Falling for the Fireman. Allie Pleiter
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Jeannie, she had no choice. She was on display for everyone’s pity because the whole town had gathered to watch her home and business burn. He was sure she’d call it something warm and cozy like “community,” but to him it was a naked, painful exposure.
“Still, he’s been through so much for such a young man.” Billings patted Jeannie’s wrist.
“Oh, don’t you worry about Nicky. He’s coping so much better than anyone expected. You know boys. He just sees this as a chance to get cooler new stuff. Like Christmas before Christmas. People came out of the woodwork to help us, you know. Nicky and I had a week’s worth of clothes before the sun even came up the next day. The new Sweet Treats will be right on Tyler Street in the middle of all that lucrative tourist traffic. And evidently, my son is about to become the firehouse’s first official dog wrangler.”
“Told you she’d say yes.” George elbowed Chad victoriously. “Have Nicky come by Chad’s office tomorrow but don’t tell him what’s up. The boy will enjoy it more if it’s a surprise.”
“It will be bigger and better. It has to be,” Jeannie proclaimed to the dust the following morning as she stood inside what would be Sweet Treats. It made her happy just to be inside the historic building, the “old girl” as Jeannie had come to call her. The weathered beams boasted deep ridges like laugh lines. History’s scent, that indescribable mixture of dust and mold and time, hung in the air to the point where Jeannie felt she could reach out and roll it between her fingers. It was a thick, rich smell, but not unpleasant by any means. This old girl had gone unappreciated for far too long; she had too grand a history to sit dormant on Tyler Street. “How many times have the floodgates saved you?” The green floodgates at the north end of town were a Gordon Falls landmark, protecting the town from the nearby Gordon River when its fury swelled. “You’ve been a dozen different things, and now you’ll be my candy store.” Twenty-seven Tyler Street had been an apothecary shop back at the turn of the century, and then a pharmacy in the 1920s and 1930s back when pharmacies had ice cream counters and weren’t giant chain stores. “You’ve got character. We both do.”
She laughed at herself, holding conversation with wood and plaster. Still, the building and she were old friends of a sort. How many times had she passed by this neglected spot in such a prime location just across from the firehouse, pondering what she could do with it if she ever got the chance? Every couple of months, she’d slow down as she drove past it with its forlorn for-sale sign. She would toy with the idea that someday, when the timing and the finances were right, it might be time to expand, to leave the cramped quarters over by the river and make a go of it on Gordon Falls’s center stage. She’d have enough space in here to really utilize her online gift basket business—growing fast enough, thank the Lord, to keep her going over this tough time. She’d been bursting out of her riverfront home and shop already. Now, being stuck in this apartment and borrowing the church’s industrial kitchen to cook, wasn’t going to cut it much longer.
Jeannie took a deep breath, watching the way the light striped through the dusty air. Though some details were lacking, she could feel her future in here. The whole enterprise still seemed steeped in possibility—one of the things that kept her going these days. Nicky had jokingly called the project “Mom’s other baby.” How glad he was that his mother found somewhere else to put her attention. He wasn’t far off the mark. It felt as though if she didn’t move forward at full speed, she’d stop all together. For the thousandth time she thought of the little sign she’d seen in the hospital lobby the night Henry died. It said, “You never know how strong you can be until strong is the only choice you have.”
Jeannie ran her hands over beams and dusty shelves, drawing motivation from the possibilities. She’d have twice the room for stock in this place. She could have internet kiosks for customers to order for relatives and friends back home. Maybe even a class or two in that big side room off the kitchen. “I need you, you need me. We’re business partners. God set it up that way and nothing is going to stop us now.”
“Except maybe me, the insurance company and a handful of building codes,” came a deep voice from behind her. Jeannie spun around, nearly yelping in a most unprofessional manner, to find Chad Owens standing in what would be the front doorway.
Chapter Two
A set of blueprints she’d bumped began to cascade off the folding table, and Jeannie just managed to save them from a swirl of dust. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She started to say that just because the building didn’t have a working door didn’t mean a person shouldn’t knock, but kept quiet. Chad would make Nicky happy later this afternoon, if George’s plan worked, so she shouldn’t complain. Besides, she figured it would be wise to stay on good terms with the fire marshal when rehabbing a eighty-seven-year-old building on a tight time schedule.
“Obviously.” Chad wore a dark green turtleneck that wouldn’t have looked half as severe on any other man. He never dressed starkly—mostly like a man who never put much thought into how he looked—but somehow everything about him managed to have sharp edges. Even his green eyes, which currently held an unsettling hint of amusement, flashed more murky than mossy under his short, dark hair. “Do you always talk to empty rooms?”
“Henry used to say I could think only with my mouth moving.” She’d always thought it funny but now it just sounded foolish.
“Your late husband?”
It startled her that he had to ask; everyone in town knew Henry. Had Chad really not been in Gordon Falls long enough to have known him? “Yes. We lost him in a car accident when Nicky was six.” It felt odd to realize someone she knew hadn’t known Henry. As if it signaled just how long Henry had been gone.
His stance softened a bit at her answer, as if tripped up by the tragedy. Chad was as athletic as any of the firemen he worked with, but he moved like a man who would have preferred to take up less space in the world. If he ever got excited about anything, she’d never seen it.
Well, she wouldn’t allow him to do his wet-blanket routine in this place this morning. She pointed to the amazing woodwork near the top of the walls. “Isn’t this moulding incredible? It’s artwork. Why would anyone think covering up such craftsmanship with one of those boring industrial drop ceilings was a good idea? Outlaw that in one of your building codes.”
“Some people think new is better, no matter what.” Chad looked up at the partial latticework of steel strips that had held up one of those horrid 1970s foam-tile ceilings and scratched his chin. His strong features could have been dashing if his personality would just lighten up, but he always seemed rather sad. He followed her gaze up to the wondrously curvy wood moulding. “Scraping the old paint off all those curlicues won’t be an easy job.”
Jeannie palmed the fat arc of a wooden support column, ignoring his pessimism. The store had six thick columns running down each side of the long narrow shop. They were stately things no one ever put in buildings anymore. When she was finished, each column would bear rounds of wrought-iron display baskets, brimming with salt water taffy and her famous chocolate-covered caramels; a forest of sweetness down either side of the aisle. “Oh, I won’t scrape those,” she said, pointing upward. “I love the texture of all those layers. All those years, all that history. They’ll be stunning when I paint them up in bright colors.”
Chad simply stared at the ceiling with his hands in his pockets. She wondered, by the tilt of his chin, if he was trying to see what she saw. Perhaps he was just categorizing her as a loony optimist, a thorn in his side as the fire marshal and building inspector who had to sign off on all her ambitious remodeling plans. He surveyed the entire ceiling before bringing his gaze down to her with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to paint all the exposed ductwork up in bright colors, too? The sprinkler pipes and such?”
Jeannie leaned against the beam, wincing as it groaned a bit. The late-September wind whistled through something behind her, announcing the gap-toothed age of the windows and doors. She spoke over the sound. “Of course. I’m going to paint everything bright colors.”
He sighed, a sound considerably more