Page 12 of Free to Live
“Now you’re starting to act like Cassidy being all organized and whatnot,” Jasmine teases. Since the Aldrich has used Amaryllis for several events, Jasmine and I have worked together quite a bit. I take her teasing in stride.
“Hush your mouth.” I stick out my tongue.
“Better stick that in before it falls off!” With a toot of her horn, Jasmine turns the wheel and heads back through the parking lot toward Main Street, Ridgefield.
I walk with my head down along the elevated platform that houses the tiny delicatessen and rabidly inhale the scents leading me to my Italian demise. Since I sent a text in the family chat earlier offering to pick up dinner, my phone has done nothing but explode. Fortunately, Jason agreed to pick me up on his way back from his shift at NYU, so this ended up being a win all the way around.
I’m reaching for the door handle to Genoa when I’m thrown back a step by a bunch of men dressed in long-sleeve, light blue shirts and dark blue pants, who all come out laughing. Firemen. Surreptitiously from under my woolen cover, and not without a great deal of appreciation, I check out how well their pants mold their forms. As much as I have an appreciation for a good-looking man, I have a greater appreciation for what they do. And how the hell they’re not freezing right now doing it. “God bless those who protect us,” I murmur as I walk backward into Genoa and slam right into a hard chest. “Oomph!” I stumble forward. Almost tripping on my heels, I’m caught around the waist by strong arms.
“Are you all right?” a deep voice asks me. Twisting my head, I meet a pair of dark blue eyes so incongruous with the rugged Italian features they’re set in, I almost gasp out loud. The light blue of his shirt just highlights the differences, making my fingers itch for my camera.
“Yes,” I choke out. I’m sure my face is bright red.
“Are you sure?” I get a quick head-to-toe glance that sends my nerves dancing. “Nothing twisted?”
I shake my head. Right now, I’m grateful for the pseudo-disguise I have on. It seems this particular firefighter hasn’t recognized me being a Freeman. “I’m okay,” I say softly.
His brow lowers. I tilt my head even as I pull my collar closer around my neck. Seriously, where did this weather front come in from? “Is there a problem?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. You just seem familiar, that’s all.” His lips twitch in a what passes for a smile—one that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes, devoid of emotion—before he moves past me to join the rest of his crew. Swinging into the red 4x4 vehicle marked with the insignia of the Collyer Fire Department, I now know I’ll be able to bring more than just Genoa to dinner tonight.
The name on the shirt read “Bianco.”
This is the adorable girl from the hair salon’s father.
After Gail finished filling in the missing gaps during my hair cut, it brought back all the memories of a dark period in my brother-in-law’s life. A car wreck destroyed the idyllic life Joseph Bianco, Jr. had three years ago over Christmas. A driver at the Danbury Fair Mall hit his fiancée at high speed. Jason, who had been on the scene, had done everything he could to save the young woman’s life. For a long time, Jason lived with being unable to do more, compounded by the guilt Joseph heaped on him, no doubt needing an outlet for his own emotions for not being able to be there for the woman he loved.
Jason’s occasionally wondered when he’s seen his name in the paper after notable fire rescues if Joseph Bianco had set aside his guilt and moved on. “It’s been years. He’s a good man who deserves to find happiness.”
Unfortunately, I’ll be able to tell him I don’t think he has.
5
Joseph
After a full day at the station and taking massive ribbing from the guys from almost barreling into one of Ridgefield’s citizens, the list of things I want to do in order are get home, find a shower where I can wash as much of the firehouse from my skin as I can, and cuddle my beautiful girl. Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of a parent-teacher conference that has less to do with my daughter and everything to do with the number of propositions I’m fending off.
I’ve never had the calmest of tempers, and right now I’m barely holding on by a thread.
“Ms. Tiffany,” I grit out. “Was there anything you wanted to discuss about Grace?”
“Oh, Grace is a lovely child. I think we should get into a much more in-depth conversation about her. Maybe over dinner?’ I’m just about to open my mouth to flat-out refuse when I hear a frustrated male voice behind me.
“You understand, Ms. Tiffany, that some of us have been waiting for fifteen minutes past our scheduled conference time for you to do nothing more than hit on the parents of one of your students. Some of us would actually like to get home to our children.”
“Makes me glad I rearranged my schedule to come with you, Keene,” comes a deeply amused female. “You’d have ripped her a new one on her first attempt. Then we’d have had to find Kalie a new daycare.”
I close my eyes in mortification. The Marshalls. Between Grace babbling on about her “best friend” Kalie and my mother saying what a lovely couple they are, I’ve been curious about them for a while now. So far Grace’s playdates with the little girl have all occurred while I’ve been on schedule at the station so I can have as much time with her as possible, but it looks like I’m about to have a quick meet and greet. Just great.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marshall,” Ms. Tiffany stammers. “I didn’t realize it had got so late.”
“Obviously. And for the twentieth time since Kalie joined your class, it’s Mr. Marshall and Ms. Freeman. My wife uses her maiden name. Exclusively.”
Freeman? Turning in my chair, I come face-to-face with a knockout blonde with a distinct attitude as bright as her blue eyes. While her features are different, she could easily be Philip Freeman-Ross’s sister. How ironic would that be after all this time to meet another member of Jason Ross’s extended family? Every month like clockwork, I go to Mary’s grave, and there’s a fresh bouquet of flowers there, courtesy of Jason Ross’s husband.
All because I was a complete dick to a man who deserved nothing but gratitude. It’s humbling to realize how amazing some people are down to the core of their souls.
Standing, I turn to the couple and hold out my hand. “Joseph Bianco. Grace’s father.” By the smiles that light both their faces, I can only assume my past behavior toward their brother-in-law isn’t being held against me.
