Page 33 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

I don’t want to hide.

I want to slow dance with you again.

I want to dance with you forever.

— Sarah Black

We’ve been home for a week. The first episode of the contest airs this evening.

Emberleigh and I watch it with her gran in the living room on the old TV set.

There’s something surreal about seeing yourself on television after having lived through all the behind the scenes aspects of what’s being shown.

Even though Mrs. Holt knew we had won this round, she cheers and claps at the close of the episode. Emberleigh smiles over at me from her spot on the couch and I use every ounce of willpower I have to stay rooted in place.

She’s a magnet—surprisingly irresistible, steady, inevitable.

I’m a million shards of iron, scattered and trembling toward her pull.

I feel the tug in my chest, my fingertips, the breath that falters in her presence.

Every part of me knows its place is near her.

But I could flip the polarity if I rushed her.

So I struggle to remain still. Because wanting her is easy.

But not scaring her off? That takes everything.

We say our goodnights as soon as the show ends.

“That was sure somethin’,” Mrs. Holt says on a yawn. “I’m so proud of you two.”

“Thank you, Gran. I couldn’t have done it without Dustin,” Emberleigh says.

“You could have done it with one arm tied behind your back,” I say.

“Aww, now don’t you go being modest,” Mrs. Holt says. “She’s right. Not every partner fits as well as another. You were just the man for the job.” She winks at Emberleigh as if they’re sharing a secret.

“Well, you two lock up. I’m going up to bed,” Mrs. Holt says.

She’s out of the room and up the stairs amazingly quickly.

“Thank you, again,” Emberleigh says shyly to me once we’re alone.

“It wasn’t much,” I remind her.

“It really was.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

“I’d better get to sleep,” she says. “We’ve got the festival tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’m manning the chili booth with my crew.”

“I guess I’ll see you there.”

“At the cupcake booth?”

“All things cake …” She smiles. “That’s what we decided when Syd wanted cake pops and I wanted slices of cake or cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes,” I say, musing over the show we just watched.

“No one will be decorating blindfolded.”

“That sounds like a good call.”

We stand still, staring at one another, each of us waiting for the other to say something else.

“Well, goodnight, Dustin.”

“Goodnight, Firecracker.”

She smiles softly, holding my gaze.

I could speak my mind. I want you—want us. Take a chance on me. I won’t let you down.

Cody’s advice rings through my head. Give her time .

I can’t tell which way is best, so I follow the advice he gave me.

The next morning, I leave the house early, meeting the guys at the park just across the street from the town square.

We don’t have anything like this on Marbella.

We’ve got the ocean and the wild backside of the island, but we don’t have acres of grass on softly sloping hills and flat expanses, surrounded by so many trees you can’t count them all.

Trails and paths wind through the grassy lawns.

And today, there are booths set up all around the area just off the parking lot.

The festival isn’t for any given holiday.

It’s an annual tradition the guys tell me started so long ago no one quite knows the roots.

Cody tells me it’s when the original Founder’s Day was held.

As soon as he says that, Patrick claims it was to mark the beginning of summer without interfering with Memorial Day.

Greyson seems to think it was one of the former mayor’s daughter’s birthdays … and the speculation and lore continue.

There’s a bandstand further into the park with a dance floor under a pavilion. Musicians are setting up their equipment on stage.

I pass by Emberleigh and Sydney’s stand. She’s already got customers lined up waiting for her baked goods. A little boy reaches toward the display of cake pops and grabs one out. It’s decorated like a cat.

“I’ve got a kitty at my house,” he tells Emberleigh. “His name is Rufus. He lives out in the barn though ’cause Mama said cats stink up everything.”

“What color is he?” Emberleigh asks the boy. She’s busy, but she drops everything to give him her undivided attention.

“It’s a lot like you.”

Emberleigh looks down at her arms. “White?”

“No. Him’s got orange hair.”

Emberleigh smiles big and laughs good-naturedly.

“Benson!” a woman standing about ten feet away hollers over.

“Yes, Mama! Coming!” He runs toward his mom, but then turns back. “Thank you, Miss Emberleigh. I love you!”

“I love you too, Benson!” She shouts.

Funny how the first time I hear those words cross her lips they’re for a little boy. She said them so easily it makes me believe it’s possible. She could say them again one day. Give her time.

Her eyes dart up and she catches me watching her.

“Here for the cupcakes?” Syd teases.

“I’m here for whatever you think is best,” I answer Syd, but my eyes are on Emberleigh.

“Oh, I know what’s best,” Syd says.

“Cupcakes,” Emberleigh cuts in. “Cupcakes are best. Chocolate or strawberry?”

“Impossible choices are not my forte.”

Emberleigh smiles. “Well, have one of each, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t want people asking for two.”

“Special treatment …” Syd muses not so quietly.

“He’s my baking partner. He earned it.”

Syd grins at me. Emberleigh places two cupcakes on a little paper plate and hands them to me. Her knuckle grazes across the icing of another cupcake. When she pulls her hand back, she brushes a hair out of her face, effectively smearing the icing on her cheek.

“You’ve got a little …” I make a smearing motion on my cheek.

“What?” She swipes at the wrong cheek.

“Here,” I reach over across the display of cake pops and run my pointer finger down her cheek.

Her eyes are on mine.

I pull my finger back and hold it up.

“Frosting,” I announce, then I put my finger in my mouth and lick the icing off.

I’m not thinking much of it, but Syd’s off to the side of us, fanning herself on a seventy degree day. When I glance back at Emberleigh, she’s blushing.

A family walks up behind me. Emberleigh’s chin tilts up in that determined stance of hers, and then she softens her expression as she turns to address the family.

She’s flustered. And while I don’t want to be the cause of her discomfort—ever—I’m nearly ecstatic over the thought that I can affect her like that. It has to mean something. If she didn’t care, I wouldn’t get to her like this. But I do.

Grinning, I jog back toward the chili booth, downing both cupcakes before any of the guys can ask me to share.

I’m ladling out a bowl of chili for an older gentleman when a guy I recognize steps up to the booth. That’s the man Syd was with on the sidewalk.

“Hey, Evan,” Cody says.

“Hey. How’s it going, Cody?”

“Good. Good. What can I get ya?”

“Chili, just one bowl.”

“Coming right up.”

I watch their exchange, studying the guy. It’s him. I’m sure of it.

As soon as he walks away, I ask Cody, “Who is that guy?”

“Who? Evan?”

“Yeah. The guy who was just here.”

“I’ve known him since elementary school. We grew up together. He works at the bank now. Why?”

“No reason. He just looks familiar. Probably saw him at the bank.”

I know I saw him on the sidewalk with Sydney. I’m not merely nosy, something’s off. The way he looked at her then—too familiar, cozy even.

And if that’s the case, why hasn’t Emberleigh ever mentioned a man in Sydney’s life? She would have, at least in passing. She flat out told me Syd isn’t seeing anyone.

I glance toward Sydney, but she’s got her back turned, busy in the booth.

My eyes land on Emberleigh. She’s laughing while she hands two cake pops to a young mom.

Greyson’s voice interrupts my train of thought. “You’ve stirred that chili ‘til it’s nearly puree, Rookie. It’s not a love potion, you know?”

I chuckle, pulling the wooden spoon out of the vat and setting it aside.

If only it were a love potion …

“Maybe it’s the cupcakes,” Patrick quips. “Dustin’s definitely under Emberleigh’s spell.”

Cody doesn’t say anything. He just lifts an eyebrow and gives me a half-smile full of easy, wordless camaraderie.

We sell chili and hot dogs all day. Vanessa stops by, boldly flirting with all the single firefighters. I’m grateful she thinks Emberleigh and I are genuinely a couple.

The chili cook-off starts in the late afternoon. The winner is announced from the stage at the pavilion, and then, as dusk settles in, live music fills the air. Most of it is country.

Captain steps over to where I’m talking with Cody.

“Dustin, I’ve heard you play. I hope you don’t mind that I mentioned it to the committee. They’d like you to take the stage after the next set.”

“I … uh … I don’t have my guitar with me. I haven’t prepared anything.”

Cody looks at me. “Do it, man. You’re good. Talent like yours isn’t meant to only be shared in the bunkhouse at the station.”

I glance around our booth. All eyes are on me. And not one of them seems to think this is a bad idea.

“Okay. Why not?”

I performed a lot more when I was in Marbella—even had a regular gig at a local hot spot. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a stage in front of a crowd. And this crowd matters more. Waterford is my new hometown. At least, for now it is.

I take the stage, carrying the guitar someone handed me just before I went on, and address the crowd.

“Evening, everyone.”

The crowd screams and shouts “Good evening!” and “Dustin!” mixed in with whoops and catcalls.

I distinctly hear Patrick’s voice above the din. “Play for us, Rookie!”

I chuckle and ask, “Could someone tell me how long this status of town rookie lasts?”

An older gentleman shouts out, “’Til the next rookie comes to the station.”

I make a show of groaning and the crowd laughs.

Then I see her in the middle of everyone, as if a spotlight is shining down on her.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to a woman who means an awful lot to me. She’s the best baker in Waterford, probably all of Tennessee. And she’s changed my life in a very short time.” I look her in the eyes and say, “Emberleigh, this song’s for you.”

I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is what I want. And I’m a risk taker. So I sing a song I know she’d want to hear. It’s not country. It’s Motown. For her.

I turn to the guy off stage who played drums for the last group. “Hey, you want to back me up?”

“Sure,” he smiles and walks back toward the drum set. “What you plannin’ on singing?”

“ You Can’t Hurry Love , by The Supremes.”

“I got you, man.”

He starts in with a rhythm and I strum, looking out into the crowd. “I sing country,” I tell the people. “But some people prefer Motown. So sometimes I switch it up—just for them.”

I slow the song down a little, the drummer follows my intention and slows his beat to match me.

Then I do an acoustic rendition of the old classic, only I’m looking at Emberleigh the whole time, telling her I get it.

We can’t hurry this. It will come. I’m waiting.

That’s the message I’m sending through my song.

I hope she hears me. This version is soulful, maybe with a dash of country in some of the lines.

When I finish strumming the last chord, the audience erupts into applause.

Emberleigh’s standing at the edge of the lawn, hands in her back pockets, smiling like maybe she forgot not to. For that second, everything freezes, as if the night rearranged itself to give me this opportunity.

I hop off the stage. People approach me, complimenting my voice, telling me I need to shoot my shot in Nashville.

I thank each one politely as I make my way through the throng to her.

The next band takes the stage, they introduce themselves and then they start playing a slow song.

I recognize it after the first few notes.

Nobody But You by Blake Shelton. There’s a female singer in this group of musicians.

They’re singing the version Blake sang with his wife, Gwen Stefani.

I approach Emberleigh, my eyes riveted to hers. "Care for a dance?"

She hesitates, but then she nods.

I loop my arm behind her waist and extend my hand in the air. When she puts her arm around me and places her hand in mine, I know. I will go to any length to have her. She’s it for me. Sure, it’s fast. Maybe too fast. But I also know I’ve never felt more certain of anything.

We sway to the music, the world around us fading. Emberleigh’s looking up at me, a soft smile on her lips. What passes between us is undeniably real.

I tug her closer, bending slightly so we’re cheek to cheek.

"This doesn't feel like pretending," she whispers.

I tighten my hold slightly. "It’s getting harder to pretend, that’s all."

She doesn’t say anything else, but I feel it—in the way her fingers hold on to my hand. The way she rests her face next to mine, the soft sigh she exhales just before the song comes to a close. We hold one another, lingering just a second longer than we have to.

Whatever this is … it’s not make-believe anymore.

Certainly not for me.

And I’m starting to think—not for her either.