I can’t help my gobsmacked expression. “Two full sleeves? In this town? They didn’t get their pitchforks and torches and run you out?”
He laughs. “You should see the other guys. It’s hard to hate us when we are, admittedly, the not-so-humble heroes of this town.”
I roll my eyes but can only seem to focus on one sentence. “Who are the other guys?”
“Are you sure you want me to talk about it?” He raises his brow. “I guess Caiden is an inevitable topic.”
Deep breaths.
He eats another forkful of pie and wipes a bit of whipped cream from his mustache, enjoying keeping me in suspense. “Guess who runs this town now?”
“Wait, are you a cop now?”
He nearly chokes on the last bit of his pie. “No, nothing like that,” he sputters with a laugh. “We all work at the fire station. Some of the old grumps who refuse to retire are still there, like McPherson and Dalton, but now it’s all of us boys you know and love.” He winks. “We tried to go our separate ways, but you know how we can’t operate without each other—”
“How cute.” I sip my coffee.
“We followed Caiden’s lead and joined the fire academy with him. There isn’t much that goes on in town, so most of the time we end up getting sent away to fight the fires around the state during fire season. Brush fires and such, ya know?”
Fire academy? I nod my way through it, trying my damnedest not to show how floored I am by this new information. I had no idea that even interested Caiden. My guts start squirming again. “Wow. That’s crazy… but awesome,” I add as I try to unclench my jaw. “And the tattoos have to do with this how?”
His chest puffs out proudly as he says, “We all have them. Remember all those drawings I did in school? I bought a tattoo gun and sharpened my skills. Never thought being good at drawing would get me anywhere, but it seems it finally proved useful.”
Now that’s a cool fact. I can’t help but beam with him, remembering the moments in high school when I would let Brandon wreak havoc on my notebooks with his elaborate creations and designs.
“What about your tattoos? Did you let the boys do yours?”
“Pfft! Hell-fuckin-no. I go into the city for mine.”
My mind jumps to the tiny bit of ink that I have hidden among my other secrets. A blush rises to my cheeks.
“So, all the boys have tattoos done by you?” I ask, wondering about a certain person who shall not be named.
“Most of us. Oh, Adam moved to Denver to open his own construction company, but he’s back in town a lot. His sister and parents are still here. Adam stayed away from the ink, but me, Tyler, Cameron, and… Caiden stayed to work the fire crew, and we all have them.”
I heave in a leveling breath. “Where does that tattoo gun of yours live?”
“At the station, of course. Hailey, this is a small town. We need something to do.”
I roll my eyes and let out a belt of laughter, which only draws more attention, but I decide I don’t care.
Chapter Three
Meow.
My eyes flicker open, and I can’t figure otu what woke me up. Is it the sunshine from the living room windows, the lumpy couch, or that incessant meowing?
I stand up and stretch, my memories sliding back to all those overpriced yoga classes I took in LA as I attempt downward dog. I pull for zen, but the screechy meowing ruins it. Frustrated, I stand up straight, realizing the couch from my youth will not be the best option for sleeping.
I haven’t allowed myself to walk upstairs. I don’t know what I fear. I just know I’m not ready.
I adjust my shorts and tug my tank top over my waist as I walk toward the front door and yank it open. “Here, kitty kitty.”
My bare feet contact soft, worn wood as I step onto the porch and look around. Patches of fog are lifting from the forest floor; the smell of crisp pine wraps around me. Well, one thing’s for sure: Colorado is stunning in the early morning.
Meow.
Grr. I walk around the porch, expecting to see a cat, but instead notice a freshly filled bowl again.
“What the hell,” I whisper. I lift my chin and attempt another look. “Helloooo?” I shout, walking the full length of the wrap-around porch. “Is anyone here?”
I make it back around to the front feeling like I’ve stepped into a Stephen King novel. Who is feeding this cat—if this cat exists at all? I rub at my shoulders, getting the creeps. I mean, I was on the couch just beyond the window.
“Hellooo-ooo?”
I huff, shaking out my body. As much as I love the privacy of this house, there’s something comforting in the fact that your neighbor is mere feet away in LA It almost seems safer, but I know it’s a laughable thought when I consider the city’s crime rate.
The writer in me glances into the pine forest, and I can’t help but think LA may be home to crime thrillers, but this could easily be the home of a horror novel.
RedRum, RedRum…
The thought propels me inside. I lock the squeaky front door behind me.
I need a mental evaluation. And coffee, stat.
In the kitchen, I help myself to the dark roast. As it brews, I swing open the fridge door to grab the milk, and the smell of rancid food hits my senses. I slam it shut, rattling the jars inside. I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since someone last used this kitchen—and why.
I guess this means I’ll be required to venture out. I’ll be damned if I don’t get coffee.
Which means I’ll have to clean myself up first if I have to face the public.
I try not to glare with an unfortunate sense of nostalgic admiration at the glowing neon sign above Elwood’s. Just like my childhood, my town wanderings always bring me back here.
In search of a purpose after my morning meltdown, I abandon coffee, hoping I can find a friendly face to soothe my soul. Maybe I can find some creative inspiration or sanity at the diner. Or maybe in a twisted way I hope to see someone I shouldn’t want to. Sometimes I wonder if he’s the remedy I need.
I think I’m going to need a lot of therapy after all this.
I hold my breath as I enter Elwood’s, and what a shame it is because the cinnamon permeates the air so wonderfully.
“Hails!” is squawked from the kitchen before I can engage my plan of action—which I haven’t created yet.
I open my mouth to respond, but CeeCee must have magical powers because she’s in front of me in a flash. Her arms swallow me in a vise grip.
Ever since I moved away, I had to blend into big city living, and in LA, people don’t tend to touch each other. Well, not so willingly and openly as they do here. So, on instinct, I flinch. She doesn’t let go. I find comfort a second later; my shoulders drop.
“You look as pale as the moon.”
I haven’t said a single word before she takes my hand in hers and shouts over the counter, “Let’s sit. Tiff, bring over two coffees and pie—”
“No pie!” I shriek. Forks and knives clatter onto plates around me. I shake myself out again, but CeeCee’s hand tightens around mine. “I—I’m just not ready for pie yet.” I hurriedly scoot into the booth beside us before I spontaneously combust into dust before her.