Chapter 21
Patrick
Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.
It's about learning how to dance in the rain.
~ Vivian Greene
This storm’s one of the worst we’ve had in a while—straight-line winds over sixty miles an hour, trees down, power out, streets flooding.
We’re called to a downed tree, branches splayed across power lines near Moss and Maple.
“Emberleigh just texted,” Dustin says into his headset.
He’s riding in the back seat with Cody, all of us in wildland gear. I’m driving. Greyson’s up front riding officer.
“She and a few friends were at Moss and Maple for an author signing. They’re huddled in the basement, waiting it out. Says they’re fine.”
We maneuver through zero visibility at a crawl.
The wind shoves at the truck, threatening to veer us off course.
The wipers thrash against sheets of rain, tires plowing through foot-deep water.
I nose the rig to a stop near the downed tree, its roots torn up, branches straddling the sagging lines between two poles.
With every gust, the tangle of limbs and wires writhes like an ominous monster in the dark.
Our first task: block the road. The lines could be live, so safety is our first priority.
The utility crew rolls in, bucket truck headlights cutting through the storm.
Jerry Simms rides the lift skyward, the wind tossing him like he’s on some rigged carnival ride.
He works the switch while Dustin calls Emberleigh, warning her to expect the blackout.
“Everyone stand back!” Greyson shouts. “That line’ll kill you if it’s live.”
A blink later, the block goes dark. Jerry signals the all-clear, and we fire up the saws, cutting branch after branch until the last of the tree thuds to the pavement.
By the time we’re finished, we’re soaked and aching. Across the street, faint flickers from battery candles glow in Daisy’s shop windows. I glance at Dustin. He nods, and we head across to check on the civilians sheltering inside.
“We’re still on scene,” Greyson calls after us.
“Copy that,” I shout back. “Just checking on the group inside the shop.”
The entry of Moss and Maple glows warm yellow in the candlelight. Dustin shuts the door behind us.
“We’re dripping on her floor,” he says.
I shuck my boots and coat in a pile on the mat and he follows suit.
I instantly feel less equipped and more vulnerable without my gear. I pad my way through the hallway to the door leading down into Daisy’s basement. The wind howls at the windows, the rain continues relentlessly pelting the roof.
I open the basement door and shout down. “It’s Patrick and Dustin. We’re coming down!”
“Dustin?” Emberleigh’s voice quavers as she shouts her boyfriend’s name.
“Coming!” he shouts, barreling past me.
I step aside and follow him into the darkness. Once we’re at the bottom of the stairs, the light of phones, flashlights and more battery-operated candles fills the space. About twenty people are huddled in the room, some on chairs, others on the floor.
“Is everyone alright?” I ask, my eyes scanning the room.
Emberleigh is already in Dustin’s arms. He’s holding her to himself and bending to whisper something in her ear.
My eyes lock onto Daisy’s. The candle she’s holding softly illuminates her features.
“We’re okay,” she says in a steady voice.
“I have to pee,” Winona says.
A few people chuckle.
“I’ll walk you upstairs,” I say, breaking eye contact with Daisy to grab my Maglight. I shine the way up the wooden staircase and Winona walks past me.
The storm’s losing steam—the rain softens to a steady patter, the wind less menacing now. I radio Greyson while Winona uses the restroom, and then the two of us walk back downstairs.
“Storm’s letting up a bit,” I announce to the crowd. Turning to Dustin, I say, “Grey says we can start helping people to their cars soon.”
A loud thunk fills the room and then the lights flicker on.
I glance around. Daisy’s hand is resting on June’s back, stroking in a gesture of reassurance.
I suppress a grin. Daisy would hate my appreciation of her leadership and care. For her sake, I’ll remain neutral.
My eyes betray me, drifting back to her. Her long brown hair seems as unruffled as the calm mask schooling her features. Something in her expression tells me she’s holding it together for the sake of everyone else in the room.
She’s beautiful. My chest tightens and I swallow hard.
Daisy.
I can’t want Daisy Clark. She’s the last person I should ever fall for.
I inhale deeply and force myself to focus on helping people move toward the stairs.
“Does anyone want cocoa or tea before you head out?” Daisy offers, walking toward me—actually brushing past me—to head upstairs, leading the way for the guest author and her customers.
A waft of cinnamon lingers behind her. Her nearness is dizzying.
I turn toward the group at the base of the stairs, asking them to form an organized line.
“I thought we ran out of cocoa,” Winona says, tagging behind Daisy.
“I bought more.” Daisy’s words filter down from the top of the stairs.
“With your own money?” Winona’s voice is faint now that they’re on the main floor.
Daisy answers. I may be the only one who can hear her. “Does it matter? I want Moss and Maple to be a place of refuge and welcome. Cocoa is a trademark here. I can cut the budget elsewhere.”
I glance around. People are shuffling, picking up carpet squares and stacking folded blankets on a shelf. Daisy wouldn’t want me to overhear anything she says about her business, especially not anything to do with her struggling to make ends meet.
I catch Dustin’s eye and point upstairs. He nods, continuing to help people tidy the basement.
I emerge from the staircase and approach Winona. “Do you have a mop?”
Her brow scrunches, but then she says, “Follow me.”
She opens a hall closet and I grab the mop, heading into the front room to mop up the water from when Dustin and I entered.
Daisy turns her head and eyes me—at first suspiciously, but then her face softens momentarily.
“Sorry,” I say. “We brought the storm in with us.”
“It’s alright,” she says softly.
I wait for her usual witty retort or sarcastic addendum. Nothing comes.
I wring the mop out in the bathroom sink and place it in the closet.
When I return to the main room, Daisy’s handing mugs of warm beverages to her customers, smiling and saying something reassuring to each one.
This is why Moss and Maple matters. It’s not merely the books.
It’s this—Daisy making every customer feel as if they belong here because they’re her favorite.
She makes me want … what, exactly? To be a part of this safe haven she offers anyone who needs it. Of course, that’s the very last thing I will ever be. At least I mopped the floor.
Dustin walks over to my side, picking up his boots. “Enjoying the ambiance?” he teases, nudging me in the ribs.
“She’s really …” I don’t finish. I don’t even know what made me say that much.
Daisy Clark is special. I always knew it. Somehow in all our bantering and rivalry, I forgot what it feels like to be the recipient of her brand of care.
“I’m going to check in with Grey and drive Emberleigh home,” Dustin says.
I glance out into the road.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell Dustin.
He and Emberleigh step out onto the porch a few moments later, followed by a few other customers who grab their umbrellas off the porch and step into what is now a mild rainfall.
I carefully make my way to Daisy. I never know if I’m about to encounter a bear with a thorn in her paw. Still, I enter the cave, like a fool.
“Do you need … um … want … anything else?” I ask.
She’ll say no. Of course she’ll say no. What she wants—always wants—is the greatest amount of distance between herself and me.
She surprises me when she looks up at me, a softness in her eyes, and says, “Thank you for checking on us.”
“Anytime,” I say, hoping she senses the genuine sincerity behind the word.
Silently, I tell her, I’ll drop anything for you. I know I didn’t back then. But I’m different now.
An unfamiliar woman in her mid-fifties approaches Daisy. When she says, “Thank you for hosting me,” I realize this must be the guest author. On second glance, I know her writing. Patrick O’Connell, local firefighter, shouldn’t have a clue who she is, so I keep my awareness to myself.
“Thank you for coming out,” Daisy says with a soft smile. “So sorry we had to cut things short.”
“It was an adventure.” The author smiles, nudging her glasses up her nose.
She glances between me and Daisy.
“Boyfriend?” she asks, a hopeful expression on her face.
Daisy looks at me and laughs, holding her palm out toward me and shaking it from side to side.
“Definitely not my boyfriend.”
“We grew up together,” I supply.
“Ah,” the author says. “That explains the chemistry.”
Chemistry? More like that bear with a thorn found her way into a warehouse of explosives and I’m carrying a lit match—one careless spark and I could lose my head.
Daisy huffs out a nervous laugh. She looks up at me and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She seems ready to tell the sordid tale of how very deeply she despises even sharing the same zip code with me, but this time decorum wins.
“I’d better get out to the truck,” I say. “Unless you need … uh … want … Unless there’s anything else I can do.”
The author smiles a self-satisfied grin as if my bumbling delivery confirms her suspicions.
“I think I’ll make do without your heroics,” Daisy quips.
There she is. I can’t help smiling at her familiar snark.
Despite the fact that I’m fueling the misconceptions of our guest author, I lean in closer to Daisy until we’re nearly a breath away from one another—like we were over the glass of milk.
I stare into her defiant glare and say, “I think you like my heroics.”
Then I pull back and wink, and, before she can get the last word in, I turn, slip my boots on, and walk out the door.
We drive back to the station on autopilot.
The emotions that ambushed me in Moss and Maple haven’t dimmed. If anything, it’s like I yanked the cork on a champagne bottle—feelings for Daisy exploding everywhere in a sticky, all-consuming mess. One-sided as they obviously are, they’re still overpowering and impossible to shove aside.
When we’re back in our bunks, I’m too restless to settle.
I glance over at Cody’s still body, curled up in the twin bed across the room from me. The station is quiet. Grey is probably down for the night. Dustin went home with Emberleigh with Captain’s approval.
Certain I won’t be interrupted or spied on, I open my emails to find a response from M&M:
Dear BTTP,
Pineapple on pizza is a no for me. Can we still be friends?
I chuckle, then quickly glance at Cody. He rustles a little bit, but resettles quickly.
Since we won’t be eating pizza together for the foreseeable future, I think our difference can be overlooked.
Why does her declaration of our separation send an odd ache through me? I can’t have Daisy. And I can’t have M&M.
If I’m being honest, I liked your rambling, unfiltered message.
The cabin sounds amazing. I do have a cabin like that in my life. I never go. My work keeps me busy most days. I can’t take time away from my town very often. I miss lazy days with a book in my hand and no schedule or agenda.
My life could use that kind of break—especially lately.
I don’t know what else to say, so I’ll leave this open-ended.
Looking forward to whatever you write next.
- M&M
I shut my laptop and close my eyes. I think about M&M—the ease between us.
The way our conversations flow without judgment.
She’s kind and thoughtful, intelligent and witty.
I enjoy her and look forward to her messages and emails—probably more than I should.
She’s the antithesis of Daisy—at least where I’m concerned.
Daisy’s naturally nurturing side comes out whenever she interacts with customers or friends—nearly anyone but me.
When it comes to us, she’s all fire and sparks.
Maybe I’ve always liked her. I can’t tell when the attraction started.
Admitting it to myself feels like the opening of Pandora’s box.
Being around her and hiding my thoughts and feelings is going to be infinitely more challenging now—like containing flames around a structure that’s been rotting for ages.
Eventually, thoughts about Daisy thin and blur. I sleep through the night in my twin bed, across from Cody. The next morning, I wake and drive home to my duplex where only a paper-thin wall separates me from Daisy Clark.