Page 43 of Love, Untangled

He paused, considering her words. “I used to be the daredevil of my group. The adrenaline junkie. Skydiving? Sign me up. Hang gliding, scuba diving, bungee jumping. I did all those things. I was a smoke jumper too, for a few years.”

She settled against the swing’s wooden back…and his arm that he’d tossed over the seat, in the hope that she’d get more comfortable.

“What’s a smoke jumper?”

“A firefighter who jumps out of airplanes into forest fires.”

“You did that on purpose?” Her eyes rounded with wonder.

Carlo’s chest warmed with the intensity of her hero worship. “Yeah. It was a rush. I liked being frontline. But my wife worried.” Cora considered him brave but foolhardy, and she’d complained so much about his wildfire days that he gave them up. That was around the time she’d started making noises about moving back to Cinnamon Bay. If he’d let her go, would either of them have been happier?

He’d never know. The warmth in his chest dissipated like smoke on a breeze.

“Or maybe she simply thought I was behaving like a crazy teenager, not a responsible adult.”

“Were you good at it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. We broke a lot of fires.” His chest puffed up with pride. He’d loved working with his team. He’d loved that they made a difference, saving homes and animals, landscapes and towns from the devastation fire wrought.

“Why did you stop?”

“Cora. She didn’t like that aspect of my work.”

Pen’s brows tucked low over her eyes. “She didn’t understand.”

Pen left off a keyword to that sentence: she didn’t understand you.

More and more over the past couple of years, Carlo had assimilated that truth. Cora had loved the fact that Carlo was a firefighter, a hero. But she hadn’t liked his work hours, the dangers of his job, the fact that he could be called out at any time. Once they married, the fighting began. She wanted him to work a more traditional set of hours, to be home on Friday nights and weekends.

“No, she didn’t,” Carlo admitted. “And it caused tension.”

“So you quit rather than upset her.” Pen’s expression held understanding.

“I did.”

“Were you happy with that choice?” Pen immediately waved her hand. “Not my business. I just…” She licked her lower lip. “My mother moved us, often. I hated the inconsistency of our nomad lifestyle. I think that’s why I loved weaving and knitting and crocheting so much. It was repetitive, meditative. There are patterns to it. History in the yarn—at least for me because I make my own from Alpaca Man’s fur.”

She gestured toward her pet, who’d curled up like a dog at their feet. He blinked his long-lashed eyes before snuggling back down into the porch and snoring.

Pen smiled with such genuine warmth that Carlo’s heart ached. When had someone looked at him like that?

His mother. He missed her. He missed his brothers and father too but losing Cora had caused Carlo to cut ties with his family. No, that wasn’t true. Cora hadn’t liked how rowdy family dinners were, so she quit attending. Carlo hated leaving her alone, so he stopped going too.

He continued to play with Pen’s hair, brooding over the many ways he’d lost bits of himself. He’d never realized how much his relationship with Cora chipped away at him. Why hadn’t he realized that?

Because her death was traumatic. And his fault.

So, he’d martyred Cora.

Chapter 19

Penelope

Carlo turned quiet, so Pen took that as a sign for her to go.

“You never answered me before,” he said. “Do you want to stay in my guest room here or have me stay at your place?”

Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t want either of those options. She wanted to slip between Carlo’s sheets and spend the night loving him. But he wasn’t ready. “I’m going home. Alone. Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you around, Carlo.”

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