Page 41 of Fire and Icing

“You’re quite the salesman, aren’t you?”

“I’d hardly say so. You haven’t come close to buying what I’m selling.”

I smile and set my cup on the counter.

Then I walk over to my gran and wrap her in a hug. She’s nearly a half foot shorter than I am these days, and she smells like lotion and flowers and something precious.

After we wash the breakfast dishes, Gran and I spend some time in her front garden weeding the beds and planting a flat of flowers she bought at the nursery. By the time we’ve finished, I’m feeling squirrelly.

“I’m going to run an errand downtown. Do you need anything?” I ask Gran.

“Downtown? Are you poppin’ into your shop?”

“I might pop by. Why? Do you want something from there?”

“No. I just saw it in your eyes. You can’t stand to be away from there, even for one day.” She smirks. “Go on, then, check on your shop. You may as well bring me home something if you’re going.”

“How about a bear claw?”

They’re her favorite.

“Now you’re just trying to get me to hush up. And I’m not complaining. I’ll be as quiet as a stowaway on a ship if you bring me one of those bear claws.”

“I’ll be back for supper.”

“I’m countin’ on it.”

The drive to Baker From Another Mother isn’t far from Gran’s, so I decide to ride out on one of the old Schwinns she keeps in the garage. They’re covered with blankets to keep the dust and rust at bay. I pull the cover off and wheel the bike into the driveway. Then I hop on and cruise down the familiar neighborhood streets that lead to downtown Waterford. About a mile from Gran’s, I pass the fire station.

The sun's just high enough to cast a sheen across the fire engine parked out front when I pedal past the open bay. I’m not snooping—just cruising on Gran’s bike toward the bakery to check on things—especially the oven that’s been giving us a fuss lately. I know Syd can handle things, but I don’t like leaving the burden on her shoulders.

“Hey, Emberleigh!” Cody’s voice calls from somewhere inside.

I raise my hand to wave at Cody. It’s then I see Dustin, hose in hand, washing the engine. He turns his head. The hose in his hand swings with him like an excited dog on a leash, eager to greet every stranger.

The water shoots skyward, a glittering cinematic arc. The scene could be right out of a movie about firemen—until it isn’t. The blast turns and slams into me like a busted fire hydrant.

I screech. “Oh my gosh! Dustin! Help! Noooooo!”

The bike wobbles, I’m scrabbling to maintain control. My jeans quickly soak, forming a cold, sticky brace around my knees. I try to pedal and course correct, but my tires hit the edge of the curb, and the bike buckles. The handlebars jerk, tipping me sideways and ejecting me onto the grass at the edge of the sidewalk.

I go down—not gracefully, not quietly. I’m screaming the rookie’s name loudly enough that they probably hear me in the next county.

I land with a dull thud, half tangled in the frame, water still raining over me as if I offended the plumbing gods.

“Emberleigh!” Dustin drops the hose and bolts toward me.

The hose, now free of his grasp, whips like a flailing octopus, spraying in every direction.

Cody bursts out laughing. “I got it, I got it,” he says, hustling to the side of the building and cutting off the water.

I sit up, soaked and sputtering. Dustin jogs closer with that I-blew-it-again face that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Let me help—” he reaches for me.

“Please don’t tell me you were aiming for me.”

“I wasn’t! I promise. Cody said your name, I looked up, and?—”

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