Playing with Fire (Hometown Heat 3)

She breaks off to speak to the caterers, asking them to set up something romantic in the gazebo and to expect two of the wedding guests to be using the table around eight o’clock. She thanks them and ends the call before turning back to me with a smile.

“There, you’re all set.” She tosses her phone back into her purse. “If Jake can’t be persuaded to get over this, you can just sneak around the back of the venue to the gazebo around eight. I’ll find an excuse to get Maddie there, and you two can talk in private.”

I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing for the first time all day. “That sounds amazing. Thank you, Naomi. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She holds out her arms. “Come here, you big, sweet thing.”

I let her pull me in for a hug, refusing to acknowledge that my throat is squeezing in half all over again. But I can admit how much I needed a hug. And the proof that not everyone in my life thinks I’m beyond redemption means a lot to me.

A whole lot.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she says, patting me firmly on the back before pulling away. “It’s always darkest before the dawn, right?”

I nod, still not trusting my voice.

“All right. You head home and get some rest. And put some warm compresses on your face,” she says. “That should help speed the healing.”

“I’ve been icing,” I say.

“No more ice.” She wags a finger in the air. “It’s been over twenty-four hours, so now you should do warm compresses for fifteen to twenty minutes. I dated a boxer for a while in Miami. Trust me, the ice then warm compress thing is magic.”

I shrug. “All right. I’ll give it a try.”

“Do.” She swings her purse over her shoulder. “Get fresh compresses on there every hour that you’re awake and you should see a big improvement by tomorrow, enough that I should be able to fix you up with some concealer. We don’t want you to look like you’ve been brawling in the wedding pictures.”

I huff. “If you can convince Jake to let me be his best man again, you can put as much makeup on me as you want.”

She laughs and mischief sparks in her eyes. “You know I’ll hold you to that, right?”

“I know. But blush and mascara are a small price to pay.”

“And lipstick,” she adds, cocking her head as she considers my face. “Red, I think.”

“Red is one of my favorite colors,” I say, my smile fading as I add, “Thank you again. I’m sorry this mess with Jake and me has interfered with your wedding. I know you’ve been working hard to make it perfect.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m marrying the man I love tomorrow. Even if it rains cats and dogs, the flower girl wets herself on the way down the aisle, and the entire wedding party decides to get drunk and throw up on the dance floor, it will still be perfect.”

I nod, knowing I’d feel the same way.

As long as I have Maddie, everything is right with the world. The rest of the stuff is just icing on the cake.

Speaking of cake…

“I have a birthday cake for Maddie in the car,” I say. “You think it will keep until tomorrow night? I could bring it to the gazebo.”

Naomi unhooks her keys from the side of her purse. “It should, but I’m sure the caterers will have something nice laid out. Why don’t you leave the cake at home and you and Maddie can eat it for breakfast the next morning after she sleeps over. She loves cake for breakfast.”

“Fingers crossed,” I say, my breath rushing out.

She winks and lifts crossed fingers. “Mine, too. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” I lift a hand, watching Naomi cross the lot for a moment before slipping back into Lucy’s car.

But once inside, I don’t pull out right away.

Instead, I tug the chain with my St. Florian medal on it out from beneath my shirt and warm it between my fingers.

Dad gave me the medal when I joined the Bliss River FD not long after high school. He said the patron saint of firefighters had never let him down during his twenty years with the department, and he knew the saint would protect me, too.

I’ve been fighting fires for over a decade now, and aside from one nasty case of smoke inhalation and a few minor burns, I’ve never been injured on the job. I say a prayer to St. Florian on the way to every call. Lazy Catholic that I am, it’s one of the only prayers I can still recite from memory.

Maybe it’s a little weird that I have the urge to say it now.

But maybe it’s not. Fighting for a woman’s heart has a thing or two in common with fighting fires. Both require bravery, loyalty, and a steadfast dedication to the work.