The Anti-Social Season (First Responders #2)

Chapter Eleven

Eleven

N o surprises? This entire trip into the city had been a surprise for Thea. She’d gotten a tiny taste of what might be a passionate side to Simon the other day, but she hadn’t known he was capable of the kind of tenderness that would make him observe something that she liked and make a present of it for her. Her family’s idea of gift giving was giving her something that they liked. Her mother and sister—who did all the gift purchases for her father and brother-in-law as if it was some sort of wifely duty—were two peas in a pod: they liked what they considered to be cute, collectible things. Stuff that sat on shelves and needed to be dusted. Thea never saw the point in such things for herself, and most of the items she’d been gifted of that nature were not gathering dust in her house. Instead, they were wrapped in newspaper and stored in boxes in her attic. She kept a handful of the newest ones out for when her family visited so they didn’t ask where their presents had gone.

It would never occur to her sister or her mother to gift a comic that she and Luca had bonded over. Instead, they just said she was “hard to buy for” and got her knickknacks or occasionally and more usefully, gift cards. She’d never really seen the point in giving gifts until tonight. Turned out, a gift could be just that: a gift, and not an obligation to gush over something she’d never in her life want to own.

She went into the bookstore café, buzzing with quiet conversation and instrumental Christmas music, with Simon, accompanying him through the rows of shelves to the restaurant in the back. Their reservation was noted and they were shown to a cozy table with a window view where they could people watch. People scurrying home with laptop bags and the occasional bouquet of flowers. People obviously on vacation, strolling slowly and looking around, to the annoyance of the scurrying locals. People on the bicycles and scooters for hire that were dotted about the city, threading their way sometimes perilously through pedestrians and automobile traffic.

A busy, hustling scene completely at odds with her tucked-away little home, and even at odds with the suburban town square where Simon’s library branch sat.

“Did you ever want to live in a real city?” she asked after watching the shifting groups of people for a few minutes.

Simon looked up from his menu, then glanced at the street scene she’d been observing. “I don’t know that I ever wanted to live in a city,” he said finally. “I thought about visiting a lot of them. I had this idea when I was a teenager that maybe I wanted to be a pilot.”

“Really?” A startled laugh burst out of her. “A dashing debonair kind of guy? Literal jet-set?”

He snorted, his pale cheeks reddening. “No. I liked the idea of seeing new places all the time. But that was all it was. When I realized that I’d have to somehow learn to fly, that kind of sent the idea out the window. My parents didn’t have the money for flight school, and I didn’t really like the notion of throwing myself into the military without the guarantee of actually becoming a pilot.”

“Huh. I don’t think I can see you as military in any capacity.” She’d worked with a few people who’d gone from military service to fire and rescue, and Simon, while he could be rigid, didn’t seem to have the same kind of personality that those people did. “What made you go into libraries?”

His gaze drifted out the window as he formulated his answer. She wished he’d look into her eyes instead, to give her the tiniest window into his thoughts. But then he surprised her with his honesty. “Like many people, I gravitated to it first because of reading. I was crazy about fantasy as a kid, especially those books where someone is magically chosen, seemingly ordinary, then marked out as special. Like King Arthur. But when I got into the program, I realized it was about more than that, and kind of similar to the reasons why I wanted to be a pilot. To seek out new things, new experiences. But instead of new places, it was knowledge.”

Had Simon ever opened up like this to anyone? If so, he couldn’t remember it. He’d been a librarian for nine years now, and the reasons for taking on that career seemed a long way in his rearview mirror.

“Do you still like that aspect of the job? Because the whole social media thing seems like it’s a left turn from that.”

Damn, but she was perceptive. He dragged his gaze from the street scene outside and met her eyes, dark and questioning. “Well, surprisingly enough, I often don’t love dealing with people.”

She put her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “You don’t say.”

He felt his face crack into a reluctant smile. “I know, I know. I’m such a social butterfly. It must be a shock.”

She turned her water glass between her thumb and forefinger, apparently thinking. Then she looked up at him. “That’s just it though. You’ve got to be the least social social media manager the world ever created. Or are social media managers born, not made?” There was just the tiniest corner of the insouciant brashness in her speech now, the fearlessness he’d found so compelling and so intimidating when they were teenagers.

He nodded, acknowledging her point. “Funny thing about being a social media manager—it’s more about the media than the social. Especially working in a library setting. It’s not like there’s a ton of interaction. There’s a couple of weekly events where we do a ‘what are you reading’ or ‘ask for book recommendations’ features, but my colleagues who do more readers’ advisory help a lot with that part, which is the most social of all of it. For me, mostly it’s planning and creating.” That was him. Creating something and putting it between himself and the world. Hiding. It had always worked for him, but with Thea he wanted to be seen a way that excited and scared him in equal measure.

“That makes sense. You said you liked the planning and wrapping part about the holidays the best.”

She’d remembered that? His face felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. “Um. Yeah. I do,” he mumbled at his menu.

A long pause stretched between them, punctuated by the sounds of the café’s other customers talking, silverware and china clinking. Then, finally she asked, “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

His chin shot up. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m just...not used to being noticed, I guess. Not used to people remembering what I say.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Seriously? Why not?”

He shrugged, embarrassment spidering up his spine. “I don’t love attention. I prefer to fade into the background.” He knew he’d blast right into the family spotlight when they got the email about his holiday travel. His prediction had come true: Amy had only been able to give him a few days, with nearly two of them eaten up by travel. Ash was going to have one of her tantrums. The knowledge created a constant low-level hum of dread in the back of his mind.

“There’s fading into the background and there’s completely disappearing. I mean...” A blush crawled up her cheeks, but she took a deep breath and continued. “We’re on a date. You don’t want me to pay attention to you?”

“No—I mean, yes. I just... I don’t know what I mean.” God, he hated how he sounded, all confused and lost.

She gazed at him for another long, sort of uncomfortable, sort of warm moment. Then she reached her hand across the table, palm up. “Not to prove that I remember the stuff that you’ve said to me, but is this more about feeling like you’re a cuckoo in the nest?”

A tightness he hadn’t previously been aware of released from around his chest and he took a deep breath, covering her palm with his. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I think maybe we might have more in common than you think.”

Simon’s hand against hers felt deliciously warm, somehow private and intimate in this public space. His light brown eyes seemed to anchor her in place.

“How so?” he asked, his voice soft, a caress she felt along her neck.

“I don’t always feel like I fit with my family either,” she said. Too impulsive. Too confusing. They loved her, but they did it in that way where they threw up their hands and said things like, “Oh well—that’s Thea for you.”

He blinked, looking confused. “You seem like you fit in anywhere.”

Her lips tightened and she shook her head. “Nope. I really do not.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand convulsed around hers. “That really sucks. Especially when it seems like everyone all around you understands everyone else and you’re the only one left out.”

“Right?” she asked, a gush of relief running through her at being understood. “My mom and my sister are on the same planet. I’m in another galaxy.”

“And your dad?”

“He’s just kind of checked out. Into his own thing. Work and golf and that’s pretty much it.”

Simon chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. My dad’s kind of the same. He retired early, so it’s pretty much all golf all the time. My sister creates her own whirlwind of drama wherever she goes and Mom backs her up one hundred percent. Nobody understands what I do at all.”

That feeling of being seen, of being understood , blossomed in Thea’s chest, fierce and hot. “Oh my god. Nobody understands what I do either. Everyone thought firefighting was a phase.” That blossoming feeling collapsed almost as quickly as it came. “Maybe it was.”

Simon’s grip on her hand tightened and he leaned across the table toward her. “You did it for ten years , Thea. That’s a decade, not a phase.”

“No. I guess it’s not.” But doubts still nibbled at her like mice. Voracious, tiny bites eating away at her.

A waitress seemed to appear at their table at that moment, breaking the soap bubble of their connection. Their hands unclasped and they leaned back as she recited the specials and asked if they wanted to order drinks. Thea, flustered, looked at the beer options and asked for the first one that looked good. Simon, seeming similarly discombobulated, ordered the same.

“I’ll just put those in and give you another minute so you can decide on dinner, okay?” the waitress said brightly before she strode off to the next table. Thea glanced over the top of her menu at Simon, wondering if they could re-achieve that fragile intimacy that they had experienced for a couple of moments again.

“Anything look good to you?” Simon asked without looking up. His cheeks still looked a little pink.

“Um.” Thea focused her attention on the menu again. “Crab cakes,” she said decisively. “What about you?”

His gaze slid up to meet hers. “Will you think less of me if I get the pasta? I don’t have any prohibitions about—what was the phrase you used?”

“Sauce out,” she answered, shaking her head. “Nah. I don’t hold it against people that they’re not lucky enough to be Italian. You have my blessing to eat the ravioli. Besides, it’s pesto. That’s not sauce.” It gave her a little glow to know that he’d obviously been listening and paying attention to her as well.

“Pesto isn’t sauce?” His eyes now were twinkling with amusement. “What is it, then? A condiment?”

She huffed. “You know what I mean. Mama’s sauce is sauce . Marinara. Gravy.”

“Gravy?” He started laughing. “I haven’t heard that one. In my world, gravy is the thing you make with turkey drippings and flour.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have so much to learn.”

He placed his menu on the table, meeting her eyes directly, and her breath caught. That look was almost as potent as his rare smiles, but it did something different to her. Her thighs clenched together and her belly fluttered. “I look forward to it.”

Thea blinked. Then a little smile curved her lips, her dark eyes lighting in a way that made him wish they weren’t in a restaurant—or any public place, for that matter. If he could, he would wish them back to her cozy little house on that quiet estate.

The return of their waitress with their drinks broke their eye lock and they ordered quickly, Simon glad to not have the menus between them anymore. When she was gone, Thea traced a finger down the condensation on the side of her glass. “You pay attention to the things I say too, apparently.”

“What?” His shoulders tensed. What did she mean?

“The I don’t eat sauce out thing. You remembered.” Her gaze flickered up to meet his, then she took a sip of her drink, seeming to concentrate very hard on the glass’s path traveling from the table to her lips.

Relief flooded through him. “Of course I do.”

She snorted. “There’s no of course about it.”

He leaned forward, seeking to catch her gaze again, but she kept her eyes fixed on the table. Anxiety bubbled up in his chest, but he pushed through it. “Of course there’s an of course . I’ve always paid attention to you.”

She laughed softly. “Always. What, is always two weeks? While you’re training me in my new job?”

“No.”

“No?” Now she looked anxious, and he scrubbed his face with his hands, the urge to confess his teenage desire warring with his pride. He extended one hand until she clasped it, her expression worried. “Thea, it might be corny, but I had the hugest crush on you in high school.” He swallowed hard. The truth was out there now. He braced himself for laughter. For rejection. For...something else he knew to dread but didn’t know what it would be.

A stricken look flooded her face. He released her hand, waving it between them. “Sorry. Forget I said it.” God, if he could only erase the last minute of his life from existence. To start over.

“Stop.” Her huge brown eyes were shiny.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. His hand dropped into his lap. God, he’d made a mess of everything.

“No.” Her eyelids fluttered, blinking furiously, then she focused on him hard, making him want to squirm in his chair. God, did she think he was a stalker or something? “No, that’s not what I mean. You had a crush on me?” Her voice squeaked.

His chin came up then down, a slow confirmation. It was out there and he couldn’t take it back. “You don’t have to... I don’t know. I didn’t say it because I wanted anything from you—a reaction or whatever. I just. Well. It’s true. That’s all.” His rapid babble finally trailing off, he sat there and wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

She shook her head, swallowing as if her throat hurt. “I didn’t take it that way. Like you wanted something from me.”

“So why do you look so distressed?”

Her eyes, which had been wandering around the restaurant, looking at anything but him, suddenly focused on his face again. Yeah, they had a definite sheen to them. Christ, if he’d made her cry...

“It’s just that I was such a jerk to you back then,” she blurted. “And then I didn’t even remember you. No wonder you were pissed off. And to have you apologize to me ? It’s just. Well. It’s a lot.”

“You weren’t a jerk.” She just hadn’t seen him the way he saw her. Or thought he’d seen her. Because the Thea in front of him now was so much more than he’d ever imagined.

“I was.” Distress was stamped on her face.

“Well, if you were, then I was one too. We were adolescents. We were probably legally required to be jerks. Hormones alone would make that guaranteed.”

Her lips wobbled into a faint smile at that. “Yeah, I guess that’s factual.”

“I know it is. Besides, we got a new start, right?”

“Yeah. I guess we did.” And her fragile smile felt like a lifeline.