Blue Smoke (9 page)

It was, in Reena's mind, a big leap from hot guy to choosing bridal colors. But she could see Gina was taking it in stride. “You really want to get married.”

“I really do. I know it might be hard, a firefighter's wife.” She dug a box of spearmint Tic Tacs out of her bag, shook some out, offered them to Reena. “The hours are so long, and the work's so dangerous. But he makes me so happy. Oooh, red shoes. Put them on!”

Obediently, Reena slipped on the shoes the clerk brought her. She stood, testing them out, admiring them in the low mirror.

She was trying on red shoes she couldn't afford and would probably never wear. Gina was planning a future. Even while she preferred the shoes, there was a little clutch of envy in her belly.

“Is Steve thinking about marriage?”

“No, not yet. I wasn't until this morning when he came in and kissed me good-bye. I thought, Oh my God, I'm in love, and I can see myself
waking up every morning with this guy. I never saw that with anyone before. You're buying those shoes, Reene. I give you no choice.”

“Well, in that case.” She sat, took them off again. And gulped when she took out her beleaguered credit card to pay. “I'm being irresponsible.”

“No, you're being a girl. It's okay.”

“I'm compensating.” She sighed at herself. “I know it. My best friend's in love and I can't even get a serious date.”

“Oh, you can, too. Look at you! You're all tanned and toned and beautiful. It takes you under five minutes to slap yourself together in the morning. It takes me an hour, if I'm lucky.”

“I'm putting on a uniform,” Reena reminded her. “No-brainer wardrobe wise.” She shook her head. “I'm stopping this right now. I really like Steve, that's what I should be saying. And if he doesn't have the good sense to snap you up quick, he needs a good butt kicking.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe I'll ask Hugh out to a fancy dinner. Except, oh God, I just spent ninety-one dollars and thirty-five cents on shoes.”

“We'll all go out to dinner. I'll get Steve to fix it.”

“There's my best friend in the world.”

“Which means I get to borrow your new shoes.”

“They're a full size too big for you.”

“Like that matters. You know, you could ask Hugh to Fran's wedding.”

“It's not till October.” Reena gathered her bags and ordered herself not to spend another penny in the mall. “I may be done with him by then.”

“Slut.”

“Oh, if only. I freely admit I'm not looking for Mr. Right. I'm not even sure I want Mr. Right Now. It's just that this one has such a body. And we definitely have a little heat going.”

They strolled out of the store, into the throng of Saturday shoppers. “I'm not dewy,” Reena added.

“You look moist and tasty to me.”

“Oh, I am. I am, but not dewy. Not love dewy.” She stopped by another display window. “Not the way you're looking today, or the way Fran's looked every day since she met Jack.”

“He's such a sweetie.”

“He really is, and perfect for her. They're going to be ridiculously happy. I don't think I want to meet the perfect guy yet. What would I do with him?”

“Be ridiculously happy?”

Reena shook her head. “I don't know. I've got things I need to do first. The perfect guy and dewy love would just get in the way.”

D
ragging his feet didn't do a damn bit of good, but Bo dragged them anyway.

“I don't wanna go shopping. I don't wanna.”

“Oh, quit your whining.” Mandy used her hand on his arm like a shackle as she pulled him along. “Are you, or are you not, my best pal and sometime booty buddy?”

“Why am I being punished? Why would you drag your best pal and sometime booty buddy into the hell of a Saturday mall?”

“Because I need this birthday present today. How was I supposed to know the last couple of weeks would be insanely busy and I'd forget about the surprise party tonight? Oh! Look at that outfit.”

“No! No outfits. You promised.”

“I lied. See, that color green's made for me and me alone. And look how the jacket's cut. I'm on staff at
The Sun
now. I have to dress like a professional. Just going to try it on. Two seconds.”

He mimed a gun to his head, then a rope around his neck as she dashed off to the dressing room.

He could run, he considered. He could just run away. There wasn't a man in the world who would blame him.

But, of course, he needed a present, too, for their mutual friend's stupid-ass surprise party. Mandy had stomped on his notion of just picking up a bottle of wine on his way to the celebration.

But she could buy the gift, and he'd go halves. What was wrong with that?

Where the hell was she? What was taking so long?

“It's perfect.” Mandy all but sang it as she danced back to Bo with her shopping bag. “I'm going to wear it tonight. I just need to find the right shoes.”

“I'll kill you where you stand.”

“Oh, stop.” She gave his hand a pat with a hand glittering with four rings. The eyebrow ring was history. Bo sort of missed it. “You can sit in the food court while I find shoes. Present first, though. Before my credit card starts smoking.”

She pulled him out of the department store, into the belly of the beast. Everything echoed, everything moved. Bo thought, not fondly, of the House of Horrors he'd paid five bucks to endure at the age of twelve.

“What do you think? Fun or practical?”

“I don't care. Just buy something and get me out of here.”

Mandy strolled, like a woman who not only knew her ground, but who would be content to hike over it for hours. Possibly days.

“Candles maybe. Some big, fancy candles. That's sort of fun and practical.”

She started to sound like Charlie Brown's mother to him. Just a nasal
wah-wah-wah
. He loved her, he really did, but he imagined Charlie Brown loved his mother, too. It didn't make her any more comprehensible.

He thought maybe he could try praying, and cast his eyes up.

Sound cut off. Voices, piped music, whining children, giggling girls.

His vision telescoped, as it had once before. He saw her with perfect clarity.

She was standing on the second level, arms loaded with bags, that mass of dark gold curls spilling over her shoulders. His heart did one long, slow roll in his chest.

Maybe some prayers were answered before you thought to ask.

He started to run, trying to keep her in sight.

“Bo! Bowen!” Mandy shouted, sprinting after him. She caught him after he'd narrowly missed plowing into a thicket of teenagers.

“What is
wrong
with you?”

“It's her.” He couldn't quite get his breath, couldn't quite feel his own feet. “She's here. Up there. I saw her. Where's the damn stairs?”

“Who?”

“
Her.
” He spun a circle, saw stairs and ran for them with Mandy at his heels. “Dream Girl.”

“Here?” Her voice spiked up with surprise and interest. “Really? Where? Where?”

“She was just . . .” He stopped at the top of the steps, panting like a hound on the hunt. “She was there, down there.”

“Blonde, right?” She'd heard the story often enough, and craned her neck, searching through the crowds. “Curly hair. Tallish, slim?”

“Yeah, yeah. She's wearing a blue shirt. Um . . . without sleeves, with a collar. Damn it, where'd she go? This can't be happening again.”

“We'll split up. You go that way, I'll go this way. Long hair, short?”

“Long, loose, over her shoulders. She had bags. A lot of shopping bags.”

“I like her already.”

But twenty minutes later, they met up at the same spot.

“I'm sorry, Bo. Really.”

Disappointment and frustration fought such a vicious war inside him, he was almost sick from it. “I can't believe I saw her again and couldn't get to her.”

“Are you sure it was the same girl? It's been, what, four years.”

“Yeah. I'm sure.”

“Well, look at it this way. You know she's still around. You're going to see her again.” Mandy gave him a little squeeze. “I just know it.”

Sexy red shoes aside, Reena could think of little more entertaining on a Sunday afternoon than a turn in the batting cage. Sunshine, baseball and a really cute guy to share them with.

Who could complain?

She adjusted her helmet, moved into her stance, and took a hard cut at the ball that flew toward her. It sailed up and out.

“I gotta say, Hale. You've got nice form.”

She smiled, kicked dirt, prepared to bat again. Maybe she'd prefer the form he was admiring was her body rather than her batting prowess, but her competitive streak wouldn't allow her to bat like a girl.

“Damn right,” she agreed and swung away. “Easy right-field shag on that one.”

“Depends on the fielder.” Hugh took his own swing. Ball cracked against bat. “There's a double.”

“Depends on the runner.”

“Shit.” But he laughed and slammed the next ball.

“Speaking of form, yours isn't half bad either. You ever play?”

“High school.” He caught one on a foul tip. “Company's got a softball team. I ride second.”

“I usually take left field if I pick up a game.”

“You got the legs for it.”

“Ran track in high school.” She'd been advised to learn how to run, so she had.

She took her turn again, cut too soon and took a strike. “I thought about keeping up with it in college, but my course load was too heavy. So I bookwormed it. Gotta keep your eye on the ball,” she said half to herself, and swung away.

“Now that one's out of here. We ought to take in a game sometime, at Camden Yards.”

She glanced over, smiled. “Absolutely.”

W
hen he mentioned grabbing a beer and some bar food, she nearly suggested they head over to Sirico's. Not yet, she decided. She wasn't quite ready to have him eyeballed by family, or the neighborhood.

They settled on a Ruby Tuesday's, and shared nachos and Coors.

“So, where'd you learn to swing a bat?”

“Mmm.” She licked melted cheese off her thumb. “My father, mostly. He loves the game. We always managed to get to a few a year when we were kids.”

“Yeah, you got a big family, right?”

“Two older sisters, younger brother. Brother-in-law, niece and nephew courtesy of middle sister. Brother-in-law coming up thanks to oldest sister. She's getting married this fall. Aunts, uncles, cousins too numerous to mention—and that's just first cousins. How about you?”

“Three older sisters.”

“Really?” Points on the mutual ground scorecard, she decided. He wouldn't be cowed by a large family. “And you're the prince.”

“Bet your ass.” He grinned, toasting her. “They're married. Got five kids between them.”

“What do your sisters do?”

He looked blank for a moment. “About what?”

“Work.”

“They don't. They're, you know, housewives.”

She cocked her eyebrows at him as she took another sip of beer. “I hear that's work.”

“Couldn't pay me enough to do it, so yeah, guess so. Your family's got that restaurant, Sirico's. Great pizza.”

“Best in Baltimore. Starting on the third generation there. My sister Fran's comanager now. And her Jack—the guy she's marrying's tossing dough. You're second generation on the job, right?”

“Third. My dad's still on. Making noises about retiring, but I don't know. Gets in you.”

She thought about the maze, and the fact that she wanted to do it again. Do it faster, do it better. “I know it does.”

“He's fifty-five though. People—civilians—don't really understand the physical stress of it.”

“Or the emotional, the psychological.”

“Well, yeah, that, too.” He sat back, giving her a long study. “You handle yourself, physically. The maze isn't for wimps. And you worked the burn buildings, stuck it out through a couple of tough shifts. You've got a good build, like a—what is it?—greyhound.”

She may have hit a dry spell in the dating pool, but she still remembered how to flirt. “Wondered if you'd notice.”

She liked his grin, the quickness of it, the cockiness. The grin said he was a man who knew just who he was, what he was and what he was after.

He flashed it now. “I noticed. Especially when you're wearing those little shorts running track at the Academy. Anyway, most women can't manage the physical part of it.”

“A lot of men can't either.”

“No question. No sexist line.” He held up a hand. “What I'm saying is you're one of the few women I've seen who make the cut. You've got the stamina, the instincts, the brains. And you don't lack guts either. So I wonder why you're not signing on.”

She picked at another nacho. He wasn't one to heap on praise, she knew. So she took his observations seriously and gave him a serious answer. “I've thought about it, and I get caught up in it sometimes. During training, or when I'm working a shift. But fighting fires isn't what pulls
me. It has to pull you. Knowing how they work, why. Figuring how they start, why, who starts them. That's my thing. Running into a burning building takes a singular kind of courage and drive.”

“Seen you do it,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. Well, yeah, I needed to do it, to see how it's done. But it's not my life's work. It's going into that building after, putting it together and finding the why.”

“The department has fire inspectors. Minger's one of the best.”

“Yeah. I considered going that direction. John's, well, he's one of my major heroes. But . . . there's something else a lot of people, a lot of civilians, don't understand. Arson. What it does, not just to property. What an incendiary fire can do to people, to a neighborhood, to business, to economy. To a city.”

She lifted a dripping nacho, shrugged to lighten things up. “So that's my mission in life. You fight them, Fitzgerald. I'll do the cleanup.”

H
e wasn't a hand holder, she noted, but he walked her to her door. And once he had, backed her right up against it for another of those lush, out-of-nowhere kisses.

“It's early yet,” he said when he lifted his head.

“It is.” And it annoyed her that a couple of casual dates made it
too
early for her personal gauge. “But . . .”

He winced, but those foggy lake eyes held humor. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. Want to try to catch a game this week?”

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

“I'll call you, we'll set it up.” He started to walk away, turned back, kissed her again. “You've got great lips.”

“I like yours, too.”

“Listen, do you have any vacation time coming?”

“I can probably squeeze out a day in addition to my off days. Why?”

“We've got this place down on the Outer Banks. Old beach cottage. It's not bad. We could take a couple days down there next time I'm off if you can work it. Hook Steve and Gina into it.”

“A couple days at the beach? When do we leave?”

He flashed that grin again. “We'll juggle the schedules, get it set up.”

“I'll start packing.”

She let herself in, did a little victory dance around the tiny living room.

The beach, hot guy, good friends. Life was currently just excellent.

Too good, in fact, to stay in an empty apartment on a summer evening.

She grabbed her keys again and went back out.

She caught the tail of Hugh's car turning left at the corner, and absently noted the car that turned behind him. She kissed her fingers in his direction, then set off the opposite way to walk to Sirico's.

It was good to be back in the neighborhood. She'd enjoyed her time in the group house, and she'd liked the broom closet she'd been able to finesse during her training at the Shady Grove campus west of Baltimore. But this was home.

The row houses with their white steps or little porches, pots of flowers on stoops or Italian flags flying from rooftop poles.

There was always someone around to call out a greeting.

She took her time, admired some of the murals painted on window screens and wondered if she should ask her mother to do one for her and Gina. Probably needed to run that one by the landlord, but since it was Gina's second cousin, she doubted it would be an issue.

She detoured half a block to watch a few minutes of a boccie game between old men in colorful shirts.

Why hadn't she thought to ask Hugh if he wanted to stroll down, check out some of the local color?

What she should do is ask him, casually, if he wanted to take in the open-air movie on Friday night. It was a neighborhood tradition. Movie night meant live music, too—which could lead to dancing. She might put those red shoes to use, after all.

She'd think about that, maybe make it a double with Gina and Steve. But for now, she might as well enjoy the rest of her evening.

She reminded herself that Sunday nights were busy at Sirico's. If she wanted a few minutes with some of the family before the chaos, she shouldn't linger.

Things were already heating up when she walked in the door of the restaurant. Buzzing conversations, the clatter of cutlery, the phone ringing greeted her when she stepped inside.

Pete was at the pizza counter, her mother at the stove. Fran, along with a couple of the waitstaff her father still called his kids, were manning the tables.

Reena saw her immediate future flash in front of her eyes in the form of an apron and an order pad. She started to call out to Fran, then saw Bella sitting at a table nibbling on some antipasto.

“Hey, stranger.” Reena plopped on the other chair at the table. “What are you doing around here?”

“Vince is golfing today. Thought I'd bring the kids by for a while.”

“Where are they?”

“Dad and Jack took them for a walk, over to the harbor. Mama called to let you know I was here, but you weren't home.”

“Just got back, didn't even check the machine.” She reached over, nipped one of the olives from Bella's plate. “Boccie contest is winding down. We're going to be swamped in about a half hour.”

“Business is good.” Bella gave a little shrug.

She looked amazing, Reena thought. The lifestyle she'd aimed for all of her life suited her. She was polished. Her deep blond hair expertly highlighted and swept silkily around a face of fine, smooth skin. There was gold and glitter at her ears, on her fingers, around her throat. Subtle and expensive to match the pale rose linen shirt.

“How about you?” Reena asked. “Are you as good as you look?”

A smile flickered around Bella's mouth. “How good do I look?”

“Magazine-cover level.”

“Thanks. I've been working on it. It takes time to lose the baby weight, get back in shape. I've got a personal trainer who makes Attila the Hun look like a pansy. But it's worth it.”

She held out her wrist to show off the sapphire-and-diamond tennis bracelet. “My reward from Vince for getting back to my pre-Vinny weight.”

“Nice. Sparkly.”

Bella laughed, gave that little shrug again and toyed with some prosciutto. “Anyway, I came by to try to pigeonhole Fran about the wedding.”

“What about it?”

“I just don't see why she insists on having the reception in some dinky hall when she can use our club. I've even got a list of menus, and florists, musicians. She doesn't need to settle when I'm willing to help.”

“It's sweet of you.” And she meant it. “But I think Fran and Jack want something a little simpler and closer to home. They're simpler, Bella. That's not a criticism,” she added, reaching out for her sister's hand when Bella's eyes flashed. “Honestly. Your wedding was spectacular, and gorgeous and absolutely reflected you. Fran's should reflect her.”

“I just want to share some of what I've got. What's wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing. And you know what? I think you ought to help with the flowers.”

Bella blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“You're better at that than Fran and Mama. I think they should let you have your head there, especially if you're willing to help pay for it.”

“I would be, but they won't—”

“I'll talk them into it.”

Bella sat back. “You could, too. You always could work them around.”

“One condition. If Fran wants simple flowers, you don't buy truckloads of exotic orchids or whatever.”

“If she wants simple, I can work simple. But stupendously simple. And I can turn that dinky hall into a garden. A cottage garden,” she added at Reena's narrowed stare. “Sweet, old-fashioned, romantic.”

“Perfect. When my turn comes, I'm hooking you.”

“Got any potentials?”

“Not looking for potential husbands. But I've got a potential guy. Firefighter.”

“Oh. Big surprise.”

“Studly,” Reena said around another olive. “Excellent mattress possibilities.”

Bella gave a choked laugh. “I miss you, Reena.”

“Aw, honey, I miss you, too.”

“I didn't think I would.”

Now it was time for Reena to laugh.

“Seriously. I didn't think I'd miss you, or this.” She gestured to encompass the restaurant. “But I do, sometimes.”

“Well, we're always here.”

S
he stayed longer than she'd intended, long after Bella took her children home to her sprawling suburban estate. When business was light enough, she maneuvered her mother and Fran to a table.

“Girl powwow.”

“Any excuse to get off my feet.” Bianca sat, poured sparkling water all around.

“It's about the wedding, and Bella.”

“Oh, don't start.” Fran clamped her hands on her ears. Her waves of hair tossed as she shook her head. “I don't want a country club wedding. I don't want a bunch of waiters in tuxedos serving champagne or a damn ice swan.”