Chapter 3 #2
He raises his brows and wags his finger at me. “Right. It’s good to see you again, Dr. Haggerty.” His voice is instantly familiar, like the first few notes of an old Bing Crosby Christmas tune.
“Yeah, you too,” I say. “And it’s just Lindsey.”
His face beams like sunshine, sending rays of light slicing through the clouds. “Then it’s nice to see you, Lindsey.”
He’s standing close enough I can smell him, notes of cinnamon and sandalwood mingling with the fresh scent of laundry detergent.
I clear my throat. “So, you’re a firefighter and you help little old ladies cross the street. Do you also wear a cape and fight bad guys?”
“Only every other weekend. See, if this was next Saturday, you might not have recognized me in my Kevlar-infused bodysuit.” He gives me a small wink and folds his muscular arms over his chest, and my brain conjures up an image of him wearing said bodysuit that is not at all unpleasant.
The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, giving me a perfect view of the way his forearms tense and flex.
I resist the urge to reach out and touch them.
“You okay?” he asks, eyeing me with a puzzled expression.
“Huh?” That’s when I realize I’ve been staring at him like I used to ogle the Backstreet Boys posters on my wall every night before bed, always making sure to kiss the shiny, flat Kevin Richardson, the most underappreciated of the Backstreet Boys.
“I was asking what you were up to when you spaced out on me.”
“Sorry,” I say through an exaggerated yawn. “I had an early morning. I’ve been doing some Christmas shopping, but I was just about to stop for a coffee.”
“Actually, I was about to do the same.” He gestures toward the entrance of the coffee shop. “Up for some company? My treat.”
I hesitate for a moment, shifting my bags from one hand to the other. It’s just coffee. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.
“Sure, why not?” I say.
“Great.” He bounds for the door and holds it open for me. “After you.”
“Thank you,” I say, crossing the threshold. The warmth of the coffee shop wraps around me like a hug.
“What do you like to get?” he asks as we join the small line in front of the cashier.
“My favorite is the ‘It’s Always Fall Somewhere.’”
“I don’t know what that is. All I know is, I have to have it.” He rubs his palms together and glances around the crowded cafe. “Want to grab us a table while I order?”
“Sure.” My arm brushes his as I pass by. Goose bumps pebble my skin, and I’m thankful the sweater I’m wearing conceals the flush I feel rising up my neck.
I maneuver around the tables and other patrons and slip onto the worn leather bench of a vacant booth.
The Southern Bean has a cozy, rustic vibe with tables made from reclaimed wood and paintings for sale by local artists hanging on the walls.
Soft music plays in the background, punctuated by the sounds of laughter and flatware clinking against ceramic plates.
It’s not long before Oliver catches my eye and smiles as he starts toward me with our coffees in hand. He places one in front of me, then slides into the other side of the booth.
“This place is great,” he says, glancing around the cozy space.
“You haven’t been here before?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve really only just gotten settled in. The only place I’ve seen besides my house is the inside of the fire hall and the Food Saver. And the vet’s office, of course.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Canton, Texas. It’s a small town outside Dallas,” he answers with his smooth southern lilt.
“Wow, Texas. What brought you all the way to Tennessee? To Loving, no less.”
“I needed a change of scenery.” He picks at the coffee sleeve with his finger. “I used to spend my summers here as a kid.”
“Here, as in, Loving?”
He nods. “My grandfather had a little cottage behind Bowie Park.”
“I wonder if we ever crossed paths before.”
“We might have. Did you go to Bowie much growing up?”
“Only all the time,” I answer. “My dad and I rode our bikes on the trail around the lake a lot.”
“My grandpa used to take me fishing there,” he says.
“What else did you do when you visited? Did you go to any of the town events like the Founders Day parade or Nature Fest?”
“My grandfather wasn’t one for crowds, so we spent a lot of time in his woodshop. He was a brilliant carpenter.”
“Did he ever teach you how to make anything?”
“He taught me a thing or two, but I’m nowhere near as good as he was.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “What about you? Do you have any hobbies or secret talents you care to share? Can you solve a Rubik's Cube in less than sixty seconds? Or do the moonwalk?”
“Nope. Nothing I can think of.”
“Come on, surely there’s something.”
“Hmm.” I ponder the question for a moment, tapping a finger against my chin. “Oh, I know. I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, so I guess that’s something?”
Oliver chokes on his coffee, coughs sputtering out of him like an engine attempting to start. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
It dawns on me what I just said and the implications of my hidden “talent.” My cheeks burn like that time I accidentally touched my face while attempting to help Lucy make poblano enchiladas.
“Oh. Oh my God. I didn’t mean…um, wow.”
“No, it’s great,” he says with a playful grin. “I just have so many questions, none of which are appropriate to ask someone I’ve only met twice. So, instead, I’m going to ask if you have any hobbies that don’t involve fruit stems.”
I chuckle. “Honestly, between the clinic and my family, that’s pretty much my life in a nutshell.”
“You work with your sister, right? Y’all must be close.”
“Maybe too close sometimes,” I say with a laugh. “We’re always in each other’s business. Growing up, Lucy and my brother Ben were basically my best friends. They still are. And our mom…well, she’s our world. When we were kids, she always had this way of making little things special, you know?”
“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward, gaze fixed on me. “How so?”
“She loved to turn an ordinary day into a holiday. She never needed a reason to celebrate. It wasn’t unusual for her to set up a blanket fort in the living room for our weekly movie night or for us to come home from school and find she’d prepared a picnic in the back yard on a random Tuesday.
But what we were doing was never important.
It was just about being together,” I explain, taking a sip of my latte.
“And we’ve tried to carry that philosophy into adulthood.
Well, minus the blanket forts, but we really should bring those back. ”
His mouth twists into a wistful smile, and I wonder why. “That sounds nice.”
“It is,” I say. Well, it was. A lot has changed since my dad passed away. It’s like we’re all kind of going through the motions, but of course, I don’t tell him that. I’m sure my troubles are the last thing he wants to hear about.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you close with your folks?”
Oliver’s shoulders hunch, and a flicker of something resembling sadness flashes across his face so quickly that if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it.
“Not really,” he answers. There’s definitely more to the story, but I don’t pry.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask.
“I don’t, but I wish I did.”
“Want to borrow one of mine? For the low, low price of zero dollars, my sister will hound you about your dating life while you play Candy Land with my brother’s adorable kids.”
He pretends to consider the offer. “Hmm. Can I just stick to the games? That other part doesn’t sound so fun.”
“Sorry. It’s a package deal,” I tease, lifting my drink.
“I do play a mean game of Candy Land.” He rubs his thumb along the smooth edge of his jaw, contemplating. “Well, it’s a hell of an offer, but it depends on one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you be playing too?”
“I would,” I say, lowering my cup with a smug grin. “And I would kick your a—”
I somehow misjudge how high the table is and drop my cup, sending what’s left of my latte splattering across the wood surface.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I pluck a fistful of napkins from the dispenser on the table in a futile attempt to soak up the coffee.
Oliver grabs a few more of the thin paper squares. “Here, let me help you.” We wipe and dab, but it only seems to spread farther. One of the baristas notices our predicament and jumps in with a damp towel, removing every last drop.
“Thank you,” I say as she walks away.
I cover my cheeks with my hands and shake my head. “Wow. Can’t take me anywhere.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate for me.” Oliver grins, causing adorable crinkles to frame his eyes. “I was going to ask if maybe you’d take a walk with me and show me around town.”
My stomach does flip-flops, and I cast a nervous glance down at my watch.
This coffee meetup is creeping into what feels like date territory.
Part of me is eager to say yes. To see where this afternoon takes me.
Because something about hanging out with Oliver makes me feel lighter than I have in years.
But the scar above his lip reminds me of the literal fires he’s putting out to save babies and golden retrievers and people on balconies.
While noble and brave, it’s also extremely dangerous.
Relationships are dangerous. Too many things can happen, even when you’re not sprinting into burning buildings.
I must take too long to answer because he follows his proposal with, “But I understand if you’re busy.”
“I should really get back home and check on June Bug,” I say. “You know how puppies are. Tiny bladders and all.” A hint of disappointment shadows his face, and before I can stop myself, I add, “But I suppose a quick tour on the way to my car wouldn’t hurt.”
“Perfect,” he says. He grabs his cup, and I loop my bags over my arm as we head for the door.
“Is there anywhere special you remember from when you stayed here with your grandfather?” I ask, starting down the sidewalk.