Page 58 of Frosting and Flames

The boy scoffs and shakes his head, the awe looking more like hero worship now. “Dude, that car wason fire. Me and Brody were across the street.” He motions to the boy with the microphone and guitar. “We thought for sure it was going to explode. And you went right in and pulled him out. It was badass.”

Hold up. Nick pulled someone out of a burning car? I mean, yes, logically I know he’s a firefighter. But that sounds dangerous. Why have I never really considered that before?

Nick chuckles, as if it isn’t a big deal, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had my gear on. It’s not like I went in unprotected.” He’s clearly uncomfortable with the praise as he glances around at the teens, all of them looking back at him with varying degrees of admiration. “But, thanks. I appreciate it.”

Something compels me to reach for his hand and squeeze it, to let him know I’m here with him, and he looks at me gratefully, as if he isn’t sure what to do with the recognition he’s receiving.

“How about we hear some music?” I ask the band, attempting to redirect the conversation.

There are a few cheers from the group, and thankfully it works as the three teenagers take their positions, fiddling with their instruments and an amp set up in the corner of the garage.

My hand is still in Nick’s and though it’s past time to let go of it… I don’t. His fingers are a quiet, steady weight wrapped around mine, his palm warm and rough. Solid and grounding, the way he is.

I absently trace over the ridge of a scar on his knuckle, and his fingers flex in response. Neither of us says anything, neither acknowledging we’re still holding hands, that there’s no reason to keep doing this.

And as the teens press in closer to form a mini-concert audience, he tugs me into his side, the scent of cedar and clean soap enveloping me. I inhale deeply, uncaring at the moment ifhe notices, looking up at him out of the corner of my eye. His strong jaw is right there, so close I could reach up on tiptoes if I wanted to kiss it.

“Do you ever grow out a beard?” I ask him, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

He looks down at me, amused. “I can’t.”

“You can’t grow a beard?”

His smile grows. “I mean I can’t for work. We have to stay clean shaven so we can get a good seal on the masks we wear.”

I must look confused because he continues, “Self contained breathing apparatus. They’re respirators we use when we go into a hazard zone. If the seal’s not right, it could let in smoke or toxins.”

“Right. That’s important.”

His free hand comes up to brush his upper lip. “I could do a mustache, though.”

I can’t help making a face. “I don’t like mustaches on guys. It doesn’t look right without a beard. Unless you’re Tom Selleck.”

He grins. “No mustache it is, then.”

I realize what I said. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“What you think is important to me,” he admits quietly.

My heart flutters in my chest, but I don’t have a chance to respond because the fire chief’s nephew, Brody, is announcing that the band is going to blow our minds into the microphone. The responding cheers from the other teens jar me enough that I let go of Nick’s hand, immediately mourning its loss. It’s for the best, though. It was weird we were even holding hands to begin with, right?

The music begins and I can’t quite place the song until the lyrics start up.

“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world,” Brody croons, surprising me with how good his voice sounds in comparison to his gangly appearance.

“Is that Journey?” I ask, a little confused. “How old do they think we are?”

Nick shrugs, nodding to the beat. “I don’t know, but they’re not bad.”

Around us, the teens are getting into it, some singing along, others dancing to the music. Their energy is infectious, and Nick sways playfully to the rhythm, grinning at me.

“I didn’t peg you for a dancer,” I tell him, unable to keep my own smile off my face.

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He grabs my hand and twirls me in place as the chorus starts up, and I find myself getting caught up in the spirit of the crowd, singing along, too.

It’s not a perfect performance by any means. The drummer breaks a drumstick mid-song and scrambles to find another. The amp cuts out briefly and all three band members freeze until it resumes. My favorite, though, is when Brody gets really into it and tries a dramatic spin move that has him tripping, the lyrics garbled until he gets hold of himself.

However, for the low, low price of free, we can’t ask for much more. Besides, if they attracted this many friends to come out and watch them practice, how many more will show up for the actual event?

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