Every Little Kiss (2 page)

The lieutenant pressed the fire call button again and again. No response.

“Has anyone used—” the lieutenant began. But the words died on his lips when the elevator squawked to a halt, and they were plunged into darkness.

Casey couldn't breathe. The blackness was thick and all-consuming. Blinking, she swiped at the heavy nothingness, as if to push it away.

“Help!” she cried, pawing at emptiness. “Help us!”

Strong fingers wrapped around her forearm. She looked down, but couldn't see even an outline of a hand. “Easy there,” came the lieutenant's deep voice. “It's okay.”

His unrelenting grip should have offended her.
What right did he have to touch her?
But instead, it grounded her reeling mind. Fragments of logic pierced through.
I'm in an elevator. This man is a firefighter.

Still, her breath was ragged. She couldn't get enough air. The space pressed against her. She was aware she might be panting.

“Casey, listen to me.” The lieutenant had stepped closer. She could feel him acutely. “I want you to close your eyes and count to ten.”

“We need to get out of here. I have to leave. Why won't the door open? It's time to go.” The words were a tangle. The darkness was in her lungs, fighting with all the air. She was beginning to get light-headed.

His grip vanished. She was unmoored, reeling and lost in the smallest space possible.
Come back
, she thought wildly.

Then a flashlight beam sliced through the inky blackness. The lieutenant held it, even as both of his hands came to rest on her shoulders. Heavy and strong. “I'm going to take that breath with you,” he said. “Both of us. We're going to do it together.” The flashlight cast strange shadows around his eyes. It reminded her of face paint at a carnival.

The hand that wasn't holding the flashlight slid palm-down from her shoulder, along her biceps, all the way to her fingers. He pulled her hand through emptiness until it came to rest on his chest. “Now you'll know if we're breathing together. You'll feel it. In and out, okay? Just like me.”

He held her hand tight against his sternum. His heartbeat was there, too, steady underneath his fireman's gear. “In and out,” he said. “Easy does it.” The rise and fall of his chest was like the waves on Lake Superior—great swells that rolled along, one into the next. She squeezed her eyes closed. She pictured the lake, concentrated on matching her breathing to his.

“Good,” he said. The rumble of his voice was so near she could feel it. If his chest was a rolling wave, then his voice was rich sunlight full of heat. “You just keep breathing like that, and I'll keep holding your hand. I'm going to use my other hand here to set down this flashlight, then I'll call for help on my radio. The rest of the fire crew can get us out in no time. I need you to speak and tell me you understand what I'm telling you.”

“I understand,” she managed. He squeezed her hand. In the cramped space, it should have made her more claustrophobic to be this near to a stranger, touching like this. Yet she wanted to close the last bit of distance between them.

The radio was on the lieutenant's shoulder. He turned his head as he spoke into it.

“Dispatch from unit sixteen, we have an elevator entrapment. It's a single elevator, and we're between floors one and two.”

“Dispatch copy. Do you have any injuries on scene?”

“No injuries. There are two other firefighters here also from unit sixteen, responding initially to a carbon monoxide concern. We don't need a cruiser—just an elevator tech.”

“Unit sixteen, message received. We'll get a technician en route.”

“Copy. Thanks.” A pause, then: “Lieutenant to firefighters and unit sixteen, go to channel two.”

A crackle of static. “Yeah, Lu. What's up?” It sounded like the female firefighter.

“I'm in an elevator entrapment situation. I called dispatch; they have an elevator tech en route.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just try to get the stupid elevator going from your end if you can. And somebody wait outside for the elevator tech, help them get to the scene.”

“Copy that, Lu. We'll get you out in no time.”

“Copy. Thanks, Quinn.”

The conversation was over, apparently. The flashlight beam was a tiny lamp in an ocean of black.

“They need to call the elevator company to get those doors open,” the lieutenant said. “They'll get a tech out here, and we'll be out in no time.”

How long?
Casey trembled, wondering if she'd suffer for minutes or hours.

“My name is Abe Cameron,” the lieutenant said after a moment.

Casey's brain fumbled, trying to process how to respond. Where were her manners? She couldn't remember how or what to say. All she knew was that she couldn't think past the four walls pressing so close around her.

“I used to spend a lot of time at Robot Lit,” he continued when Casey didn't say anything. “I was tutored here. When I started, I was in fifth grade and could barely read.”

The idea had emotion swelling in her chest, though she had no idea what to do with it. “My teacher, Mrs. Wills, brought me to Robot Lit after school one day. They had time to spend with me that she didn't. She really helped. This
place
really helped.”

The clouds in her mind broke enough for her to wonder if that was why Abe had been such a stickler in the basement. Because he cared about the place.

For some reason, the idea of Abe being gruff because of affection for Robot Lit calmed her. Moment by moment, Casey became aware of the present, of what was right in front of her, which included Abe's skin against hers. She could picture the blond hairs on his forearms, the tiny pores, the blood warm underneath. His breath was so close. Every exhale was a whisper of reassurance.

Abe's fingers were steady and firm. A working man's hands, Casey thought. Not like the hands of all the other accountants at her last job.

“You're doing great,” Abe murmured, leaning forward and speaking the words into her hair. Casey's breath nearly vanished again, but not from fear. It was the fact that his lips felt mere inches away.

She wasn't used to being this near anyone, let alone a firefighter. She tried to recall the last time she'd been kissed—been held—but the fog of time was too thick. She couldn't glimpse through it.

Casey was suddenly grateful for the darkness so Abe wouldn't see her grimace of shame. There was a word for women like her, she knew.
Spinster.
It might not be the 1800s, but the label fit.
Spinster
even had the right sound to it. The spitting, biting consonants were the perfect reminder that she'd been living a prudish, uptight existence for far too long, batting back the part of her that secretly wanted to break free and live with abandon. With adventure, even.

“Easy now,” Abe said. “Just keep relaxing. The tech is coming.”

Casey stilled, figuring she must have tensed up just then and Abe had felt it.

“I'm—I'm doing okay,” she replied. Her voice sounded small and tinny.

Abe shifted, his leg grazing hers. An unexpected jolt shot through her nerves. There was so much of him, Casey realized. He must be at least six foot four, whereas she was barely five foot five. Unlike her sister, Audrey, she didn't have an athlete's body underneath her clothes. All she had was her medium brown hair and her average figure from being a normal office worker for the past decade.

Here in the darkness, though, maybe it didn't matter. She shifted just slightly, inching closer to Abe. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard a soft grunt from him.

Time either slowed way down or sped up. Casey couldn't tell. She had no idea how long she'd been pressed against Abe when there was a scuffling sound from above them. Casey jerked, wondering if the elevator ties were finally going to give way and they were going to go plunging downward.

“That's just Quinn and Reese working with the tech to open the doors on the floor above us. While they do that, I want you to tell me about a place that you love,” Abe said. Was it her imagination, or was he clutching her more tightly? “We're going to picture it together. You're going to tell me all about it.”

Tears prickled her eyes. Surely it was the claustrophobia jerking her emotions from one extreme to another. That's why she was getting so worked up over a silly question.

And yet her chest ached as she tried to think about a place she loved—as she tried to think about
anything
she loved, frankly.

There was her sister, of course.

Audrey was generous and kind and beautiful, and Casey had loved her so ferociously it had almost ruined their relationship. Casey's stomach twisted at the memory of how she'd driven a wedge between Audrey and the man Audrey loved, Kieran Callaghan. She'd done it out of fear, out of a need for control, and it had been terrible. Ruinous, even. Fortunately, Audrey and Kieran were married now, and Audrey had forgiven Casey. But Casey wasn't sure if she had yet forgiven herself. She wasn't sure she'd earned it.

Then of course there was Christmas. Since she was a little girl, Casey had adored Christmas with its sparkling tinsel and glittering streets and freshly cut trees and warm cookies and spiced cider.

So, yes, there were things she loved—but a
place
she loved?

The answer seemed impossible. She'd never traveled much outside of Minnesota. Her life up until now had been composed of getting places, of ensuring a specific course on a road to success. She'd never stopped much along the way.

“You're awfully quiet,” Abe said. She could hear the smile on his lips as he tried to lighten the moment. As if he somehow understood what a battle this question was.

“I don't…” The words faded into less than a whisper. She had no answer.

“It's okay,” Abe said. His hand was on her shoulder again, the other still clasping her fingers against his chest. This man was stronger and steadier and calmer than anyone she'd ever met.

There was a shout above them, and a scraping noise. Casey cringed.

“The place
I
love,” Abe said, “is a little German town called Freiburg. The British messed it up in World War Two, gutted it with bombs. But the town was rebuilt with these efficient, logical roads and bike paths that you can take anywhere. There's also a train, and it always runs on time.
Always.
And there's all this green technology through what are called passive houses. They don't require any kind of furnace or device to heat them. They essentially heat themselves. It's efficient. It's incredible.”

Casey thrilled at how thoughtful and ordered it sounded. Until a small inner voice reminded her that being logical and ordered was what had almost ruined her life. A straitlaced existence had nearly been her undoing, and she wasn't about to repeat the pattern. She'd moved to White Pine to do the opposite, in fact.

“When were you there?” she managed to ask.

“Never. I've only read about it. I'm saving up to go, but—well, it's a long story.”

And based on the shouts and noise above them, there wasn't any time to tell it.

Abe's radio squawked. “Crew to lieutenant. Elevator tech is here. He's going to come in from the top. We'll get you out with the ladder.”

“Message received.”

“They're coming in through the fire access panel above us,” Abe said. “The elevator door to the first floor is just a foot or so away, so they're going to pull us out of the top of this thing, then pull us onto the first floor. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

Abe's stubbled cheek pressed against hers. The rough feel of it had her muscles weakening. “You're almost there,” he said. “Just a few more minutes.”

Before she could gather her next thought, Abe dropped her hand and stepped away, just as the panel in the ceiling above them opened. A flashlight beam pierced through, brighter than a hundred camera flashes. Or so Casey thought as she squinted against it.

“There are better places for a party,” said the firefighter above them. “This one is kind of hard to get to, and I'm not sure the DJ would fit.”

“Get a ladder down here
now
, Reese.” Abe's voice was back to being razor sharp. Casey wrapped her arms around herself, thinking she'd liked it much better when he'd murmured.

The flashlight beam bounced as a ladder was lowered into the elevator car. “Reese will hold it from above,” Abe said. “I'll grab it down here. Go ahead.”

Casey took in the firm set of Abe's lips, the rugged edge of his jaw, the hardness in his eyes. His kindness, his gentleness, was seeping away—that is, if it had ever been there in the first place.

Not that she was about to stay in the elevator one second longer to wonder. She grasped the sides of the ladder and hauled herself up the rungs until Reese helped her stand on top of the stalled car. Golden light poured onto them from the open doors just a few feet above. Inside the wide doors was the female firefighter.

Casey gulped air, relieved to be away from the confines of the elevator's four walls.

“You hardly have to move now,” Reese said, smiling a lopsided grin. “You just raise your arms and Quinn is going to pull you up.”

If she had any doubts that Quinn was strong enough, they were gone within seconds. Before she knew it, strong hands had lifted her into the safety of the building. It was all she could do to smile and thank her rescuers. She wanted to collapse onto the floor and kiss the solid ground beneath her feet.

“Casey!” Her director, Ingrid, was racing down the wood-planked hallway to get to her. “Oh my God, Rolf called me just as I was dropping Heidi back off at school. I got here as soon as I could. I was so worried!” Whole sections of Ingrid's white-blonde hair had come loose from her ponytail. A number-two pencil was tucked behind her ear, its yellow wood indented with teeth marks.