Chapter Two Noelle #3
The dull light from the bulb over the stove casts soft shadows across his features, just like earlier when I spotted him gazing at the snow down in the main area.
His hair looks disheveled, as though he’d been asleep only minutes ago, but somehow I think not.
It seems like he, much like me, has to deal with an unpredictable tangle of waves and curls that never quite does what you want it to.
He also doesn’t appear surprised to discover that I’m awake.
Then again, I have a feeling that it would take a lot to truly surprise this man.
“Uh, hi,” I say.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.
“Not really.”
He nods once, as if that useless answer tells him everything he needs to know.
I watch, banana still weirdly gripped in hand, as he crosses the kitchen and reaches for the coffee pot. I keep watching as he fills a mug.
“When do firefighters actually sleep?” I blurt, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
When they can, basically. Which isn’t often, if they’re on call.
A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes.”
“Hm,” is all I manage.
He leans back against the counter, several feet between us.
I feel antsy, but not in the sense that he’s making me uncomfortable.
It’s the opposite, actually. There’s an odd sense of camaraderie between the two of us that makes absolutely no sense and is probably just a figment of my imagination, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that he would understand even my most insane thoughts if I dared to speak them aloud.
It’s just that he’s so… quiet. Most people fill silence because they fear it, but Wes seems perfectly content to let it exist.
“How’s the investigation going?” he asks.
“Fine,” I answer automatically.
Before Wes can reply, there’s another shuffle of footsteps.
“Well look who it is,” Mateo sing-songs, somehow still a chipper ray of sunshine in the dead of night.
He enters wearing cargo pants, a faded t-shirt, and the bright-eyed expression of someone who enjoys any and all opportunity to stumble across other people.
His gaze moves between us.
“Secret meeting?” he asks when neither one of us says anything.
I huff, finally peeling the banana. “Nope.”
“Conspiracy?”
“Nope.”
“Midnight book club?”
“Mateo,” sighs Wes, effectively ending the mischievous interrogation.
“You’re hungry,” Mateo says, switching gears and nodding at the fruit in my hand. “Because you ignored my invitation and skipped dinner, right?”
“I was busy,” is all I say.
He grins. “We don’t bite, Noelle.”
Wes exhales through his nose. The sound is suspiciously close to laughter.
Mateo points triumphantly. “See? He agrees with me.”
“He didn’t say anything,” I counter.
“He didn’t have to. He’s got that trustworthy sort of vibe.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So, while I awkwardly take a bite of the banana I don’t really want and Wes wordlessly sips his black coffee, Mateo begins rummaging through cabinets.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Looking for cookies.”
“At four in the morning?”
He gapes at me like I’m the strange one.
“Especially at four in the morning, Investigator Meadows.”
I almost laugh at that, but manage to keep my expression neutral.
“Victory!” he hisses a moment later.
I glance toward Wes, who looks completely resigned to his own fate. He’s probably been dealing with Mateo’s antics for years.
Searching my brain for an excuse to scamper out of there before the remnants of my dream can resurface at the forefront of my mind, I pretend that the pulpy rind of the banana is the most interesting thing in the world.
And then, as if the universe is in the mood to play an endless series of cruel and unusual pranks on me today, a third presence enters the dark room.
“Oh, hey, Cap!” chirps Mateo. “Did you come looking for some cookies, too?”
Captain Hale barely even glances at Mateo, his gaze zeroing in on me as if he’s a heat-seeking missile and I’m the most desired target. I straighten my spine, readying myself for whatever verbal volley is about to occur.
But all he says is, “Are you alright?”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re awake before dawn, huddled in the dark with my engineer and my EMT. Is something wrong?”
I wouldn’t consider his tone to be anything close to genuine concern, but he’s definitely not mocking me. It’s more like he’s just truly curious to know why something, i.e. me, is out of place. Wes and Mateo might be on duty, but I’m a civilian who should be fast asleep at this hour.
“Nothing’s wrong, Captain,” I assure him. “I’ve never been very good at sleeping through the night.”
“You’d make a great firefighter,” chimes in Mateo.
“No, I wouldn’t,” I snap, a little too fast and much too harsh.
Mateo raises his brows, and I’m all too aware of Wes’s gaze on the side of my face, but I turn my focus back to their captain.
“Grant,” he tells me.
“What?”
“No need for titles. You can call me Grant.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” Mateo interrupts before I can respond. “Can I call you Grant, too?”
“No, but you can put that junk food away and go sweep the gear closet, Ruiz,” quips Captain Hale—or rather, Grant.
Mateo sighs heavily, but obediently slinks out of the kitchen.
“Is that fresh coffee?” Grant asks Wes.
I take his temporary distraction as the perfect opportunity to scamper out of there before either one of them can make me feel something, good or bad, that I’m not willing to wrestle with.