Page 3 of Beards and Broken Hearts

“Thanks. See you in a couple of days, my boy.” He says with a slap to my shoulder. Then, he turns and walks away.

Magnolia Point's Fire station is so clean she sparkles, and I take pride in lowering the doors to tuck her in for the night. In a small town, we don’t get many calls anyway, but it’s even more rare for anything to happen at night. Still, we have a crew on call, and we've been short a member for the last few months since Mary decided to retire and start her family. That leaves me and John here tonight. I find the ogre in the kitchen making something that smells delicious. My stomach greets him, so I don’t have to.

“Hey man, dinner will be done in five minutes or so. I hope you’re hungry. I’m reheating my homemade gumbo.”

Taking a seat is answer enough for him, and soon enough, the two of us devour the contents of the pot in silence, which is not unusual for either of us. The gumbo, as promised, is amazing.

Since he cooked, I do my part to clean the dishes and counters. It’s odd, but cleaning always relaxes me, and with so much on my mind lately, I’ve been finding excuses to clean something.

The later it got, the more restless I became with nothing to do. No calls come in. Every corner of the station has been swept and mopped, and all equipment is polished and put away. It’s not like I’m wishing for something bad to happen, but I would settle for a late-night cat up in a tree at this point.

My mind goes to my grandma and her upcoming wedding, which I’m still not ready for. Don’t get me wrong, I want her to be happy. I just don’t understand how she can move on after such a happy marriage to my grandfather. The old man has been gone for fourteen years now. I was only a teenager when he had a heart attack, but I can still see the look on his face when it happened. We were fishing and talking about our upcoming trip to Candy Cane Key, something we looked forward to every year. Me for totally different reasons.

That reason is long gone now, but I still think about her from time to time. Truth be told, she’s probably the reason I’ve never gotten serious with a woman. Sure, women pursued me and even took a few to dinner, but it went no further. Old memories have a way of sneaking in, and the guilt that comes with them just isn’t worth it, so I stopped. Women ask me out, often taking my grunt as offensive. Thankfully, they tend to leave well enough alone. I don’t mean to be rude. I just honestly don’t know what to say, and rarely have an interest in conversation.

Working hard day in and day out is how I’ve gotten by for so long that I don’t know any other way. Even if I have free time, I’d rather run around the lighthouse or hit the gym with Jenson. My friend is more of the ladies’ man than myself. Still don’t know how he became so damn charming, but a woman’s interest rarely stays on me around that guy anyhow.

Just as my thoughts finally start to calm, the alarm in the station sounds off. It takes John less than a minute to meet me at the landing, and we suit up and jump into the truck. Dispatch sends us the address as we speed away, filled with adrenaline and focused on every word regarding the situation we’re about to pull up to.

“This is a suspected gas leak, so just the two of you should be fine. A nice older woman called it in, worried. I heard her husband trying to talk her out of it in the background, but you know the drill.”

“We’ll take care of it,” John responds as I continue down the quiet road toward the address given.

The hour is creeping up on eleven o’clock, and most folks in the neighborhood have turned in for the night, and all seems still.

We pull up to the curb of the small white house, walk up the pathway, and knock on the big red door. It seems unusual that the place is already decorated for Christmas in September, noticing the string of lights hanging over the patio furniture. Usually, the lights are clear and subtle, but these are festive red and green, and a small Christmas tree sits by a rocking chair.

No one comes to the door for a long while, so I knock again. Several minutes pass, and I’m about to try again when the door swings open.

My hand stays frozen in mid-air as I stare dumbfounded into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen…and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen them.

“Layton?” She asks, seeming just as struck as I am.

It’s like time freezes, and I forget why I’m here on her doorstep. Forget words completely, and just as she opens her mouth to say something, a scream erupts, and suddenly my vision is blurred by white.

My face is being attacked by feathers, and I stumble back a few steps.

“Whoa, man, watch your—” I hear John’s words, but it’s too late. I’m falling backward down the three small steps off her porch and landing on my ass harder than I should while smacking at the tiny assaulter. Pain rocks up my spine, and an aggravated growl thunders up as I lie on the ground in pain. It doesn’t help that John is laughing his ass off.

Daphne appears over me, clutching her chest.

“Are you all right?” She asks but seems distracted as she looks around.

“Fine,” I grunt, and finally, my so-called friend comes to lend a hand, helping me to my feet.

“Oh, good. I’m sorry about Handsome,” she says, backing away. “I have to go find him.” Then she turns and runs off to the backyard.

Doing my best not to notice her tiny shorts and tight tank top, I glare at John.

“Friend of yours?” He asks with a smug grin, patting my shoulder.

“No,” I say with a grunt, following Daphne's direction.

As long as it’s been, she sure hasn’t changed much. Long dark brown hair in a high ponytail, and those damn pajamas with cartoon characters. Funny how even as a grown woman, she likes to wear those silly things. As teenagers, she would say it’s because the world’s too serious, and she liked to add as much fun as she could. Seemed like every damn pair was something silly. Part of me wondered if she liked how I always teased her about them.

Sure enough, as I find her looking up into a Magnolia tree, those tiny little shorts are covered in avocados with tiny faces. If anyone were to ask how I could tell that with so little light, I wouldn’t be able to answer. Those things wrap around a package my eyes seem to cling to without permission.

It takes a few breaths and far too many minutes, but I snap out of my stupor and clear my throat.

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