Kade's Rescue (Detroit Heat Book 1) (2 page)

He was right. I could barely even visit my sister’s kids. Her youngest was six and reminded me so much of Marco that my heart tore apart whenever I saw him. I didn’t want to be near any children. I almost would have preferred trash duty.

“Then what?”

“Well,” he took out a card and stared at it for a second before handing it to me, “I know someone that works at a local soup kitchen. It’s not far from your station, right?”

After looking at the address, I nodded. “Right.” Leslie Woods,
Helping Hands Community Kitchen.

“Think of it this way: it’s low-stress, good for public relations if anyone recognizes you, and I’ll personally let Leslie know that you might need to take frequent breaks, no questions asked.” He must have seen the skepticism on my face. “Kade, you’ll have to trust me. I know it’s not heavy lifting or running into a burning building, but it is hard work in a different way. I think this will be a great step toward tackling the difficult tasks you’ll have to work on within yourself.”

“Ladling out soup?” I didn’t really get what he was trying to tell me.

He laughed. “That’s what you’ll be doing, probably, but it’s more about the human side of it. Getting in touch with the kind of people your department serves. As a firefighter, you only see them at their worst, right?”

I nodded.

“Think of this as a way to see them on their way back to their best.”

I understood the concept. It was just hard for me to buy into. It seemed like I’d have to take a day off to go work for free. At the station, we did community outreach with things like chili cook-offs and fundraisers. This just seemed a little pointless.

I shrugged and turned back to the window. “I mean, is this really going to help?”

“I don’t know, Kade,” he said. The smile he flashed was equal parts concerned and hopeful. “To be honest, I just don’t know.”

I stepped back outside onto the busy street. After checking that my turtleneck was pulled up all the way, I looked back to the river. As far as I could tell, I had the doc fooled. I’d told him I would give Leslie a call and that I would give him the run down when we met a week later for my next session.

As I dug in my pocket for my keys, my fingers grazed the business card and I pulled it out. I looked it over one more time. Volunteering wasn’t going to help. I wadded the business card up.

Sorry, Leslie Woods, but you don’t have what I need.
I let out a deep breath and tossed it into the trash on my way to the parking lot.

“…And the wife said, ‘Honey, that’s not my pair of stockings.’ ” He stared at me with his mouth wide open as if waiting for me to burst out laughing. I had barely been able to follow the meandering setup that had led to his terrible joke, so I gave a polite laugh just so he’d stop making that face.

It did the trick. Appeased, Aaron started talking again. “But anyway, after college I couldn’t find a job, so I bummed around the West Coast for a bit before heading back here.”

I couldn’t even tell how long he’d been talking. Five minutes? Ten? What the hell question had I asked that had started all this?

“Came back to the D last year and started working for my dad.” He paused. Then, with a vacant laugh, he asked, “Wait, what was your question again?”

I shrugged. “Beats me.” The awkwardness was palpable. We could both feel it. I knew it was on me to break it, but I just couldn’t. Every bit of our social contract was yanking at me to say something—
anything
—but I refused to give in. This was, by far, the worst date I’d ever been on, and I wasn’t going to try and save a sinking ship.
This is my last blind date. Ever.

“So…” Aaron drew the vowel out to hint that we were stalling. I didn’t need the hint. I knew it from the moment he’d parked outside the hole-in-the-wall soul food joint, but for the sake of life, I decided to try and keep an open mind, anyway.
 
Aaron wasn’t exactly giving me the impression that he wasn’t trying too hard.

Not that I didn’t love soul food. Detroit has some of the best hidden treasure restaurants in the country, but for a first date? He could have shown a little effort, at least. That was strike one.

I returned the conversational serve back to him. “So...”

Strike two had been him taking a call that lasted a good few minutes. If it had been his sick aunt or an important work call, I would have understood, but it wasn’t either of those things. It was a friend of his who needed help setting up Xbox Live for the first time. It was a good thing Aaron spent so much time on there; he was able to solve his friend’s problem in no time.

He nodded, realizing that he was losing me. Or maybe he realized he’d never had me and it was just now becoming obvious to him. “You know, they say not to ask what someone’s job is. They say you should ask what someone’s passion is. What’s your passion, Layne?”

It was cheesy, but I had to admit that I did like that sentiment. It was the first decent question he’d asked, and at least he’d made it a good one. “I like to help people.” Aaron nodded, but I caught him gazing around the small restaurant. I sighed to myself. Shatrice was going to hear about this. Another ace setup from my best friend. I decided that if Aaron was fine with hogging the conversation, I would follow suit. I could talk about my passions all night long.

“I
get
to help people, actually. I work at a soup kitchen. I get to cook, and I get to see people from all walks of life, and I get to see them starting fresh and picking their lives back up. We have a great community outreach and a ton of people that used to need our services come back to volunteer once they’re on their feet. It’s just a great thing to see.”

I realized that I wasn’t really talking to Aaron anymore, but I didn’t care. I loved my job, and I loved telling people about it. I was the one in the group who was always trying to get people to volunteer and learn how to cook. It helped the community and they learned something at the same time. It was a win-win in my book.

He looked at me, his head tilted to one side. “What kind of soups?”

I stared at him. Was he serious? “Huh?”

“What kind of soups do you make? At the kitchen?” It was his only moment of sincerity. I could see just how much effort he had put into it, and I just couldn’t help myself.

I laughed. I knew he wasn’t being intentionally funny, and maybe that made it even more so. I tell him all about my job, and the only thing his feeble mind can hang onto is the fact that I make soup. I wanted to cry, laugh, and yell all at the same time.

“I make lots of different kinds of soup, Aaron. I also make casseroles, breads, and other kinds of food.” I realized after the fact that my tone was like talking to a toddler. It was probably a bit harsh, but didn’t he deserve it?

“I get that. I get that.” He said it exactly like someone who didn’t get it, but I let it slide. We hadn’t even gotten our drinks yet and I really didn’t want things to get too awkward. The thought had crossed my mind to just abandon ship, but I really didn’t want him to think I was a bitch. Even if the boat was sinking fast, I’d do my best to bucket out a few gallons of water.

I decided to grin and bear it. At least he was asking questions. “What about you? What business is your father in?”

He smiled and I immediately regretted asking. “Flooring. Not residential, though. We do some of the larger companies in the area. I don’t actually do the work, if that’s what you think. I’m stuck behind a desk dealing with clients, workers, supply companies. It’s not the most important work in the world, but I get to work alongside my dad, and maybe in a few years when he retires the business will be mine.”

I didn’t know what to think of Aaron. His life seemed easy. He had been handed everything. He was set to inherit a job that did nothing to contribute to society and he was proud to sit behind a desk. It wasn’t that I hated him—I just hated that he seemed to enjoy his utterly vapid life. I didn’t know how he could possibly get any satisfaction from it.

I had carved out my place in the world. Working through school had allowed me to network with like-minded individuals. My co-workers were driven, determined people, and those were the kind of people that understood me. But Aaron? Aaron couldn’t understand my drive and motivation.

I put in my time every day and went home with more energy than when I’d started. Aaron looked like he went home every day and fired up the Xbox to distract himself from the thought of having to go back to work. I wasn’t looking for a workaday man-child gamer. I was looking for the other half of a power couple.

For five years, I’d dated my share of losers. College was filled with them, and I was glad to get my diploma and leave Georgia to come to Detroit, Michigan.

Maybe it had fallen from what was once a truly glorious city, but I still saw it as a fantastic place. I saw such potential. There were people using ingenuity and hard work to create great opportunities, and I wanted to be a part of that. I knew that sometimes all it took to start a blazing fire was a simple spark.

A spark that Aaron didn’t—and might never—have.

Strike three. You’re out.

I closed the door, astonished that Aaron had actually tried to kiss me. We’d eaten our dinner in silence, after which he’d tried to get back on my good side with a walk down Dequindre Cut. I had to admire his tenacity, but I had no plans to see him again. Ever.

I reached for my phone the second I had the chain lock over the door. Shaking my head, I pulled up my friend’s number. I didn’t know if I wanted to yell at her or laugh with her. Either way, the whole thing had been just too ridiculous to keep to myself.

When Shatrice picked up, I laid right into her. “Was that the best you could do?”

“No, that is not the best I can do, but maybe I don’t want to waste the best I’ve got on you, Miss Picky-Ass Layne Manchester.”

Someone else might have been offended, but I laughed and headed straight for the fridge where a bottle of white wine was chilled and waiting for me. If it had been some other man, we might have been splitting it and seeing where the night took us. Unfortunately for Aaron, I’d be drinking solo this time.

I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder. “I am deeply and profoundly offended, Shatrice.”

“Mmhm. I just bet you are.” Her sarcasm was palpable, even through the phone.

My co-worker reveled in giving me shit about my love life, and sometimes I thought she set me up with guys for her own entertainment. “Darnell is runnin’ out of friends,” she told me. “You’d better believe that. What was wrong with this one, Miss Picky?”

What was wrong with this one? Where to start? I could have said all kinds of unpleasant things, but I didn’t want to run the risk of actually hurting my friend’s feelings. “We were just on two completely different wavelengths.”

“That is the whitest thing I’ve ever heard. ‘Two different wavelengths.’ Girl, you need to lower your expectations. Darnell and I’ve been together since high school. Let me give you a bit of advice.”

Let me give you a bit of advice
was her way of saying,
pull your head out of your ass.
I couldn't wait.

“Men are work,” she continued. “You don’t get them brand new from the showroom floor, and you don’t get all the fancy accessories you want standard. You gotta mold them over time.”