Soaring (33 page)

“Good you had somebody,” he remarked and I grinned.

“Better because Lawr isn’t just the one who was there. He’s a good guy who cares a lot about his probably annoying little sister.”

“With only brothers, always wanted a sister,” he told me.

“Even having a great brother, I always did too,” I replied.

Things stayed easy as we got our steamers, then ate our chowder with Mickey ordering me another glass of wine when mine got low.

Through this, he shared about his work, mostly why he disliked his boss.

This was because his boss had underbid so rabidly on projects, he’d built almost a monopoly in the county. This he was able to do providing substandard materials. He also pushed his workers to finish the job quickly, cutting corners along the way, which meant not only the materials but the labor was substandard.

And Mickey was always foreman on the roofing jobs and sometimes foreman on the construction jobs. He didn’t like doing what his boss made him do. He didn’t agree with doing it. But it wasn’t his job to like it or agree with it. It was his job to do it.

And Mickey being the kind of man Mickey was, he liked this least of all.

So, with Mickey the face of the business for clients, he got it at both ends: the workers angry they didn’t have time to do their jobs and more, they were pushed to overtime and weekend work, but also the clients who would contact Mickey and complain when things inevitably went wrong.

I made a mental note to look outside the county should I need any of this kind of work done, but other than that, I had little to say, except, “I’m sorry, honey. That sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” he agreed. “But recent news, I’ve got it in me to take the risk, it could get better.”

Since his work seemed pretty dismal, and this sounded quite exciting, I leaned slightly over my empty chowder cup, hand up with my wineglass, elbow resting on the table, and asked, “How?”

“Chief told me that the town’s gonna vote on allocating more money to the fire department,” he answered. “We had a development go in ’bout five years ago. Nothin’ big, only twenty houses, but it’s still more people and more taxes. Now, the Club has asked for planning permission to build a golf course and add houses that’ll be built around that course. Members of the Club got money and pull, so this’ll go through. And that shopping place is already up and running on Mills jetty, more buildings, more trade. We got enough volunteers to cover but we all know that’s thin and it asks a lot of the guys to put their asses on the line and give the time needed, which for each of us is a lot.”

I nodded, still not liking that Mickey put his “ass on the line,” still not sharing that, instead asking, “The Club?”

“The Magdalene Club. Private bar and restaurant, moneyed, members only.”

“Ah,” I murmured.

When that was all I had, he kept speaking.

“So, the chief has gone to the town council with a proposal. Stay at part-time pay for a chief and full-time pay for a firefighter who’ll help the chief recruit, do scheduling, training, keep volunteers sharp by runnin’ drills and shit—”

“And you want to be that firefighter,” I cut him off to guess.

“No, Amy, I wanna be the chief.”

I blinked.

“Bobby is sixty-three,” he explained. “He can’t live off part-time, even if that packet is pretty decent. So he’s also got a full-time and he’s been our chief for eleven years. Town might be small and sleepy but shit happens and the fire department can never not be on the ball. His last vacation, he and his wife went to Tucson to look at houses. He’s ready to retire. He does, he’s gonna recommend me to the town council for his job. I got in the most time, got the most experience, fill in for him when he’s not around. So I can do that job, take that salary and then run my own crew.”

“Of firefighters?” I asked.

“Yeah.
And
of roofers,” he answered and I felt my eyes widen. “Start my own business. People around here know me. I won’t be the cheapest but they can expect quality, have their roof redone or fixed and know they don’t have to worry about the next rain or any weather for another ten, fifteen years, depending on the materials they pay for. I know I could take Ralph’s trade. Could do the same with his contractor work too. Already got the license, went for that a while ago when Ralph pissed me off more than he usually does. Just was dealin’ with Rhiannon and didn’t have the time to cut loose. But if I do this, I’d have to start small, build it if it works. Won’t have to worry about the crew, all Ralph’s boys’ll come with me. With the money coming in regular from the department, I’ve only done the numbers in my head, but I figure things’ll be really tight for about six months and then I’ll start turning a profit and in the end things’ll be a whole lot more comfortable for the kids and me.”

“Oh my God, Mickey, that’s
great
,” I breathed, reaching past our chowder cups to grab his hand on the table.

He turned it and wrapped his fingers around mine, holding tight. “It would be, I can pull it off,” he agreed.

“Are you a shoo-in for the chief’s job?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered.

“And when is the chief retiring?”

“Not sure he can make it the two years he’d planned before retiring. Bobby’s not just done with all the work; he’s done with Maine in the winter. Could talk to him but I think he wants to get the department where he wants it and feels good to go and then he’ll go.”

“Then, could you start now?” I queried. “The roofing,” I explained. “Not a big company, quitting your job to begin, but, I don’t know, taking smaller jobs? Just so when you can really do it, you hit the ground running.”

We had to separate as the busboy came and took our spent dishes and we did this with Mickey studying me and not speaking.

“Sorry,” I mumbled after the busboy left, thinking I read his silence. “I don’t know anything about this kind of thing.”

“It’s a good idea, Amy,” he surprised me by saying. “Don’t have a compete clause with Ralph in my contract. Could get the word out, do patch work, open a line in case of emergencies, talk to some of the boys who want to take side work, start forming a crew. Build it from there while I still got a full salary.”

“Will Ralph get angry?” I asked.

“He does, he does,” Mickey answered on a slight shrug. “He’s got no call with the work I’m hired to do for him to fire me and he’s not stupid. He knows I eat shit a lot and talk fast for him; he won’t want that buffer taken away. But he gets rid of me, then I just go for it.”

I smiled big.

Mickey smiled big back to me.

That also settled inside me in another way that felt good.

I lost that feeling too fast for my liking when our waitress came with our lobster.

I stared at mine, the whole thing, and I did this trying to hide my horror.

I’d had lobster. I loved lobster.

But I’d never had to take one apart to eat it.

I was still staring at it when Mickey’s hand curled around it.

I looked up at him to see him looking down at my lobster, shaking his head and grinning, then twisting my lobster apart expertly, doing this muttering, “My dainty heiress, doesn’t wanna get her hands dirty.”

He was teasing. He was his normal handsome (and then some) teasing.

But he was also annoying.

“I’ve never torn apart a lobster, Mickey. If you’d just explain how to do it, I could do it myself,” I declared as he put the tail on my plate.

I declared this even though I very much wanted to eat my lobster but I very much did
not
want to twist it apart.

His eyes came to me, dipped to my cleavage and came back, “And have lobster juice squirt on that dress? No way, baby.”

I liked that he liked the dress.

I liked that he was taking care of me by tearing apart my meal.

I did not like that he called me a “dainty heiress.”

Though, truth be told, I
did
like that he called me
his
“dainty heiress.”

“I’m not a dainty heiress, Mickey,” I snapped.

He dumped the claws on my plate and then he dumped the gross part on another plate the waitress had given us for that purpose, doing that as his gaze came to me.

“You drive a Mercedes. You live in Cliff Blue. You go grocery shopping and come over for a family dinner in high heels. You
so
are, Amy,” he replied.

“I’ll have you know I do
all
my own laundry, cooking and cleaning,” I announced.

He picked up his own lobster, eyes still on me and they were dancing. “
All
of it? Wow, baby, impressive.”

I glared at him even as something warm stole through me.

He was teasing and he was doing it in a way he’d get a rise out of me because he
liked
to get a rise out of me and I knew why.

Even in getting along, he wanted me to have, as he put it, my “gloves up,” because he liked sparring with me, mostly because between us that was a spark that we had that when he fanned the flame with a kiss (or, eventually more), it blazed into an inferno.

That knowledge tingled someplace private, a sensation I enjoyed. A sensation I would have liked to experience a lot longer.

But I didn’t.

Because suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Shockingly, the instant they did, I watched Mickey tense. I also watched his head turn.

I followed his gaze and that was when I tensed.

Because being guided to a table across the restaurant were Martine and Conrad. They were moving but both had their heads turned, looking at Mickey and me.

Conrad appeared annoyed. Then again, for the last three years, that was always the way he looked at me.

Martine looked annoyed too.

Her eyes darting between Mickey and me, she looked something else as well.

Catty.

And if I could credit it, there was a hint of envy.

And there was a lot to be envious about.

She had Conrad, who was a cheat in a way he was probably still cheating, but this time, on her.

And I was sitting with Mickey, who was much more handsome, nicer, funnier and a whole lot better of a kisser.

Not to mention, my dress was far more stylish than her skirt and blouse and my shoes kicked her shoes’ ass.

The hairs on my neck eased.

“Fuck,” Mickey grunted.

“Honey,” I called and Mickey looked to me. “Thanks for ripping apart my meal.”

It was my way of saying this was him and me, our first date, our time, and Conrad and Martine were not going to ruin it.

He studied me before his eyes warmed and his face grew soft and when they did, I knew he heard me.

“Anytime, Amy.”

I grinned.

Then I looked down and picked up my cracker to dig into my lobster claws.

* * * * *

I was stuffed by the time we were done, and thankful, in an effort to get me eating, Mickey didn’t push dessert because I couldn’t have done it.

But I would have wanted to do it.

For him.

I’d also had three glasses of wine, the meal being delicious, the company better, and I’d found that I’d been anxious all day for nothing.

There were no awkward pauses. There was no searching for conversation. There was no panic about trying to be interesting.

Mickey and I had already laid the groundwork. We knew about each other and each other’s lives. He teased. I reacted. We talked about kids and jobs and family and life and it came easy. There was much to learn but it was being discovered freely and naturally.

Mickey was good company.

And most important of all, he made it clear he felt the same with me.

In fact, when I’d communicated that Martine and Conrad did not exist, they actually ceased to exist.

So the end of the dinner was just the same as the beginning.

Free and natural and all about Mickey and me.

I was surprised but not averse when, after we left the restaurant, Mickey didn’t guide me to his truck but instead to the street where he walked us across hand in hand to the wharf. He then walked us down the wharf to the end.

I hadn’t been there yet but I liked being there. I could smell the sea, feel the cool air calming me along with the three glasses of wine, and I could hear the tranquil, muted sounds of the bells on the buoys.

Better still was when we reached the end, Mickey turned my back to him and curled his arms around my midriff, pulling me to his heat.

“Ever think of leaving Magdalene, just walk right here and you’ll think you’re crazy,” he murmured and his words made me relax against him.

Belly filled with delicious seafood, mind settled by a great date with Mickey, standing there with the smells and sounds, I took that moment to take in the sights.

Magdalene was built into a set of coves, the town proper in the longest of them. The coastline rose up gray and black rocky cliffs that were partially bare and dark right then, but in the light the tops were forested with trees. However, quite a bit of it was taken with homes, their faint lights in the shadowed structures giving the view a magical feel.

This was augmented by the charming lighthouse flashing its light from where the structure was built on a sharp jut of land to the north. Not to mention Josie and Jake’s Lavender House, which was a feature of Magdalene’s coastline. It was large and picturesque and now its windows were lit, indicating the family inside was up and active, doing things together, carrying on the tradition of love and family, why that house was built.

I couldn’t see Cliff Blue, which was built up high over a small cove, so it was hidden. But I wondered then how the coastline looked from the sea.

It was likely fabulous.

There were sounds of cars driving down the street behind us, but this wasn’t constant.

No, the constant was the bells of the buoys and the waves lapping against the shore and slapping against the planks of the wharf, peaceful, easy beauty.

I wrapped my arms around his at my midriff and leaned back into him. “I can see why you’d never leave.”

“Want for my kids whatever they want,” he stated. “I’d be happy as long as they’re happy. But I hope, if they take off, when they come back and I bring them right here, wherever life took them, they’d know in their bones that standing right here was the only place that was home.”