Chapter Fifteen
Ulysses
Itapped my pen on my desk. As much as I was all about the technology, I often wrote things out by hand. Especially when I was trying to piece something out in my mind. Finally, I grabbed my phone and hit Finn’s number.
“Yes?” Said on a yawn.
“Crap.” I winced. “I thought you were off.”
“I am.” Another yawn. “And I shouldn’t be napping, so it’s a good thing you called.”
I wanted to call bullshit on that, but it wasn’t for me to say one way or the other. “How are you?”
“Tired. We’ve had a couple of major calls and a bunch of small ones in the last few days. I’m also not sleeping well. But that happens from time to time.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about. How come you called?”
“Well, uh…can I ask you out to dinner?”
“Is this a real date or a business date?”
“Business.”
“Oh…okay.”
Does he sound disappointed…or is that my imagination?
“Well, good. Just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date. So if we ever have one of them, don’t expect it to end up in the bedroom.”
And apparently Finn was as good as his word. We had a business date at, of all places, Subway. Then we wound up in his bed.
Again.
In a tangle of sweaty bodies, and harsh breaths, he scratched my scalp. “You’re really talented at that.”
I chuckled. “I’ve had some practice.”
“Not celibate all these years?”
“Uh…no. Perhaps less sex recently, though.”
“Less than the two of us fucking like rabbits?”
I chuckled. “That wasn’t what I meant.” Jesus, how do I say this? “I meant less since moving to Mission City.”
He stilled—his fingers resting on my scalp. “Like how much less?”
Fuck it. “Like I haven’t had sex with anyone except you since that night.”
“That night?” He sounded confused. “Oh, you mean after the fire?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. Oh.” He elongated the word. “Seriously? You went more than three months without sex?”
This time, I laughed. “You make it sound like it’s the end of the world.”
“Might just be.” He resumed his scratching. “I, uh, wasn’t celibate during that time. Well, not like…”
I chuckled—unsure of what he meant by not like. “I didn’t expect you to be. You didn’t even know who I was. You certainly didn’t know I’d be back or we’d wind up together again.”
“Ah. You’re forgetting what a small town Mission City is. I knew you were the new editor almost from the moment you left my bed. Spring Dixon has a big mouth—in case you’re wondering from whom I heard it.” He stilled again. “Or maybe Sarabeth at Fifties told me. Well, possibly both.”
“So word got around about the new gay guy in town.”
“Yep.” He sighed. “And I was sort of hurt and sort of mad and then we met in the bar and—” He chuckled. “Why I didn’t drag you home that night, I’ll never know.”
“Bad timing.”
“On whose part?”
“Mine? The universe’s? We just maybe weren’t ready.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Really?” Said with no small amount of sarcasm. “But you’re ready now.”
“Uh—”
“That’s what I thought. Okay, we’ve had our business date. Ask your questions.”
I didn’t particularly like his tone—but that was my fault and not his. “You saw the article I wrote about the firehouse?”
“Yes. Very flattering. Too much about making me the hero.” He tightened his grip on me as I continued to lay my head on his chest.
I traced my fingers along his ab muscles. “I thought I accurately portrayed everyone as playing their part. Except that guy. The chief’s son? What was with him?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Said with wariness. And even a bit of weariness.
“That guy was a jackass.”
“Who? Marlon or Chief?”
“How about both?” Based on two minutes of exposure, I’d bet the answer was both. I gave him time to respond.
Another one of his sighs replete with so much meaning. Yet which actually told me nothing at all. “Marlon’s not all bad—”
“He didn’t help you on that accident scene.”
“I had it handled.”
“I meant the royal you.”
“Ha.” His belly rippled as he chuckled. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“Well, if it isn’t then I’m making it a thing.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible either.” He continued to massage my scalp. “I don’t know what to say.”
“The truth is a good place to start.”
“Truth is in the eye of the beholder.”
I angled my neck so I could meet his gaze. “What’s going on, Finn? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. Marlon…well…”
“Nepotism?”
He chuckled. “That’s the word.”
Somehow, I was certain he knew that word all on his own.
He cupped my cheek. “Marlon’s a twit. If he’s directing traffic, that’s not a bad thing.”
“Yeah, but would you trust him to have your back?”
“I trust you when I’m on my back.” He licked his lips. “Come and kiss me. I’m not sure we did it right the last time.”
Of course we’d done it right the last time. And we did it right again.
The next morning, after reluctantly leaving Finn’s warm bed, I dragged myself to the office.
“You look like shit.” Spring placed a coffee on my desk.
“Late night.”
“I saw the story you posted about the car accident. How’s everyone doing?”
“Elderly driver is going to recover. Her husband confirmed she had a heart attack and feels incredibly guilty.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. She’d been feeling unwell, but figured she just had indigestion and didn’t want to miss dinner with friends. There’s going to be a lot of guilt around that decision.”
Spring plopped onto her chair and put her feet on her desk. “Women have different symptoms for a heart attack.”
I nodded. “Maybe time to do another reminder?”
“Sure. I’m certain I can find an expert. There’s that new cardiothoracic surgeon in Abbotsford, right? What’s the guy’s name?”
“Dr. Leopold Rodgers. I suppose you could do a profile on him as well, right?” She sipped her coffee. “Yes, to a story. How was the family who were in the accident?”
“All expected to make a full recovery—including the infant. She was taken to Vancouver.”
“That must’ve been scary.” Spring nudged open her bakery bag and pulled out an actual donut.
“Scary? Yes. Fried dough?” She tended to only eat actual donuts on tough days.
“The best.” She grinned. “What are you planning?”
Apparently not a tough day. “I’m going to do an in-depth piece about the fire department. I want to understand the ins and outs of a small-town FD and what goes into running the department on a functional and community level.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly a news story.”
“It’s been more than twenty-five years since anything substantial’s been done on firefighting in town. Firefighting is a whole new ballgame since then, and readers will be interested. Very few people left over from back then.”
Spring squinted. “Hell, I was barely around back then.”
“In diapers?”
“If I’d been born at all. Seriously nothing since then?”
“Nothing I could find. An occasional piece on a particular firefighter. And when the first woman joined and—”
“Man, that was such a commotion. Seriously. One would think women were incapable of everything.”
“Right? I remember when Vancouver got their first female firefighter. Now, there are plenty.”
“I’ve heard there’s a lot of nepotism in Vancouver.”
“There might also be a lot in Mission City as well.” I wasn’t going to throw Vancouver’s fire department under the bus—even if they did deserve it a little bit. Misogyny existed everywhere.
“We’re getting better—at least with gender parity. Nepotism is a whole other can of worms.”
“Oh?” I cocked my head.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve met Chief McInerny, right?”
“I have.”
“And Marlon?”
“I have.”
“Well, I suspect you can put two and two together to make a kid riding on coat tails rather than being worth his pay.”
“That bad?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Finn didn’t elaborate.”
“Finn? Finnegan O’Sullivan?”
I nodded.
She straightened so fast that she nearly spilled her coffee. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I widened my eyes in alarm.
“You’re still shagging Finn O’Sullivan?” Her voice took on a note of incredulity.
“I didn’t say that. Did I say that? No, I did not.”
“Well, with an answer like that, it’s pretty damn obvious. Shit. I thought that was a one-off.”
“Yeah—” I scratched my chin. “You know…”
“Right.” She sipped her coffee. “Still, there’s some logic.”
“What? That he’s gay and I’m gay?”
She rolled her eyes. “Plenty of gay men in Mission City. And enbies. And lesbians. Even have one of those in my family.”
Before I had a chance to query if she meant a sister or some other relative, she barreled on.
“So like, man, Finn. I sort of had a crush on him when we were younger. He’s older than me—obviously.
But he went to school with Sunshine? I got glimpses of him and thought yeah, he’s yummy.
And such a good guy to boot. Hometown hero and all that. So you’re shagging him.”
“I’d prefer we not talk about my sex life—or at least use a word other than shag. You sound British.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m not that. You’re so prudish.”
“Not so much. Just, well, we haven’t—to the best of my knowledge—told anyone.”
“Do you have anyone other than me to tell?”
“Touché.”
“That was mean of me. I shall rephrase.” She took a deep breath. “Other than me, do you have someone you can share your feelings with?”
“What feelings? I’m shagging him.”
“Oh God, and here I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.”
This time, I arched an eyebrow.
“Isn’t it breaking some kind of journalistic code? You don’t sleep with your subjects?”
“In a town this size? That would make things tough.”
“Oh please. Three hundred people? Sure. Mission City’s got thousands. I’m quite certain you could find someone.”
Her words hit me. I had known I was taking a risk—and yet I kept going back to his bed. “I’m…well…”
“Uh-huh?”
“I can focus on the entire department, rather than just him.”
“Have fun with Marlon.” She rolled her eyes. Then she sobered. “That family’s had some tragedies, so I shouldn’t be so harsh. Just…well…”
Better look up that tragedy. Or tragedies. She had used plural.
I told her, “You can proof the story to ensure there’s no bias. But Finn’s coworkers were damn impressed with his skill the other day.”
“Oh, skill, is it?” She waggled her eyebrows.
I laughed “And what are you working on today?”
We settled down to work, but that feeling of disquiet followed me around for the day as I tried to figure out how close to the journalistic-ethics line I could come without crossing it.