“I’m sorry.”
He paused, letting the words settle before tucking his mat under his arm.
“It’s all good.”
“No,” I said, biting my lip. “It’s actually not. I shouldn’t have run off without explaining, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did on the phone. I’ve added it to my list of things to work on.”
“I’ve got thick skin,” he said and flexed a bicep in my direction, shrugging. A pleasant tingle made its way through my pelvis.
“I see that,” I sighed. “But I don’t want you to need it with me.”
And I meant it. I didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else I cared about because I had the emotional capacity of a flea. I didn’t want to lose any more people. I was so bloody exhausted from running for a lifetime on my own.
I crouched back down to roll my mat up, and after I tucked it under my arm I looked back to where Dax was standing. His chocolate eyes met mine, and he nodded, stretching his hand towards me again. I let it hover for a moment and then, with a hesitant exhale, I reached up accepting his help.
Willow had said something about meeting your experience like a curious explorer. If I stopped fighting everyone and opened myself to what was in front of me, maybe something other than chaos awaited me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Glades Bay firestation was essentially an oversized garage with two large roller doors and a pair of Mitsubishi fire trucks rolled in on a time machine straight out of the 80s.
I hadn’t had a reason to visit the place on Heale Street since arriving, but the blaring volunteer fire alarm that sounded with every callout made it impossible to ignore. Like a toddler screeching for attention. I’d half a mind to take a petition around town to get it silenced.
“A training opportunity?” asked the silver-haired man in front of me.
Lead firefighter Denis Gavellin’s office was exactly as I’d expected: boring blue and grey walls and organised stacks of paperwork. I’d just pitched my offer. His hazel eyes glinted beneath aviator lenses, his broad shoulders spanned half of the desk width, and his breath smelled suspiciously like whiskey. I checked my watch – 10 a.m. On a weekday. I leaned forward as he spoke again.
“I’m sure you understand there’s many health and safety considerations we’d need to undertake first, but I can’t say it wouldn’t be a welcome idea. Are you sure about it though? There’s no going back once it’s done.” He dragged his thumb andindex finger along his jaw line. The parting of his hair reminded me of a war veteran.
Yup. Definitely whiskey. This man’s breath could start more fires than it could put out.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” I beamed.
His eyes absorbed my face for a moment before he bobbed his head. “Alright. Give me until the end of the day to consult the rest of the leadership team and council. Can I keep the paperwork?”
“Oh, sure.” I gathered the pages and slid them across the desk. Thank-you Rick, for the legal work. “And you remember my clause? I won’t give the go-ahead without it.”
His mouth pressed into a tight line. That clause was his sticking point, but I knew it would be. It’d take some convincing, but his hard-lined face looked experienced in interrogation. I didn’t doubt he was up to the challenge. I was also pretty sure I’d made him an offer he’d be stupid to refuse. How often did someone hand you a whole house on a platter? Probably a big fat zero in his entire career.
There was one paid firefighter and six volunteers at Glades Bay station, meaning there was room for neighbouring stations to benefit too. At least that’s what I’d noted in my proposal, using the extended training opportunity as a sweetener.
Excitement swirled in my stomach as I exited, and I felt the first sense of control I’d experienced since opening the email from Trevor. Yup, I was doing this. I looked up at the grey sky and smiled, imagining Olivia up there somewhere.
"This is for you, girl."
I had one more proposition to deliver this morning, and it was going to be more satisfying than sex on a Sunday morning.
Bean There stood as ominous as ever in its black-on-black signage.
“Hi Fox,” I waved to the purple-haired man behind the counter as I entered. His dark eyes frowned. A woman whose blonde hair was scooped into a high ponytail emerged from the kitchen with a tray of clean cups and, upon seeing me, swiftly turned and went back in again. Fair enough. I’d eyed her so intensely the first time I was here, trying to figure out if she was Olivia Pratt, she was probably expecting flowers. She should be so lucky.
“Is Miss Lissy here?” I asked, leaning a hand on the counter. “Hope I haven’t missed her.”
Fox ignored my playful tone and my questions all together.
Alrighty then.
A quick glance down and the long room answered for him as I spotted the saggy woman with the pageboy haircut, folding her newspaper. I was low-key relieved I wouldn’t have to track her down anywhere else. Conversations with crazy people were best kept in public places.
