Fanning the Flames (Romance Firemen Series) (2 page)

Eventually, the glamorous woman kissed Nick on both cheeks and glided away in a cloud of expensive fragrance.

“Sorry about that, Miss Powell,” he said, turning his attention back to Cassie. “An old family friend.”

“It’s ok!” Cassie replied with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’m not expecting you to babysit me. I’m sure there must be a lot of people you need to talk to.”

“That's true,” he said, steering her toward a table in a prime location at the other end of the ballroom. “But I invited you. I would hardly be doing my duty as your escort if I kept abandoning you. So I’ll try not to.”

Escort?
Cassie thought.
Funny choice of word. More personal than 'host,' but less personal than ‘date.’ Guess it’s business then.
They stop-started their way across the room as people – mostly young, attractive women – greeted Nick and failed to register Cassie’s presence at all.

Presumably, I’m the latest in a line of interchangeable dates then. Maybe he makes a habit of bringing charity case teachers to benefits, just rotating them based on location and subject.

She smiled to herself at the idea of Nick using schools that had benefited from Mandeville generosity as cruising grounds. Based on the number of women salivating over him in this room, he certainly wouldn't need to.

They eventually arrived at their table. Nick pulled out Cassie’s chair for her. He sat just as a flurry of waiters appeared bearing trays of appetizers. Cassie picked at her goat cheese and beetroot salad, self-conscious under the intensity of Nick’s gaze now that she had his full attention.

He asked her about herself diligently, thoroughly, in a manner that could have been indicative of genuine interest, or could have simply been the mark of a good escort. Unsure which was the case, Cassie wracked her brain for the best and most entertaining anecdotes about her life.

“How about you?” she asked when she felt she’d said enough. “What do you do when you’re not opening school libraries?”

“I write, mostly,” Nick replied, nonchalantly sipping from his champagne flute. “I travel for family business and do a bit of travel writing on the side.”

“That sounds amazing,” said Cassie. “I'm sorry. You must get this kind of reaction all the time, but it sounds like such a great job. What are your favorite places?”

He was thoughtful. “There are so many. I have a special place in my heart for Marrakech, and Kyoto is fantastic. As cliché as it sounds, though, London may be my favorite city. It may well be the greatest city in the world.”

“I’d love to go there someday. I’ve never been anywhere in Europe, but I’m saving for a trip. My roommate is going to Warsaw later this summer. She's going to teach there for the year. I’m so jealous! She has family there, so she’s been back and forth all her life. Do you get tired of all the flying?”

“Not really.” Nick smiled. “I find planes are excellent places to write, especially poetry. That’s my passion. Everything else just fills the time.”

“Are you published?”

“A few pamphlets, and my first book came out last year. I recently finished my second book, and now I’m looking for a publisher for it. Well, my agent is. I’m just waiting for him to sell it and looking for inspiration for the next one.”

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

“In people, mostly. Some of my work is observational, things I see around me. But for the most part, I form my poems around my relationships with individual people. I write about the person, how they make me feel, events that pass between us, that kind of thing. ”

Cassie longed to ask more questions. Who had he written about? What kind of reception did the poems get? How had his book sales gone? But she worried that her questions might be too personal, so she kept quiet and listened.

Nick told her about the writers who had influenced his work. He loved the Beat poets, especially Kerouac. Cassie mentioned that her favorite poet of all time is Tennyson, which made him laugh and confess that he hated poetry written before the twentieth century, especially the unending epics in which Tennyson specialized.

As dinner continued, she learned a lot more about Nick’s likes and dislikes, his triumphs and disasters, and his fraught relationship with his family. His ambition to be a great poet was a disappointment to his father, who had expected his son to take over the running of the family’s multinational corporation.

Instead, the CEO’s chair was now filled by Nick’s brother-in-law, who had been steadily working his way up the ladder when he married the boss’ daughter, Nick’s younger sister. Nick’s attempt at making a family-approved marriage had ended after less than a year, when his wife had left him for another man.

It seemed that he was about to tell Cassie more about his ex-wife, but by that time dinner was ending, coffee was being served, the string quartet had given way to a full band, and dancing had begun.

“I’ve never learned this kind of dance!” Cassie whispered urgently as Nick led her onto the dance floor. All around them men were sweeping their partners into starting positions for ballroom dancing.

“Don’t worry,” Nick reassured her. “It’s just a waltz. Relax, let me lead, and you’ll be fine.”

He was right. Cassie surrendered to the supreme confidence of his leading, allowing her movements to match his.

She began to enjoy being swirled competently around the floor, safely held in place by well-tended, long-fingered hands. She barely noticed as the dances grew more complex, trusting Nick to guide her and murmur occasional instructions in her ear.

By the last dance, Cassie was lost in the magic of music and soft lighting. It was a slow, sensual rumba, danced to the sound of marimba and plaintive saxophone.

Nick held her close as they swayed and stepped, spinning her out as the dance demanded, and then, as the music swelled to a climax, reeling her in, pressing her against him, her head tilted up, in the perfect position for his lips to descend on hers…which they did, but only for a second. 

Then she was back on both feet, and the dancers began to clear the floor. The magic of the moment began to dissipate, dissolved by the ordinariness of the chatter around her as she walked back to the table.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Cassie covered her blistered feet in band-aids and slipped gratefully into her sneakers.

It was the last day before summer vacation and she was taking it easy on the kids, playing literary-themed games with them and letting them talk about their plans for the summer.

She always loved the last day, when everyone was too excited to work. She felt she learned more about the kids on days like this than during all her classes with them put together.

O
n the way home, she stopped by The Cheesecake Factory and selected two slices of Key Lime.

Pulling a sharpie from her bag, she scribbled “Happy birthday, dear roomie!” on the box.

It was a tradition of hers and Francine’s that they never exchanged cards on their birthdays, only slices of Key Lime cheesecake. They had never missed a year, ever since they had first roomed together as freshmen at Boston College.

The next stop was their favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout chow mein, a more recent birthday tradition.

As Cassie waited for her order, she pulled out the poetry book she had checked out of the new school library earlier that day, promising the librarian she'd return it early the next morning in time for summer inventory.

She had been curious whether a copy of Nick's work would have been there, and sure enough, it was.

It was a slim little booklet with a black cover, with the title,
stains
, typed in stark white contrast. She flipped it open, picking a poem at random.

your acid heart

a bittersweet lemon drop

sickening my soul

you corrode my hope

burn through my dreams

devour the last

of what was good in me

take my love

I hope you like the taste

choke it down

the lump in your throat

my chewed-up heart

torn to shreds cannot be remade.

Cassie returned the book to her bag as her order number was called. Wow, she thought as she headed back to the car, that was cheerful.

It reminded her of some of the poems she had seen scrawled in the margins of her students’ notebooks. She’d written a few herself, back in her late teens when Evanescence had been the soundtrack to her life. If only I’d known there was a market for them! She grinned at the thought, then turned her attention to the evening ahead.

J
ust as Cassie arrived home, the ominous grey sky gave a rumble and unleashed a downpour. She dashed into the building just as the first drops began to fall.

“Isn’t it a beautiful evening?” Francine trilled as Cassie came into the apartment.

“Beautiful,” Cassie said, agreeing with Francine's sarcasm. “Still want to go out tonight?”

“Are you kidding? This is my last birthday before I go to Poland, become European, and never come home again! I’m not cancelling my plans because of a little rain.” She took the takeout bag from Cassie and went into the tiny kitchen to unpack it.

“Uh, Francine? You’ve been selectively European for as long as I’ve known you. And you’d better come back." She opened a bottle of Francine’s favorite Valpolicella and poured two glasses. "Have you looked out the window? This isn’t just a little rain, it’s bouncing off the sidewalks.”

“Well let’s see what it’s like after dinner.” Francine picked up her glass and clinked it against Cassie’s. “Happy birthday to me!”

“Happy birthday to you!”

By the time they finished eating, the weather had not improved. If anything, the rain seemed even heavier, and Francine’s phone had been buzzing all through dinner with texts from friends cancelling on her birthday plans.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Cassie,” she said. “Still want to go dancing? I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Cassie knew her friend well and could see her trying not to feel hurt by the cancellations. “What’s a little rain?” she smiled. “Of course I still want to go dancing. Come on. Let’s go get glamorous.”

********

A couple of hours later, Francine and Cassie arrived at Sonar, their favorite dive of a nightspot.

It was dingy and rundown and smelled of years of dance floor sweat and cheap body spray, but the drinks were cheap and the music was kitschy and fun.

“I hope this isn’t too much of a comedown for you after the Four Seasons,” Francine said gravely as they settled at a sticky table with their mojitos.

“I am used to the finer things now,” Cassie replied. “But at least they let me wear my sneakers here.”

Francine rolled her eyes at this. She was dressed to the nines in a short, sparkly dress and towering heels, but Cassie had refused to spend another evening in painful footwear and was wearing blue jeans and a strappy top.

She knew Francine wasn’t really disappointed. She loved to overdress, and Cassie’s casualness would highlight Francine’s sparkle.

They sipped their cocktails, giggling as they reminisced about previous nights out.

Cassie told Francine about Nick’s poem and quoted the bits she could remember, which sent them both into fits of laughter. When they heard the opening bars of Bad Romance, they both leapt to their feet and made a dash for the dance floor.

Several songs later, the girls decided it was time to fight their way to the bar. They pushed and wriggled their way through the crowd, then grabbed a cocktail menu and waited to be served.

“Wow!” Francine yelled over the pounding bass. “Take a look at that guy! He is hot!” She pointed directly at the subject of her interest with her customary lack of subtlety.

“Francine! He’ll see you!” Cassie pulled her friend’s hand back and ordered two strawberry daiquiris.

“So? He won’t mind. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You can’t just point at people! It’s rude.”

“Pfft. I’ll go right over and tell him he’s hot, then.”

“Francine -” Cassie wanted to try to stop her, but right at that moment the server brought their daiquiris.

Cassie let her walk away while she paid for the drinks. When she turned back around, Francine was heading straight for the man she had pointed out.

Cassie picked up the drinks and went after her, just as she had so many times before. It didn’t take much alcohol for Francine to get in the mood to talk to strangers.

By the time she caught up, Francine had already reached the man and started chatting with him. Cassie came up behind him. “Please excuse my friend, she’s a little -”

He turned around. Cassie stopped dead in mid-sentence as she came face to face with the most handsome man she had ever seen. Laughing green eyes shone out from a rugged but kind face under a mop of mussed brown hair. He was tall and strongly built, as casual as Cassie herself in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans. He gave her a wide smile.