interested in being his meal last night, and I’m not interested today.
In fact, I’m annoyed that he’s got the nerve to show up here after that bullshit last night.
I turn my back to the door and my attention to the potatoes.
A minute later, he’s directly behind me.
“Hey,” he says in a sexy voice.
How dare he have a sexy voice!
I keep peeling potatoes.
“Want some help?” he offers.
I gesture toward the massive pile of spuds waiting to be peeled and then pass him my peeler and walk away.
I wash my hands and get started on the next task. And yes, I’m wearing my just-sucked-a-lemon expression, but I can’t help it.
“Hey,” he says again.
He’s behind me at the counter, where I’m grating cheese.
I spin around to give him my dirtiest look, but he’s closer than I expected so we collide.
“Whoa!” He grabs me by the waist. “Easy there.”
I begin ranting. “I’m not remotely easy. What on earth are you even doing here? If you think this is funny or cute, you’d be wrong.”
“It’s kinda funny you wavin’ a brick o
f cheese in my face.”
I put the cheese down and sigh. “What do you want?”
“I wanna help. Thought we could talk, get to know one another while I help.”
“The fact that you’re here at all leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I think it’s better if you leave. But really, I’ve got a lot of hungry people today who’ve been promised my famous loaded baked potato soup, so since you’re here, go ahead and peel all those potatoes, but just sayin’, when you’re done, you can leave. This isn’t happening.”
“What isn’t happening?”
“Me and you.” I gesture between us. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“I’m not even tired. It’s only, what, two thirty?”
My eyes narrow. “You know what I mean.”
“Oh, you mean sex?”
I roll my eyes. This is so obviously a game. He comes in here looking all hot, figuring he can seal the deal he didn’t close last night.
“Duh.”
He moves in way too close.
“I’m all for sex, Christina Rose, all for it. I could dedicate many, many hours to finding all your hot spots. And I suspect with that temper of yours you’d be quite the handful, which is something I’m all for in a sexual partner, but really, I’m just here to help you make soup.”
I try to ignore the heat that’s climbing my cheeks.
“Oh. You’re skilled in the art of soup-making?”
He shrugs. “I’ve opened a can or two.”
“What, when the help has a day off?”
His smirk doesn’t falter.
“My soup… not from a can,” I inform. “My soup? Made with love. Some of the people out there can’t get the luxury of soup even from a can. Here, on days when I cook, they get food with flavour, nutrition, and that’s made by someone who cares.”
He smiles. His eyes sparkle. “I’ll get peelin’. You can get ready for the lovemaking.”
My face flames at how he’s twisted my words. I spin away and go back to grating cheese.
“Wait,” I say, turning back to face him.