Every Little Kiss (5 page)

“How about
lots
of sex on Christmas Day?” Anna offered.

Casey laughed. “Well, I wouldn't say no to it. I'd also like a bunch of orgasms.” She left out the part about how she never really had that many during sex before.

“An orgasm for each of the twelve days of Christmas, then,” Willa said.

Twelve orgasms. The thought was overwhelming. And wonderful. “Done.”

“Which leaves just one more thing on your list,” Betty said.

“All good girls and boys on Christmas get toys,” Casey said carefully, “and maybe I could get a toy, too. A
special
toy for the bedroom.”

“Oooh,” Stephanie said, “Alan likes those plugs that—”

“Maybe we just leave it at toys,” Betty interrupted, “and let Casey think about what kind would make her happiest?”

“Can we write it down
now
?” Audrey asked. “Make it official?”

Casey nodded. Anna poured more wine. And in the end, Casey's list was this:

“Well, no one can say it's not bold,” Anna said, applauding. “I hope you find someone who can deliver your, ah, packages.”

“Let's hope it's a big package,” Betty said.

“You know,” Willa said slowly, “I might know who could help you with your list.”

“Abe Cameron certainly comes to mind,” Betty said.

“No,
not
him,” Casey said. “The opposite of him, remember?”

“I was thinking of that bartender guy,” Willa said, looking at Audrey. “The one who thought Audrey was the hottest thing in White Pine until Kieran showed up and dashed his hopes.”

“You mean Dave Englund?”

Willa nodded. “The very same. He works at the Wheelhouse and makes asparagus beer every year. Audrey here probably would have gotten in his pants if Kieran hadn't been around.”

“Willa!”

“Well, it's true.”

“We could go there,” Anna said. “Check him out and see if he's still single.”

“I'm afraid I'm not going to the bar anytime soon,” Willa said, shifting her pregnant belly in her chair, “but I fully support this mission.”

“There's no mission,” Casey said, feeling embarrassed at all the attention. “It's just a list.” She thought about the twelve orgasms and realized it was an ambitious one at that. She couldn't actually find someone who'd fulfill it—could she?

“But you and I could hit the Wheelhouse this Saturday,” Audrey said with a playful smile.

Casey briefly thought about protesting, but it was useless. At this point she probably wouldn't refuse her sister anything. Not even an adventure at the Wheelhouse. Casey found herself nodding.

“All right. Fine. We'll go to the Wheelhouse on Saturday.”

“Keep Audrey away from that asparagus beer,” Willa said pointedly.

“They don't even offer it in December. You can only get it in May. And I only drank too much the
one
time.”

“And lucky for all of us, you were vying for Asparagus Queen the next day. We all got to see your hungover pageantry onstage.” The women laughed together, and Casey smiled along, even as her shame surged. The day of the pageant, she'd still been trying to manipulate Audrey's life, trying to control where her sister worked and trying to wrench her away from Kieran. It was only when her sister's life was in danger later that night—when she feared her sister might be hurt, even dead—that she vowed to change if given another chance.

Her list was proof she was trying.

Her casserole sat nearly untouched as they cleared plates, then passed around Anna's flan dessert. Casey set her jaw, determined to do better next week. Cooking shouldn't be that hard. It was simply a set of things to accomplish—same as the five things she wanted on her list.

She was lucky to have the opportunity to try any of this. She glanced at the women around her, grateful for their friendship.

They'd taken a chance on her when they barely knew her. Now they knew her better and didn't seem to be recoiling. They were even helping her get her recipes—and maybe even her life—right.

And she'd take every opportunity she could get.

A
be Cameron looked up at the steely gray clouds overhead. The snow was falling in wet, heavy flakes that seemed to get thicker by the minute. Not that the kids around him seemed to mind. Station One's fire engine was on display in the White Pine Elementary parking lot, and the school's third-grade class was racing around it, marveling as if it were Santa's sleigh.

They tore from the front of the engine to the back, clambered into the open doors, and ogled everything from the oxygen tanks to the hose that was rolled at the front of the truck, near the headlights.

“It's called a front-bumper load,” Abe explained to them, “and the hose comes out easier this way. When there's bad weather, we don't have to climb on top of the truck to roll the hose.”

He left out the part about it being easier on his back, which always seemed to twinge uncomfortably these days. And his chest, which had been bothering him since it started aching yesterday.

He debated walking away to call his doctor, but just then, for the hundredth time that day, a pair of small hands pulled on his jacket. “How long have you been a firefighter?” a skinny, spindly kid asked him, eyes full of admiration.

“Long enough to forget I ever did anything else,” Abe answered.

The kid grinned up at him, and Abe felt a pang deep down, unrelated to anything happening behind his sternum.
I'm pushing forty and have nothing to show for it
, he thought.
No family, no kids.
He flexed his jaw, thinking of the towheaded toddler who'd been in the station the other day. Reggie had been all of three years old, accompanying his dad, Lambeck, who held the rank of firefighter one. His chubby hands had grasped his dad's helmet, and his sky blue eyes had been round with awe. Abe had watched until the sight of it gnawed at him and he'd pretended to have something else to do.

Lambeck was a good teammate. A hard worker. His commitment to his job didn't get screwed up just because he loved his wife and had a kid. Abe wondered what the hell was wrong with him that his brain was so addled. He'd always liked kids. Some far-off, distant part of him could remember wanting a family. Maybe back when he was a probationary officer getting his underwear stuffed into the microwave by the other guys, and crawling into bed to find his sheets were shorter than they should be.

He gritted his teeth, thinking of the dark calls where he'd seen things he wished he hadn't, like missing body parts and hurt kids and trapped victims. Every year on the job meant a closer view of the worst show in life—the one demonstrating how easily things could get taken away, and how tenuous things were. Even things you cared about.

A picture of his dad flashed through his mind, and he grimaced. Sometimes things could get taken away when there was no emergency at all.

“Hey, Mister Fireman?”

Shit. The kid was still there. Abe strained to stay focused.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you like your job?”

“I do,” Abe answered. “It's awesome.” The response wasn't bullshit. He loved the organization of the firehouse, from the fire chief all the way down to the fresh-faced probationary firefighters. He loved the order of it, how everyone had a specific task, and how, when it was working right, everyone did their part to make things safer and help people in trouble.

Not that every call was dramatic. Viola Stroud's medical alert tag went off at least once a week, and they'd respond only to find out the old woman was fine, she just wanted to talk. Abe and his crew would make her a sandwich, feed the cat, chat about the weather, and be on their way again. And Hayes Ulfsson contacted them at least once a month to help his prize bull. The damn thing was forever getting its head stuck in the Y of a split trunk at the edge of its field. Abe would tell Hayes the same thing, over and over—his team couldn't respond officially as a unit, but that Abe himself would be over as soon as his shift was done to give the old farmer a hand.

The only problem was, he was beginning to wonder what he was doing all of this
for
. Deep down, he was beginning to wonder if there was more to life than living on a numb periphery and never really getting invested. But what that deeper meaning was, exactly—or how he'd even find it—felt like something hiding behind a thick wall of smoke.

“All right, Lu?” Iris Quinn sidled up to him, studying Abe with a worried expression.

“Fine,” he answered quickly. He lifted his chin at the clouds. “Just thinking about the weather. Roads are probably getting slick. I bet we'll be out in it soon.”

Quinn blew her bangs off her forehead—a habit the rest of the crew was always teasing her about. Her nickname around the station was Puffy.

“Huh. I figured you were probably still thinking about how you got your lieutenant's ass stuck in that elevator this week.” Quinn cackled while Abe just shook his head. He'd been the butt of endless jokes since he'd had to be rescued by his own crew. Which was fine with him. He doled out his fair share of wiseass remarks, and if he could dish it, then he needed to be able to take it.

The part that wasn't fine with him was how the picture of Casey Tanner's golden brown eyes and tumbling auburn hair seemed all but lodged in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe them away.

Not that he was about to tell his crew any of that.

“When it's your turn to be rescued, Quinn, I won't taunt you about it. I'll just quietly do my job and that'll be the end of it.”

“Like hell you will.”

“It'll be embarrassing enough that you'll be handcuffed to the bed.”

“With
your mom
.”

Abe grinned. He was about to fire back, but fat snow blinded him momentarily. He brushed the flakes away. They were almost in a whiteout.

“Reese around here?” He craned his neck, searching for the young firefighter who was always goofing off, always had to be told what to do ten times.

“Said he had to use the little boys' room.”

The wind picked up, sending thick snow blowing sideways. They needed to pack things up with the weather turning so quickly.

“You go find Reese. I'll tell Mrs. Russell to get the kids herded out of here,” Abe said.

“On it, Lu. I can get that hose rolled up, too.”

“Thanks,” he said, marveling—not for the first time—at Quinn's efficiency and capability, the stark opposite of Reese. If he was stuck in a tough situation, there was no one else he'd want by his side. That she was a woman didn't matter to him at all. He sometimes wondered if it mattered overall, though, and if that was why she worked twice as hard as every other firefighter at the station. He'd reprimand anyone he caught harassing her, but he also knew sexism and misogyny didn't have to be so overt. It could be as subtle as an eye roll or a joke the guys, and
only
the guys, shared together.

He had every intention of promoting Quinn to the rank of firefighter two, though. He smiled as he pulled a pigtailed girl out of the truck, thinking about the paperwork on his desk and how happy Quinn would be at the news when it was all filed and done.

He was just closing a side panel when the radio crackled to life.

“Unit sixteen, dispatch to County Road R and Edison Streets, to MVA with no injuries. Fluids leaking from the car—you're needed for a wash-down.”

Abe grabbed the radio, already picturing the scene's busted-up car and its brake fluid and gas spilling onto the road. He and his crew would get the hoses out and wash down the road to keep anything from bursting into flame. “Unit sixteen is clear,” he said. “Show us en route.”

“Okay. En route at two thirty-nine p.m.”

“Load up,” he barked at Quinn and Reese, who was finally back from wherever he'd wandered off to.

The third-graders were watching them wide-eyed from across the parking lot. Mrs. Russell waved her thanks, and Abe gave her a quick nod as he buckled himself into the driver's seat and turned on the sirens. His chest squeezed underneath his gear.
Fuck
, he thought.
Not good.

The engine's red lights reflected on the dark, frigid water as he steered them across the Birch River. Snowflakes pelted the windshield as they wound their way out of town along the service road, past the White Pine Harley dealership and toward County Road R.

Abe readied himself for the scene, even though there were no injuries. That was a good thing, but it was still going to be miserable work, hosing down the road in the freezing cold snow.

Pain smoldered inside him. He climbed out of the fire truck, only to have to lean heavily on its side for a moment.
Is this how I'm going to die?
he wondered suddenly.
Am I going to have a heart attack in the blinding snow?

“Lu?” Quinn asked. “Jesus, are you okay?”

His gut twisted. Was he okay? Life was short. That much he knew. There was a good chance he'd spent much of his trying to shoulder his way through each day instead of really living it. He'd let plenty of girls into his bed, but he'd never let them sit on his couch and watch his favorite old war movies like
Sands of Iwo Jima
and
Twelve O'Clock High
. Not that they'd probably want to, but the point was that he hadn't offered.

He was great in an emergency. But in everyday life? Maybe not so much.

“I think I need to get to the hospital,” he told Quinn.

She swore softly. “Don't move. I'm going to call for help.”

He stayed put. A few yards ahead, through the slanting snow, he could see a car on its side in the snowy ditch. There were two figures standing alongside it.

He wanted to charge the scene and help make it right again, the same as he had a hundred times before. Everything inside was off, though. His heart. His gut. It felt like there was a tectonic shift taking place—as if his muscles were trading places with his bones, and everything was all jumbled up—and he wasn't sure he liked it very much.

He straightened. Maybe he should just ignore whatever was happening.

He was good at that.

But if time was running out, he wanted to do things differently.

The red lights of an approaching ambulance sliced through the blanketing white. When he blinked, the image of Casey Tanner was right there, smiling up at him like she had after they'd been pulled out of the stalled elevator. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

If he lived through this, he vowed he'd return to Robot Lit. He would see Casey again. He didn't even know if she was single, for crying out loud. For all he knew, she could be dating someone seriously, about to walk down the aisle.

On the other hand, she might be free and clear. And if that was the case—if he didn't die tonight, and there was something between them—it was time to do something about it.
Piss or get off the pot
, as his captain would say.

Abe waved off the white-sheeted gurney and told the EMTs to keep their panties on. He pulled himself into the ambulance by his own accord, determined to live long enough to figure all this out.

“You're an idiot,” the doctor said three hours later, glaring at Abe. “Chest pains for two days, and you don't come in?”

Abe shifted in his paper gown. The air in the clinic was freezing. His balls were shrinking by the minute. “I think HIPAA rules prohibit you from calling me names.”

Dr. Nazid leveled a gaze at him. “If the shoe fits.”

“I take it this means I'm not going to die?”

“No,” the doctor answered, scribbling notes on a sheet of paper, “you have acid reflux. Your stomach acid is getting into your esophagus and irritating it. It's inflamed, and that's giving you your chest pains.”

Abe exhaled slowly. His muscles went slack. The idea that he was consoled by the news should have been ridiculous. His life was never at risk, not technically. But he'd
felt
like it had been. For a second there, he thought he'd been standing on the threshold of death, and this news felt like a second chance. A ridiculous one, sure. But the feeling didn't ebb just because Dr. Nazid was writing him a prescription for a daily pill.

I'm going to live
, he thought.
I'm a fucking dipshit, but I'm going to live.

He pulled at the edge of his paper gown. His emotions felt crude and rough—and there were more of them than he was used to. Damned if he wasn't getting worked up about all this. But he didn't stop their flow like he normally would. He uncorked them and sat on the edge of the exam room table, trying to make heads or tails of the turbulent sensations.

Casey Tanner. A raw determination to see her flared in his every muscle. He glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too late to go find her. To ask her out.

Except it was going on ten o'clock, and he had no idea where she lived.

Tomorrow, though. He had the day off. He would find her then. At Robot Lit.

“You okay?” Dr. Nazid asked, ripping a prescription off his pad and handing it to Abe.

Abe straightened. “Believe it or not, I think I am.”