Page 29 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

I am building a fire, and everyday I train,

I add more fuel.

At just the right moment,

I light the match.

~ Mia Hamm

The moment her feet hit the floor, Emberleigh speed walks off set—past the judges, crew, and every contestant. She says a quick thank you and rushes away. I watch her go, uncertain if I should chase her down or give her space.

Vanessa approaches our station. “Well, that was quite the spectacle.”

“Not now, Vanessa.” I don’t even give her eye contact.

Maybe I should be more considerate since she seems to have an in with the judges, but I can’t muster anything but concern for Emberleigh.

That kiss. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed her.

I didn’t hold back. I poured my whole heart into it.

At the time I was hoping she’d understand what I want to tell her—this isn’t fake for me.

The timing could have been better, with no spectators, a more intimate and personal setting.

But once she was in my arms, I lost all sense of reason and strategy.

We made it. She gets another chance.

I hope I get one too.

I make my way off the set, through the hallways and down the wing where we’re staying. The whole way I’m in a mental battle with myself:

Should we talk about it? Maybe we should ignore it.

Bringing the kiss up gets it out in the open.

But that could make things awkward. If Emberleigh wants to avoid the fact that we just shared that kiss, I should let her.

But it’s almost always healthier to air out unspoken issues.

That’s what Dad would say. Emberleigh’s obviously rattled.

Does that mean she’s upset that we kissed?

Does she know where I stand? Should I tell her now?

Maybe I should wait until the contest is over …

Is this what it feels like to be an overthinker? Man.

I nearly barge through the door and then I slow myself. Whatever happens next sets the stage for things going forward.

I take a deep breath, exhale and shout into the empty room, “Are you here? Emberleigh?”

No answer. Her shoes are on the floor by the chair. She’s here.

“Emberleigh?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you in the bathroom?”

“Who wants to know?”

I can't help myself. I chuckle. “Me.”

“No. I’m not here.”

“Okay. Just checking. Also, while we’re at it, I’m checking about that kiss.”

There, I said it. I run into fires for a living. I can handle a hard conversation. But there’s no SCBA mask to protect me from the emotional backdraft this might cause. I only hope I don’t get burned.

Emberleigh’s quiet.

“We could not talk about it,” I say. “That’s an option.”

“Let’s not,” she says.

“Okay. It’s normal, though. We kissed. You were relieved after thinking you had been eliminated. We’ve been spending a ton of time together. You were emotional. I picked you up. We kissed. It happens—an intense flood of adrenaline can make people do wild things.”

What am I saying? She’s going to think I didn’t feel anything.

“Exactly,” she says from her safe haven in the bathroom. “Kisses happen …” her voice falters. “... in emotionally charged situations. I was relieved. You picked me up, we kissed—it's a textbook adrenaline response …”

“That is what happened.”

“It was just adrenaline,” she repeats quickly, like she’s reading a diagnosis off a chart.

That’s all our kiss was to her? Adrenaline and a knee-jerk reaction to making it through to the next round?

The bathroom door opens. She pokes her head out. “Well, I’m glad we straightened that out.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

I feel like saying, But it was the best kiss of your life, right?

Not in a performance evaluation sort of way, but just to check if she felt what I felt.

I can promise this: I’ll go to my grave remembering our kiss, the feel of her in my arms, the look she gave me just before her eyes fluttered shut.

The way she burrowed into my neck as if I was her safe person, the one she’d run to if she needed protection from all the bad things in the world.

I want to be that person for her. For some reason, she’s decided that’s not an option. I need to get to the bottom of that and show her we can be good together. After the contest. When she’s driving home with the assurance that she’s winning this … then I’ll share my whole heart.

She walks toward the dresser. “I’m going to clean up before dinner.”

“Be my guest. I’ll go after you.”

She pulls a few things out of a drawer and then she reaches up and rubs one of her shoulders with her free hand.

“Are your shoulders sore?” I ask.

“A little.”

“Here, let me.” I walk over to her and place my hands on her shoulders and give a squeeze to the areas that are tightest. I work the muscles with my thumbs and fingers. The stack of clothes in her hands drops to the floor.

“I’ll get that in a minute,” she murmurs.

“It’s not going anywhere,” I assure her in a soft, soothing voice.

Emberleigh’s allowing me to do this for her. After the way she practically bolted away from our kiss, I know I have to tread lightly. Her head lolls forward. I dig into an especially tight area and she moans lightly. Our room is completely quiet except for her occasional hums and sighs.

“Let’s get you off your feet,” I murmur, guiding her toward the love seat. She sinks down beside me, turning to give me better access without a word.

“Where did you learn to do this?” she asks in a sedated voice.

“I don’t really know. I had massages when I played sports as a teen. I guess I just picked up on the techniques.”

“You’re good.”

I smile. “Your back is in knots. You need this.”

“Mm hmm.”

I keep rubbing, moving from her shoulders down to the middle back and sometimes making movements across her whole back.

We’re silent. About ten or fifteen minutes after I started massaging her back, Emberleigh collapses back onto me.

I almost shift away—to remind myself we’re only friends—but then she exhales and leans even further into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The combination of adrenaline crash, the exhaustion of competing, and the relaxation from my massage did her in.

She’s fallen asleep in my arms. I sit stock-still, letting her rest. I tilt my head so I can see her face.

She looks so peaceful. Her breathing is soft and steady.

She’s beautiful, a study in contrasts—so strong and simultaneously so vulnerable and tenderhearted.

I don’t know when it happened, but I’m falling for her, hard.

I can’t imagine another woman in the world I’d ever want in my life.

I don’t want her as a friend, though I love our friendship.

I want everything with her. And it doesn’t scare me.

I’m energized by the idea of sharing a life with Emberleigh.

I’ll wait for her to catch up. If she needs to take her time to feel safe enough to date me, I’ll be patient.

She likes me. I know she does. And that kiss told me more.

She’s attracted to me. I just need to be patient.

I’m thinking about patience and Emberleigh and waiting. I must have drifted off because I wake with a startle.

The room is dark. I glance at the bedside clock. We missed dinner.

Emberleigh stretches and snuggles into me, still half-asleep. Then she comes to her senses and pushes off me.

“What happened?” She rubs her eyes and looks around.

“You fell asleep. We both did.”

“What time is it?”

I stand up, grab my phone off the side table, flick on a bedside lamp and tell her the time.

“I’m calling the kitchen for dinner,” I say. “They can deliver it.”

“Good. I’m starving.”

Emberleigh stretches her arms overhead and then tucks her legs in under herself and curls onto the love seat. I try my best not to look at her with my feelings written all over my face. With her, timing is going to be everything.

The next morning, we return from breakfast with the other contestants to find a notice slipped under our door.

Congratulations, you’re one of three couples in the semi-finals.

Contestants need to arrive on set at eleven a.m.

Today’s Category will be Opposites Attract–A Fusion of Flavors.

Desserts will be judged on:

Balance of Contrast – Flavor opposites must work together, not compete.

Technique Mastery – structure, texture, flavor execution

Cohesive and Aesthetic Presentation

I hand Emberleigh the paper.

She reads it and says, “We’re going to do a Mexican/French fusion.”

“Which do I get to be?” I ask her. “The Mexican or the French guy?”

I fake accents for each and she looks at me through her lashes as if I’m incorrigible.

“I’m going to work out in the gym,” I offer. “Want to come? We’ve got a few hours before we have to be on set.”

Surprisingly, she says, “Give me a minute to get ready.”

Emberleigh emerges from the bathroom in a cute workout outfit of lavender leggings and a matching workout tee.

“I thought you didn’t do gym things,” I say.

“I don’t. I just like the sets. I wear them because they’re cozy and cute.”

“They definitely are,” I say without thinking.

Her eyes snap to mine. I just smile.

“So, tell me what we’re baking today.” I shift the subject before she has a chance to protest my compliment.

Emberleigh fills me in on her plans to make a spiced Mexican hot chocolate churro pavlova.

“We’ll fill the pavlova with dark chocolate mousse infused with chili and cinnamon. Top it with a swirl of cool whipped mascarpone-lime cream, and finish it with candied pepitas, lime zest, and a hint of sea salt.”

“I know what hot chocolate and churros are. We’ve got churros everywhere in California. But I have no idea what a pavlova is. And the rest of that sounded really unusual … but not bad.”

“Unusual, huh?” She bumps into me playfully.

I pretend to reel sideways from the impact. She laughs and something settles deep inside me.

Emberleigh spends the rest of our walk to the fitness center telling me about this cloud-like dessert made of merengue and filled with a cream filling. My stomach growls even though I had breakfast less than an hour ago.

This contest day is different with only three of us in the mix.

It’s quieter, but the tension is thick. Every one of these couples deserves to be here.

And we all have our eyes on the prize. By the time the three hours are up, we’ve presented our desserts and all three couples are standing side-by-side.

One of us will go home as soon as the judges announce their decision.

The judge who keeps smiling too often at Emberleigh, that man with the real French accent, Jeff, or Geoff, or whatever his name is, addresses us on behalf of the panel of judges.

“All three of you have created masterpieces. We expect nothing less from you at this point in the competition. Only two of you will progress to the finals. The first couple going through is Mateo and Cassidy.”

My arm is around Emberleigh’s waist. She bends forward and says, “Congratulations” to Mateo and Cassidy.

The on-set director motions for Mateo and Cassidy to step to the side so they are off screen.

Emberleigh and I remain next to Daniel and Emily. We’ve shared meals with them and gotten to know them a little as the week has progressed. Emily owns a bakery in Connecticut. Daniel is a tax accountant.

Geoff expounds on the qualities that stood out in each of our desserts.

“The pavlova,” he says, looking at Emberleigh. “Truly gave a sense of your dynamic. The combination of heat and sweetness. Structure …” he glances at me. “And a hidden softness.” He smiles at Emberleigh.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Yeah, we get it. Geoffrey’s all about Team Emberleigh.

He continues with his compliment, eyes fixed on her. “We were impressed with the complexity of flavors and the execution of the texture. Therefore, Emberleigh and Dustin will be the other couple progressing into the finals.”

Emberleigh’s hands fly up to cover her mouth. She looks up at me, eyes wide.

I pull her into an embrace and she holds on to me.

“We made it!” she says, looking up at me.

“You did it,” I tell her.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Her words are quiet and sincere, her eyes fixed on mine.

I smile down at her, hoping she can read through my expression. I’m silently telling her I never want to do anything without her again.