Leaving Normal (28 page)

The movie
Backdraft
was brought up and dissed.

Doug Frye said, "It's pretty much Hollywood. There are no fires in the walls and no way they'd have sex on the engine."

Rocky nudged the woman he was with. "I told you."

She opened her mouth. "I never said I wanted to do that."

Laughter went around the table and she took
it
well. Natalie gave her a well-intended smile.

Wally added, "Now,
Ladder 49
—that was a good one."

All the men nodded in agreement. Tony said, "Captain Palladino, who never cracks, shed a tear in that flick."

"I think we all did." Doug Frye's expression grew contemplative.

Natalie hadn't seen the movie, but made a mental note to rent it.

Captain Rico reminisced about a prank involving frozen silverware in the dishwasher, when a succession of three buzzers came over the speakers. A slight hitch in the captain's voice was the only acknowledgment of the call, but she felt the tension in the room, the anticipation to see if it would be for them.

"Engine 13, code blue—"

Natalie didn't follow the rest. Chairs were scraped back and three pairs of legs propelled three men into fast action.

Tony took her hand, had her follow them down the hallway and into the garage. She stayed on the sidelines and watched as the firefighters bypassed their big boots and turnouts and jumped directly into the engine. The tall garage door rose while the motor rumbled to life. Lights flashed, casting a red-and-yellow splash against the white walls. As the engine rolled out, the siren came on and the crew left.

In their wake, the garage door slowly wound down and the area was quiet.

Natalie hadn't realized she put a hand over her heart as she watched it all being played out before her.

"I thought I had an idea…but I really didn't," she whispered with a sigh of awe.

"I know," was all Tony said.

They went back into the station and he took her in to the main sitting room, a large space with five worn La-Z-Boy chairs lined up in a row. The television beamed a picture into the darkened room, giving enough light that she could see Wally and his wife seated in one of the chairs together, she on his lap.

Rocky said he and his date were taking off, and he and Tony clapped each other on the back, congratulating themselves on the win.

Tony put his hand on the back on one of the chairs, an old metal TV-tray table beside it. "Can we stay for a while and then head out? I want to hang around and see how the call went."

"Yes. I understand, of course." Then she asked, "Which way is the restroom?"

"Down that hall by the kitchen, on the left."

After using the bathroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and asked herself how she'd gotten here. It seemed as if a friendship had been building with Tony for months. She'd never had this happen before. She'd always started out with the possibility of being romantically involved and letting things go from there. This was the first time she'd had a male friend who had touched her heart in ways she hadn't been prepared for.

This was Tony's world, his place, and it had a profound effect on her. She liked being here, liked sharing this with him. She felt accepted in this firehouse, even though not so long ago there had been a Mrs. Cruz who came and visited. But nobody seemed to mind she was with Tony. It could have been that they knew he'd been unhappy and now he was…happy.

She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it coming from his heart. He'd smiled at her in the kitchen, thoughts surfacing in his eyes that maybe he was content for the first time in a long while. Those same feelings were stirring in her. She couldn't believe how easy it would be to fall if she let herself. Dared to let go…

Leaving the bathroom, she started back down the darkened hallway, then remembered she'd left her water glass in the kitchen. She turned around, looked up and saw Tony coming toward her from the illuminated kitchen.

"I need to get my glass—"

The rest of what she was going to say was cut short because just as she was passing him, he took her hand and pulled her back so she could advance no farther. She let out a soft gasp. His splayed fingers gripped her hip as he brought her to him, then his mouth covered hers in a kiss she wasn't remotely expecting.

His lips were soft and warm, inviting, and evoking in her a jumble of feelings and sensations she'd thought were long dormant, and maybe even nonexistent.

Heat washed over her, through her, inside the marrow of her bones. It came from the pressure of his fingers slightly digging into the soft flesh covering her hip and under the fabric of her jeans. He held her close, yet didn't have both arms around her. She kept herself more captive than he did, frozen still and reeling in the overwhelming physical need that one simple kiss in a hallway could fan into life in her.

Sexual awareness preoccupied her every thought until she had no thoughts left at all.

Her lips were moist from his, from the way he slanted his mouth and took her with a kiss. What she felt was like warm silk against her tender mouth and then a soft nip of his teeth. She sucked in her breath, her arm raising on its own accord to cup the back of his neck and hold him close.

Her bottom lip was more sensitive than the upper and he nipped at it once more, just briefly enough to make her want him do it again, yet at the same time causing her pulse to beat so erratically at the base of her throat she almost grew incoherent.

He explored the seam of her wet lips with the tip of his tongue but didn't enter her mouth. He stroked the plumpness, the corners, the bow on her upper lip until her mouth parted with a moan.

As soon as she did that, the spontaneity of the moment was over as quickly as it began.

His hard, chiseled face was above her, his eyes dark and intense and presently unreadable. And just as un-expectedly as he'd taken her into his arms, he released her and she felt a rush of cold air swirl around her and almost bring her to her knees.

"Your water's on the table where you left it," he said, leaving her to go back into the television room.

To steady herself, Natalie braced a hand on the wall, her breathing coming in short, choppy intakes of air. She looked over her shoulder to see if he would be coming back…wishing he was. Hoping he wasn't.

She had to get her head on straight.

What had he just done to her?

It was more than a kiss. So much more…

The Balloon Bunch

Natalie Goodwin was losing her mind.

She'd never been one to walk around with her head in the clouds; it wasn't her nature. She was sensible and practical most of the time, although she could get distracted like anyone else.

Right now, Tony Cruz distracted her even without being in the same room.

She hadn't seen him in several days. He'd worked on Saturday and Tuesday, and she'd been busy at the shop. Yesterday he'd called to invite her to the Macaroni Grill for dinner tonight. She'd turned him down, said she had a big wedding to do. At the time she needed an excuse not to see him, to really back away from what she was feeling for him.

Her excuse had been real, however. Just how real it would turn out came as a surprise this morning when her biggest shipment of flowers had been delayed. She'd be working extremely late tonight— probably until one in the morning just to get everything done.

Meagan was helping when she wasn't on the floor with customers, but Natalie stayed in the shed making basket arrangements out of classic deep red roses, twigs, green hydrangeas and bells of Ireland.

Music played from the CD player, and a floor heater kept the space warm, but not too warm to damage the flowers. She felt cool, but not too cold. She let her thoughts go numb while arranging, trying—but without much success—not to fixate on one man's face, the resonant sound of his voice, the touch of his mouth against hers.

At certain times of the day when her mind ran with these images of Tony holding her, kissing her, speaking softly to her, there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room.

For a second, Natalie wanted to pick up the phone, to call him back, to tell him she'd have dinner with him another time, but she never made that call.

Smart. Wise. Sensible.

A knock sounded on the shed door and she looked up to see her dad come inside.

"Hey, Dad," she said, cutting the stem of a rose. She wore her apron and its front was stained blush red and a verdant green from flower petals and stems.

"I got all the deliveries done," he said, milling around the doorway.

"Thanks. I appreciate your staying late and doing, that for me."

Carl, her BSU student who worked part-time as the delivery driver, hadn't been able to come in this afternoon; he'd had to take a test.

Her dad didn't readily leave. Rather, he closed the door and came inside. She kept working, but looked over her shoulder at him.

She waited for him to say something. He didn't.

"Is everything's okay?"

Fred proceeded to her long workbench strewn with vases, reels of ribbons, scissors, knives, floral foam and myriad other things she needed.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he said almost in an accusatory tone.

"I don't know. You're standing around and not saying anything."

"What do you call what I'm doing right now? I'm talking, aren't I?"

She let it go. Sometimes there was just no appeasing him.

He walked around the shed, looked at a few things, took in the floral refrigerator, then the helium canisters and balloons. Then he came to stand by her once more. She glanced at him.

He looked good. In fact, he looked great. Well rested, happy in the countenance—especially around the eyes. They were warm and bright; a light twinkle in the gray spheres. He'd gotten a haircut recently, the spot above his ears clipped to neat perfection.

He held back, watched over her shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"A wedding for tomorrow. My bells of Ireland didn't come in until four this afternoon. They should have been here at eight this morning."

"That's too bad."

"Oh, I've had worse happen. This isn't anything I can't handle."

"I'm sure you can."

Natalie stuck a gnarled twig in the basket, glanced at it for symmetry, and put another in at a different angle. She worked on the arrangement a little more, then paused to gaze at her dad once again, feeling unnerved by his hovering.

"What?" she asked, turning toward him.

"I need something," he blurted.

"What-something?"

"Something…like flowers."

"What do you mean—like flowers?"

"I mean…1 don't want flowers. I only get flowers for your mother's grave."

She nodded, understanding. "You'd like a gift for someone, but you don't want flowers."

"Right."

"Well, what's the occasion?"

"No occasion."

"Oh." She had a feeling he was buying something for that woman he was seeing but wouldn't admit to seeing. She opted to test the waters a bit and gauge his reaction. "Then you want something for 'I Love You'?"

"Way too soon! I mean, not that I couldn't ever love anyone again, but no. No love stuff."