Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
brODIE
I’m pacing. People are staring. I need to dial it back and calm the fuck down.
I gulp in a mouthful of air like I won’t get another chance to breathe.
Maybe I shouldn’t have followed Brad’s advice. Or, at least, maybe I should have checked for clarification over what he actually meant.
He said talking with Savannah was good. Talking and listening. But he also said I should be patient. Problem is, what qualifies as being patient?
Waiting a day to reply to Savannah’s text was a good start, right?
But perhaps I should have waited longer.
Or insisted we meet in the fire hall to keep things business only.
Or conducted any future conversations via semaphore from Australia.
Because thanks to too many hours spent thinking about the events in the laundry room, I’m not sure how I’m going to survive seeing her this afternoon without saying or doing something that feels distinctly like it isn’t being patient.
Yeah. I need to dial it back and calm the fuck down.
I come to an abrupt stop, narrowly avoiding an elderly dear as she makes her way into Frank’s. She glares at me as I mumble an apology, distracting me just long enough that I don’t notice Savannah has arrived until I find myself staring directly into her beautiful sapphire eyes.
I drink in her appearance. Her hair loose around her shoulders and glowing golden in the sunlight. Her lips full, pink, and thoroughly kissable. A flimsy pale blue blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal a flash of white lace underneath.
It’s already enough to render me entirely speechless, but then something even more magical happens.
She smiles. It’s small, a little tentative, but it’s a smile.
An actual smile. Directed at me. And all thoughts of dialing it back and calming the fuck down are exhaled in a rush as I return the smile.
And I remain like that. Smiling inanely. Unable to trust my brain and voice to coordinate in any way that makes sense to form a language we’d both understand.
Her brows twitch and she nods to the takeout cups I’m holding. “One of those for me?”
Come on, man. Get it together.
Hand over her latte. Tell her how beautiful she looks. Say what a perfect day it is to—
“Brodie, you okay?”
My cheeks warm and I attempt to swallow my nerves. My stupid, irrational nerves. “Uh… yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just…” I thrust her latte at her and dash my hand through my hair.
Her eyes trace my movement, her lips parting. “Shall we maybe walk and talk?”
“Sure. It’s a beautiful day.” I shrug. “And the cherry blossoms are out.” I feel foolish the moment the words have left my mouth. How much of a wuss am I for noticing the cherry blossoms are out?
Her face brightens another notch. “I love the blossoms. It’s my absolute favorite time of year. Let’s head to Haro and then down to the park.”
I ride the buzz of seeing her so excited and we set off side by side, her shoulder making the briefest contact against my arm. Meanwhile, I gulp my coffee and search for something safe to talk about. It’s difficult though. My head’s a total jumble, dazzled by sunshine and Savannah.
“Well, this isn’t at all awkward, is it?” She chuckles and then sips her drink.
I allow myself a little chuckle as well. It releases a notch of the tension holding me captive. “I kinda feel like I’m fourteen or something. Guess that’s what happens when you get caught with your pants down by your older brother.”
She giggles.
I do a double take, my eyes boring into her. The sound takes me right back to us being in college together, cloud-gazing on Wreck Beach after class, Savannah in stitches at my terrible jokes. She meets my gaze, swallowing her laughter.
Maybe I’m being intense. No. I know I’m being intense.
I shrug the moment away and keep walking.
After a minute or two of silence, she takes a shallow breath. “How are the ribs?”
“A little better. The humiliation, on the other hand, is still fully fledged. Not sure I’ll ever be able to look at a hose again.”
“Then it’s a very good job you’re not a firefighter.”
I know she doesn’t mean it like this, but it’s the kind of passive-aggressive dig I’d expect from Brock or my dad. I wait for the bitter taste to seep into my mouth, but for once, it doesn’t. She’s right. It is a good job I’m not a firefighter, because that isn’t who I am.
I feel her eyes on my profile and glance over.
She looks away. “Was the cap mean to you too? He went nuts at me.” Her voice is hesitant. Maybe wary to hear my response.
My stomach lurches. “Yeah. He wasn’t happy.”
“What did he say?”
“He reiterated how important this story is for the ladder. And how he doesn’t want anything compromising that, so…”
“No more naked hugs in the laundry room.” She throws the words out so innocently, as if they don’t have the same profound impact on her that they have on me.
I risk another look in her direction. Her eyes are fixed on the sidewalk ahead, but she isn’t as relaxed as she sounds. Her forehead is creased and her shoulders are bunched. “I’m still pissed at Springer.”
“Why?”
“Because of how he was when he caught us. Especially after the hints Kendall dropped about his last fire hall. Whatever the baggage is, you’d think Springer would hesitate before judging us, not go ratting us out to the cap.”
I share a noncommittal shake of my head. “Maybe. But I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve gotten things wrong about Brock. I’ve heard a few things lately that mean I’m maybe seeing him in a different light.”
She gasps. “You’re backing your big bro? Wow. Did hell just freeze over?”
“Don’t ever tell him. And I’m not saying I’m right, just that I have a hunch.”
I glance over again, desperately wanting to magic her stress away. “I’m so sorry for what happened. For the whole mess I created. But most of all, I’m sorry for making you cry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Her shoulders fall an inch and she gives a small half smile. “I hate that this is the case, but a part of me actually enjoyed the naked hug.”
Hope ignites at her words and I latch on. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” She swallows.
I force myself to sound chilled when inside I’m already a thousand steps ahead, back in a world where we’re enjoying all the naked hugs. “How big a part of you enjoyed it?”
“A bigger part than I should ever be allowing.”
“Because of what Kendall said? Or because of me and what I did in college?”
“Maybe a bit of both.”
We settle into another loaded silence, pacing down Haro way faster than when we started out on our stroll.
She dumps her coffee cup in a recycling bin and buries her hands in her pockets. “Have you written up your date with the hose for your article?”
I’m hit with another heavyweight cringe. “No. I have made a start on my copy though.”
“Yeah? How’s it going?”
“It’s going. I’ve been too distracted since taking this piece on. And nowhere close to anything resembling a good journalist.”
“Well, you’ve got me here with you now. One on one. No distractions. Why don’t you ask me some questions? Anything at all.”
I resist the urge to blurt out that she’s my main distraction and try to focus on what she’s actually suggesting. “You’re happy for me to interview you?”
“Sure. You remember Professor Klein?”
“Of course. She led my favorite class.”
“I know. What did she always say about great writing?”
Once again I’m instantly back in college. The Buchanan lecture room. Nestled in my favorite corner seat with a Monster and an open laptop. When everything in my life was so much more straightforward. “That great writing starts with knowing your article’s main character.”
“Bingo.”
“Meaning?”
Another lighthearted chuckle. “Well, aren’t I meant to be the main character in your feature? Guess that would make me fairly essential to you writing something great.”
Sunshine glances off a passing car, catching in my line of sight. Blinding me as brightly as the realization that Savannah will forever be the key to me writing something great because she’s my main character. “Why are you helping me?”
She lets out a little sigh. “Brodie, despite all my feelings over what happened between us, and how messed up it’s left me, I don’t want you to fail at this. Plus, it’s in my interest that you do a good job. This is for Ladder Eight, remember?”
We reach the bottom of Haro, and before I can reply, Savannah squeals in delight, skipping down the last of the hill to where there are a dozen cherry trees flanking the Stanley Park entrance with their pale pink cotton candy.
In seconds she’s under the canopy of the trees, removing her phone and snapping away.
I trail along behind, unable to take my eyes off her. She’s like a spark of light, glowing under the sun-dappled blossoms. And she’s smiling again. This time it’s not even tentative. She’s full-on beaming.
My chest tightens as if it’s fighting to scream from the heavens how deep my love for her runs.
And my head swims with her willingness to lay herself out here to help make this feature a success.
Whether for the ladder or me, it doesn’t matter.
It’s brought her back into my life, and for that I will be forever grateful.
She looks over at me, her face falling into a frown. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
I close the gap, leaving only a couple of inches by the time I come to a stop.
Her brow furrows further, then softens, and then furrows again, like she’s going through her own internal struggle.
Reaching over, I tuck her hair behind her ear, my fingers drifting across her cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes flicker, glancing over my face and lingering briefly on my mouth. “What’s happening here, Brodie?”
All it would take is the smallest of movements to kiss her. A simple tilt of my head. The signs are all present that she’s on the exact same page.
But I don’t just want a kiss. I want for us to be back in each other’s lives. To be able to be in love again. This time, forever.
And that still feels like a mountain we’re not yet ready to scale.
I step away. “Let’s find somewhere to sit and try the interview thing you suggested.”
Her face momentarily falls, but then she arranges her expression into something closer to indifferent and takes off through the Stanley Park underpass. “This way.”
I follow, the thoroughfare overhead congested with traffic and my thoughts wrestling with her momentary look of disappointment that I hadn’t kissed her.
Moments later, we emerge from the underpass to more beautiful blossoms, their flowers a duskier pink and dancing in a gentle breeze.
Picking a bench underneath the branches, she pats the seat next to her. “Okay, interview time. I’m all yours.”
My pulse kicks in at the subtext of her words and I double down in my efforts to focus. Which includes sitting my ass at the opposite end of the bench when what I really want is to pull her onto my lap.
I take out my phone. “You okay with me recording this?”
She nods.
My fingers tremble as I fumble to open the correct app and then hit record, parking the phone in the two-foot gap between us. “Why don’t we start with why you’ve chosen this career?”
“Oh. Thought you already worked that out.”
“I want to hear it in your own words. We haven’t talked about it.”
She squeezes her arms like she’s suddenly regretting giving me the option to ask her anything at all. “I want to do my part. Keep people safe.”
I remain quiet. There’s way more to it than that. I know there is. Maybe with a little space she’ll be willing to open up.
She wrinkles her nose in the cutest way. “What?”
“Nothing. Just wondering if there’s anything you want to add.”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” I scoot a little closer on the seat, itching to hold her hand. “Would you be willing to talk about what happened to your mom?”
Her face pales and her neck locks up. “Why?”
“Well, it seems pretty important to this whole new career path you’re on.”
Even though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, more color drains from her cheeks, unease radiating through her.
It’s too much, seeing her struggling like this.
“Forget it.” I pick up my phone, ready to switch off the recording. “Let’s move on to something else. Tell me more about the training. What was the hardest part?”
She plucks the phone from my hand and places it back on the bench between us. “It’s fine. Ask me your other question again.”
I study her expression, chin raised, blue eyes battling a storm. “You sure?”
She nods. Once.
“Okay.” I pause, giving her a little more time to change her mind.
Her response is to lift her chin even higher.
I exhale. Slow and steady. “Tell me about your mom.”