Fireman Dad Page 7

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her whispered words, no longer angry but carrying a definite tinge of bitterness, were nearly swallowed up with another gust of wind. The same breeze wafted her lilac scent, the subtle aroma an assault on Jacob’s resolve.

  He braced himself. “It never came up. I didn’t realize you hadn’t known until we were leaving the Boardwalk Friday and you told me who your father was.” Jacob raked his hands through his hair. “I was shocked. I had no idea you were Chief Brady’s daughter. If I had known, I wouldn’t have ever—” He stopped, not sure how to say the rest of that sentence without increasing her hurt. It wasn’t Marissa’s fault who her family was. But the fact remained he couldn’t get anywhere near her. Not if he wanted to keep his job and help his family.

  Marissa bit her lower lip. “Wouldn’t have asked me out?”

  “Right.” His hands dropped to his sides in defeat. Man, this wasn’t fair. Not a bit of it. But how could he risk his entire career and financial support of his brother? That wouldn’t be right—even if part of him wanted to.

  She nodded slowly, processing the new information, her eyes averted somewhere over his shoulder. A truck rumbled by the street to their left, and the birds chirped from nearby trees as if this was any other, regular day. But the cheery décor of Your Special Day, visible through the window behind Marissa, served as a startling contradiction to the sadness in her expression. Sadness he was once again responsible for.

  Jacob couldn’t help it. He reached for her hand. “Marissa, you have to believe me. I never meant for you to find out this way, never meant for Owen to get involved. I needed time to get my thoughts together, and I was going to tell you. I promise you that.” He clutched her fingers in his, wishing they didn’t feel so cold and lifeless.

  “Seems convenient.” She stared at their joined hands. Did she still feel the connection he did, despite her disappointment? But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

  “Trust me, Marissa, if there was any way I could make this work—” He stopped as she abruptly tugged her hand free of his grip.

  “Make what work?” Then she turned and disappeared back inside the shop, taking a portion of his heart with her.

  Chapter Seven

  Marissa had never felt so stupid in all her life. She blindly separated the clothes from the laundry basket, barely hearing Owen’s cartoon blaring from the TV in the living room. Her thoughts littered the bedroom floor along with the haphazardly tossed items of clothing.

  Pink blouse. I should have known. Hadn’t she thought Jacob seemed familiar when she first saw him? Probably from the department picture that hung in her father’s office.

  Black skirt. How could I have missed the signs? But they’d been there. Jacob’s half-finished sentences when they’d been shopping at the Boardwalk, his busy schedule trying to fit her in between two jobs, his fireman flag in the flower bed by his porch stairs.

  Faded jeans. I can’t believe he lied to me.

  Logic filtered through the embarrassment as Marissa shoved the colored pile into the washing machine. Jacob hadn’t lied. Omitted, yes—but not lied. It was her own humiliation that kept that fact at bay this afternoon in the parking lot. She’d done all she could to keep from staring into Jacob’s eyes, intense and fathomless like the waters of Mexico, where she cruised with Kevin years ago.

  A lifetime ago.

  Marissa slid to the washroom floor, her back against the dryer, and covered her face with her hands. The tears didn’t come, just the too-familiar anvil of regret. Kevin had known he was in a dangerous position, running back inside that burning apartment complex despite the captain’s orders. But as always, he had to be the hero.

  Not for the first time, Marissa wished Kevin would have focused more on being her and Owen’s hero.

  She swiped her hair out of her face and drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her bent knees. Some days she felt lost in a blaze, too. The pressure of being a single mom, the sole provider for Owen not only financially but emotionally as well, often resembled her own fiery furnace.

  A story from Marissa’s Sunday school days as a teenager teased the fringes of her mind. Hadn’t there been three men in a furnace at one point in the Old Testament? God saved them, if she remembered correctly—even appearing to walk in the furnace with the men, who weren’t even singed. If that was the case, then why didn’t God save Kevin?

  And why wasn’t He saving Marissa now?

  Marissa pushed herself to her feet and poured the liquid soap on top of the laundry. Maybe that was the pressure Kevin felt when he ran back inside that complex. Maybe he felt that if he didn’t save the tenants, no one else would. God wouldn’t.

  Did Jacob feel that way, too?

  She spun the knob and the washing machine roared to life with a rush of incoming water. Marissa stared at the suds forming around the clothes. The disappointment in her chest wasn’t just about Jacob’s career, and the influence he’d had on her son—though she would still have to deal with that later. The look of adoration in Owen’s eyes when he saw Jacob at the shop earlier still tore at her heart. No, it wasn’t even about Jacob keeping his career a secret, intentionally or not.

  It was the realization that even if Jacob felt free to pursue a relationship with her, she never could. Not while he was a fireman. Not while he thrived on risk and danger.

  Marissa slammed the washer lid shut with a bang.

  Not while he was still caught up in trying to be a superhero.

  Wednesday morning, the phone trilled from Marissa’s desk—again—and she quickly dropped her purple highlighter to answer what had to have been the tenth call that hour. “Your Special Day.” Sort of hard to find the pep she needed when her mind was anywhere but on the festival. She pasted on a smile she didn’t feel, hoping it would help her voice inflection. “This is Marissa speaking.” At least Liz wasn’t here this morning to see her fake it. She promised to be in tomorrow—and would likely be more than a little curious after the exchange between her brother-in-law and Marissa the day before.

  “Ms. Hawthorne, this is David Kincaid.” His tone was friendly, yet professional. “Jacob Greene asked that I call you about hosting a booth at the upcoming Fireman’s Festival. Are you still in need of sponsors?”

  “Oh, yes, hi. Thanks for calling.” Marissa scrambled for her planner, grateful for the air-conditioning rushing through the vent above her head and cooling her flushed cheeks. She’d almost forgotten Jacob had said he knew a few master gardeners in town and would have one of them contact her. He’d said that the night they were at the Boardwalk—back when they were speaking. Back before everything between them changed from wonderful to awful.

  Hopeful to hopeless.

  She forced Jacob from her mind as she picked up her pen, gripping it tighter than necessary and wishing she could squeeze away her memories in the same fashion. “Of course we’re happy to have your participation at the event. Did you have something particular in mind?” She truly hoped so, as her creativity at this point was more than swallowed up in the never-ending festival details.

  And her emotional personal life as of late.

  “I do, in fact. I’ve teamed up with a local artist who specializes in landscapes and still-life portraits.” Mr. Kincaid paused. “Do you know Julie Eberlin?”

  Marissa squinted. “The name sounds familiar.” Unfortunately, she never got much of a chance to check out the cultural offerings of Orchid Hill. With minimal babysitting options and free time, she had to be picky.

  “She had an exhibit at the county fair last fall. Anyhow, we thought I could teach a workshop during the festival on gardening tips, and Ms. Eberlin had an idea to incorporate the children in attendance.”

  “Sounds good so far.” Marissa nodded. “We’re certainly hoping to slant the event toward families.”

  “Ms. Eberlin thought of drawing chalk squares on the road for each child or family to purchase for a low fee and decorate,” Mr. Kincaid continued. “She’ll b
e there to help, and at the end of the festival, will take a photo of all the squares, so each participant can keep a memento.”

  “That’s a great idea. I love it.” Not to mention so would the kids—and Marissa knew from experience that once the children saw those chalk squares, they’d convince their parents to buy tickets to draw in them. It was win-win. They’d be entertained and have a keepsake of the event, and more important, tickets would be sold.

  “We hoped you would,” said Mr. Kincaid. “Ms. Eberlin wanted me to be sure to tell you that you will get a complimentary square for your own family.” “That’s sweet. My son would love that.” “Glad to hear it. I’ll be in touch with further details.” They said goodbye, and Marissa hung up with her first real smile that day. Owen would love to decorate the chalk square with her. In fact, he’d probably spend days trying to figure out what to draw. When it came to keepsake items, her son was very serious. This would be a lot of fun.

  Then she remembered the festival was on Jacob’s property, and her smile fell. Oh, yeah. Lots of fun.

  This would be interesting. Jacob hesitated outside the door to Marissa’s shop, hands shoved in the pockets of his fireman uniform, stalling as the afternoon sun warmed his neck around his polo collar. The last time he went inside Your Special Day, he’d ruined his developing relationship with Marissa. Had she forgiven him yet? Even now, her cold parting words echoed in his mind. Make what work? Ouch. Had she not felt the same connection he did? Surely she had—she’d agreed to go out with him, after all.

  Not that it mattered anymore.

  Jacob jingled his truck keys in his pocket, trying to decide if he should knock, go inside or forget it and head to work. He looked down at his shirt and sighed. It was possibly a mistake to wear his uniform in front of Marissa, as it would only serve as a harsh reminder of their confrontation Monday. But he was scheduled to be at the station in an hour, and besides, this was who he was—he didn’t have any reason to apologize for that.

  So why did he feel so guilty?

  Jacob opened the door, wincing at the harsh jangle of the bell announcing his presence. It might as well have been a siren, given how fast Marissa jumped from her seated position behind the desk. She stood, but didn’t say a word. Just stared at him as if shocked he’d dared to show up.

  Actually, he was still a little surprised himself.

  Jacob cleared his throat. “I, uh—I got the cacti.” The words sounded even stupider leaving his mouth than they did in his head. Smooth move. He should have gone to work as his instincts warned.

  Marissa’s eyebrows rose as she silently waited for further explanation.

  “The cacti. From the nursery on the Boardwalk. Remember?”

  She inclined her chin in acknowledgment, crossing her arms over her suit jacket. “I remember.”

  Finally, she spoke—even if her voice did sound tight enough to snap in two. Jacob halfway expected her to ask him to leave. He waited by the door a heartbeat. Maybe he should spare her the request—spare both of them—and go. He put one hand on the knob. But something lurking beneath the hardened glaze in her eyes made him think twice. Jacob hesitated, and then crossed the room in a few easy strides. “Marissa, I’d really like for us to be okay.”

  Her eyes widened at his bold proclamation, and she stepped backward a half step, even though the desk still separated them. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you’re still upset with me, and I can see how awful this whole situation looks. But I promise you, I didn’t lie to you about your son.”

  “I know.” To Jacob’s surprise, Marissa sank into her chair and propped her chin on her elbows, as if tired of holding her own weight. “I know.”

  “Then can you forgive me?”

  “I already did.” She sighed, pushing her hair back from her face before meeting his gaze.

  The vulnerability tore at his emotions, and he sat slowly on the chair across from her. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I’m … disappointed.”

  Hope jerked for attention in Jacob’s heart. Maybe Marissa didn’t mean what she said at their last parting, after all. But what good was it for her to feel the same way about him if they couldn’t do anything about it? The fledging hope faded, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Jacob reached for her hand across the desk before he could think better of it, and gave it a soft squeeze. “So am I.”

  Their gazes locked and held, and something stirred inside Jacob that hadn’t in a long time. Not with any of the women he’d dated recently—or ever, for that matter. This was different. Deeper. More than a physical spark, though there was certainly that.

  He studied the depths of her eyes, void of their usual life. How could he push her away? But how could he risk losing his job and not being able to take care of his brother and his family? He’d cut Ryan a check just last week to help cover grocery money. If Jacob upset the chief—any more than he already had with the water hose incident—by coming on to his daughter, how could he provide for his loved ones? He still felt responsible for Ryan’s situation. He’d encouraged his brother into a career path that dead-ended. Whether that was his fault or not, Ryan was his little bro. Jacob was just as responsible for him now as he was when they were growing up.

  Jacob slowly brought his hand away from Marissa’s, his skin immediately missing the contact. Marissa clasped her hands together, as if suddenly unsure what to do with them. Jacob swallowed hard. “We’re going to be working together on this festival and for Olivia’s party. Can we start over?” He wished in the way they both wanted to, but that was impossible. They needed a fresh start—as coworkers and friends, nothing more. He smiled hesitantly. “I know that’s a lot to ask.”

  Marissa’s lips straightened into a thin line. “You don’t understand how much.”

  “Enlighten me.” He wanted to understand, wanted to fix this. There had to be something else going on with her besides the discovery of his true career. Why could it possibly matter so much, especially if she finally understood that he hadn’t lied to her?

  Marissa briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, the startling emerald color, glossy with emotion, nearly knocked him from his chair. He clenched one hand into a fist to keep from taking her hand in his again.

  When she spoke, her words were leveled, controlled, as if she were making extreme effort to keep her emotions at bay. “I don’t like people influencing my son without my knowing about it. When I realized you were the fireman that Owen was so excited about from school, I snapped. I don’t want Owen to be a fireman when he grows up.” The dam broke and tears clogged her words. Marissa stared at her desk instead of at Jacob, jaw clenched. “I overreacted. But this is a hot-button issue with me right now, and well—it was a lot at once.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Jacob shifted positions in his chair, feeling like a heel. No wonder she’d reacted as she did. It seemed pretty premature for her to be worried about Owen’s career path, but he wasn’t a mom. He had no right to judge. Jacob let out a slow breath. “I had no idea it was such a big deal for you.” He knew she had personal issues with her father, but enough for her to practically hate the entire career? A flood of sympathy washed over him.

  “You couldn’t have.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I apologize for getting upset. That wasn’t professional of me.”

  “Marissa …” Jacob’s voice trailed off and he couldn’t help it. He rounded the desk to stand closer to her, resting his weight against the tabletop, and took her hand. “I would hope we were past professional by now.”

  “We were. Are,” she corrected. Marissa looked up at him, then at their hands touching, and slowly drew hers back into her lap. “But to what end?”

  Not a good one. At least, not one either of them—it seemed—wanted. Jacob moved away from the desk to give her space, each inch separating them seeming like an ever-widening chasm. “I’m not sure.” He couldn’t make himself voice the hopelessness of their situation. Not again.

  Not w
ith the memory of her soft palm against his still embedded in his mind like a brand.

  “Exactly.” Marissa’s eyes belied the same disappointment he felt all the way through to his gut. Then she straightened her shoulders, held out her hand in a formal handshake and smiled brightly. “Hi, I’m Marissa Hawthorne. I believe I’m planning your niece’s princess-themed birthday party?”

  Jacob couldn’t help but grin back at her attempt to literally start over. If only it were that easy. He shook her hand, forcing the chemistry between them out of his thoughts. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jacob Greene—a fireman with a lawn service for a side job.”

  Marissa snorted back a laugh. “Good to know. So, what did you have in mind for your niece’s party?” She gestured for him to take a seat once again, and he obeyed with mixed emotions. Part of him wanted to rush out the door and away from the reminder of what he couldn’t have—and desperately wanted. Yet the other part of him could stay right there and stare happily at Marissa for the rest of the day.

  Jacob sneaked a peek at his watch. He needed to be at work in less than half an hour. But as he listened to Marissa fill him in on what she’d planned for Olivia’s party so far, and watched the way her eyes lit with excitement and her graceful hands gestured in animation, he figured he could spare a few more minutes.

  At this point, he was great at putting off the inevitable.

  Chapter Eight

  “One incredibly heavy box of red, white and blue paraphernalia, at your service.” Jacob hoisted a large cardboard box, fresh from the UPS van outside, onto Marissa’s desk with ease.

  “Oh, good, it came early.” Marissa cut the packing tape with a pair of scissors and peered into the box containing hundreds of pinwheels, balloons, rolls of stickers, Slinky toys, and buttons, still warm from the delivery truck. “And nothing is bent up. Excellent.”

  “I think using a red, white and blue patriotic color scheme for the fundraiser was genius,” Liz said as she joined her brother-in-law and Marissa at the desk. She plucked a pinwheel from the bubble wrapping and blew. The colored spokes spun happily.