Page 29 of Playing With Fire

“The town council media officer will attend of course. Wonderful photo opportunities.” Bonnie nibbled at a cookie.

His heart sank further. Ricky thought about Far Rockaway, Engine Company 264. About that sudden rush of adrenaline, the crisp efficiency of his team working as a unit, the cool professionalism that superseded the danger and even the horror.

Especially, he thought about the horror. And afterwards, the surreal calm which followed the intensity of the debrief. And then, the silly jokes and the clowning around and the camaraderie. That was the job.

“It’s all about the personal touch, Ricky,” Bonnie cooed. “Daddy said he was sure you would be able to find time.”

***

The Miata was already bursting at the seams with boxes of food and sundry kitchen supplies by the time it pulled up outside the Sharp house.

“Wow.” Alma’s voice from the tiny backseat was impressed. “That’s like the biggest lasagna I ever saw.”

Jodi leaped out to help Ricky, who was staggering down the path with a supersize dish and a clutch of bulky cloth bags. The temperature had dropped during the day, and the low clouds were heavy with snow.

She reached for the bags, which, judging from the smell of warm, sweet pastry, were fruit pies, each packed in a cardboard box. He shook his head.

“Door,” he gasped. “Quick.

“My Lord, you really are an overachiever Ricky Sharp,” Jodi muttered, wrestling with the handle and trying not to jolt the heavy ceramic dish.

Ricky had changed into a pair of worn jeans and hiking boots. Like her, he had ditched fashion in favor of warmth and was wearing a faded quilted jacket and one of his mom’s scarves.

“Take this weight for a sec,” he muttered. Jodi braced her arms under the heavy dish as Ricky untangled the bags and slid them off his arms. The aroma of melted cheese and tomato was heavenly, and she felt her stomach rumble. Lunch had been a snack while she minded her nephew Isaac.

“Shit, I think I broke a pie.” Ricky slid his bare hands under hers to take back the dish. “I told Mom I was a firefighter not a superhero.”

Time slowed down. His skin was warm and smooth, and he was suddenly super close. That is, as close as a large lasagna would allow.

A ripple of pleasure ran down her spine and her neck tingled with warmth. It felt more than nice.

“Mmmmm,” Jodi managed. His breath puffed in the cool air, and she caught a musky splash of that Old Spice.

His eyes darkened. A smile twitched at his lips.

That faint stubble on his chin would feel like light sandpaper under her fingers, against her cheeks.

“Do I smell of bolognaise sauce?” he asked teasingly. His head bent closer. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Jodi shook her head. The smart quip she needed evaporated and she wondered for a wild moment if he was going to kiss her. That thought was quickly followed by the alarming realization that she didn’t know whether or not that would be a good thing.

She swallowed, hard. This was no way for the local newspaper editor (even if she was only keeping the seat warm until they found a new editor) to behave in public.

“Lottie made pies. How thoughtful,” she said finally.

“Come on Jodi!” Alma leaned forward from the backseat. “You told Hattie that we would be there by five, and it’s ten after.”

“At your service ma’am.” Jodi snapped back into super efficiency mode. There were a few quick fumbles as the food was wedged into the back seat next to Alma.

She slipped around to the driver’s seat and buckled in next to Ricky, who was having trouble getting his long legs folded into the small space.

“Sorry,” she said shortly. “I know it’s a bit squished.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “And keep those fingers away from the pie crust young lady. This is Ricky, by the way.”

“Cooool.” Alma dragged out the word. “You were at Sunday lunch, right? So you’re a fireman, huh? I thought you might be more like The Hulk, you know, bigger and covered in muscles so’s you can carry people down ladders.”

Ricky shook his head regretfully. “Sorry. But I reckon I could carry Jodi down a ladder if I had to.” He threw her a thoughtful glance. “Probably.”

“Thanks,” muttered Jodi, grateful that the early evening light hid her still pink cheeks. Being hoisted across Ricky’s broad shoulder? That was an image worth contemplating. Very un-PC of course, but no sane woman was going to argue about gender stereotypes with the firefighter sent up to rescue her from a blaze.

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