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kelyon · 3 years

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Golden Rings 25: A Challenge

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey faces her greatest struggle yet.

Read on AO3

She wakes up screaming. Her body is rigid, helpless, wracked with pain. Her tongue burns with the sour juice of an apple. Cruel hands are on her, pinching, clawing, grabbing--!

Her husband is already holding her, even before she understands that the nightmare is over. He rocks her back and forth like a child. He strokes her hair and murmurs soft words. He wipes away her tears.

She cries until her chest hurts. Until she is wrung out from it. Until she has no more tears and her noises are more moans than sobs. He holds her through it all. He never lets her go.

Gasping for breath, she tries to speak. It isn’t needed, he knows what memories plague her thoughts. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him.

But she wants to say the words out loud. Fears are most powerful when they are hidden, like monsters lurking in deep water. If she brings them up to the surface, if she exposes them to the light, they will be weakened.

“It was--them.” Her chest heaves. She rests on him. He is there. No matter what, he is always there.

“They’re not here,” he whispers, as he does every time this happens. “You’re home, you’re safe here, sweetheart.” He takes her hand, presses her wedding ring to his lips. “You are mine now. They will never hurt you again.”

Shuddering, she curls into a ball in his arms. “I know,” she whispers. “I know, Rumple. In my mind I have no doubts. In my heart, I trust you--I do! But these nightmares, these memories… They keep happening.”

“Less and less often.” He kisses the top of her head, clutches her tightly. “That is the way of pain--pain in the body and pain in the mind. It never disappears, but it can lessen. In time.”

She laces her fingers through his. Slowly, her breathing returns to normal. He’s right. For a while, this happened every night. She’d be so afraid of her nightmares that she wouldn’t sleep at all. Now the memories are a disturbance, not a certainty. Someday her terrors will be less than memories.

“And you’ll be here for me, when I am in pain?”

“Always.” He kisses her head. When she tilts her face up, he kisses her lips. Softly, gently. “I will always protect you, sweetheart. I will always comfort you.”

Exhaustion overtakes her. Still in her husband’s arms, she sinks into the pillows of their marriage bed.

“I love you, Rumple,” she murmurs.

He places a kiss on her temple. “And I love you, Belle. I will never let Regina hurt you again.”

****

It was dark when Lacey opened her eyes. Her chest was tight. Her jaw had clenched as she slept. She didn’t move as she lay on her back in bed and let the dream wash over her.

It hurt. It always hurt to dream of being loved, of having a husband who loved her. She kept telling herself that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t want Mr. Gold to love her. But the husband in her dreams wasn’t Mr. Gold. He was someone she called Rumple.

And Rumple called her Belle. Lacey was so desperate to be loved that her mind let her imaginary husband call her by the nickname her real husband had given to his boyfriend.

Fuck, she was a nutcase.

She had to get over him. These stupid dreams and delusions would never stop as long as she kept yearning for her husband. She needed to give herself to Mayor Mills. She would make everything better. When Mayor Mills finally owned her, then Lacey could stop deluding herself that she deserved love. She was a worthless, trashy, Old Town slut. No one worthwhile could ever love her, and Mayor Mills would never pretend to. Mayor Mills would punish her for existing, just like she deserved.

It would all happen. Life would go back to normal. All her dreams would come true. Just as soon as she could prove to Mayor Mills that her marriage was dead.

Gradually, the room lightened around her. She heard the noises of Mr. Gold getting out of bed. Water in the pipes as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth.

She didn’t move until she heard the shower turn on. That was when she slunk across the hallway to what used to be their room. As she crept over the creaky floorboards, she rehearsed excuses for why she was there. She had forgotten something, some piece of jewelry or clothing she had left in the armoire.

That was technically true. She was looking for jewelry.

For as long as she could remember, Mr. Gold had never taken off his wedding ring. Sometimes he would remove the large moonstone ring, but never the plain gold band that hid behind it. Not when he did messy house work, not when he showered, not when he slept.

Lacey was probably an idiot for thinking that might have changed, but how would she know if she didn’t try? She’d been watching him lately, trying to see if she could get his ring away from him. Every night for a week, she’d dried dishes that he washed, standing next to him at the sink making stilted small talk. Being that close to him made her want to tear her skin off with a cheese slicer, which was not quite the type of pain she was looking for.

It hurt to be near him, it hurt to be away.

Quickly scanning the bedroom, Lacey looked at the dresser and the bedside table where he might have emptied his pockets the night before. His keys and his change were in the amber-brown cut glass dish where he always left them. No ring.

There was a teacup on the nightstand, by what used to be her side of the bed. Lacey pressed her lips together. That fucking chipped cup had ruined her life. It was a symbol of how much he loved “Belle.” Balling her hands into fists, she crept closer to the bed and looked inside the teacup.

Empty.

That left only one more option, the riskiest one yet. Silently, Lacey went to the closed door of the bathroom and crouched in front of it so she could see through the keyhole.

At first, she couldn’t see much through the steam. She knew she would be able to see the sink or the counter or any other place where Mr. Gold might have set his ring down. But as she squinted through the haze, she could see his body through the glass of the shower door. He was standing up, under the spray. His right hand was braced against the wall, keeping his weight off his bad ankle.

His left hand, the hand where she could see a faint glint of gold, was pumping his cock.

Lacey bit back a scream. Bastard! He was jerking off? He was thinking about his handsome Belle while still wearing his Goddamned wedding ring?

She backed away from the door while the world fell apart around her. She stared at the chipped cup, as though she could shoot lasers out of her eyes to blow it up. God, she wanted to smash that fucking thing into shards. She wanted to smash her skull in. The voice inside her was screaming and for once she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted to join it. She wanted to scream and wail until there was nothing left of her but pain. And then she wanted her husband--her Rumple--to comfort her, and hold her, and help her put the pieces of herself back together.

She made it back to her room before she began to cry. She buried her head in a pillow to muffle the sound. Part of her wanted to let Mr. Gold hear, to know how much she hated him, how much she hated herself for loving him. He needed to know how much pain she was in. She had to tell him. She had to make him care about her!

But he didn’t. That made Lacey cry all the harder. He didn’t care about her. She could tell him everything and it wouldn’t change that fact.

Her dream was even more bitter now. Rumple had promised that he would protect her from an outside threat, from some horrible person named Regina. He didn’t even think that he needed to protect her from himself--or from herself. Rumple would care if she was in pain. He would comfort her, and love her.

But Rumple wasn’t real.

Rumple wasn’t real, and Mr. Gold didn’t care. Her only hope was Mayor Mills.

****

One of the best parts of trying to prove herself to Mayor Mills was that Lacey had a reason to care about her appearance again. The ritual of clothes and makeup and jewelry helped her keep her mind off herself. It wasn’t like she mattered. That was why she needed to be decorated. She was just a fucktoy, a thing to be looked at and consumed.

And she really, really, wanted to make Mayor Mills want to consume her today. Lacey’s hands shook as she attached her thigh-high stockings to her garter belt. These were real silk stockings, with a black line going up the back. Classy as fuck, like Mayor Mills herself. A tight black dress matched the stockings and the black heels.

Heavy on the eye makeup today. Black mascara and eyeliner, shimmery dark gray on the lids. Sultry, seductive. Maybe just trashy enough that Mayor Mills would notice it, and insult her for it.

“Stupid whore,” Lacey whispered to her reflection as she lined her lips apple-red. She stared at her mouth and tried to imagine it was Mayor Mills speaking to her. “You desperate, needy little slut.”

She breathed. That felt better.

Her own wedding ring was right where she had left it last night, in the bottom of her sock drawer. The night after Mayor Mills had made her offer, Mrs. Gold had taken off her wedding ring for the first time in as long as she could remember. It had taken her hours to get to sleep that night. She’d kept rubbing the naked patch on her finger. It had felt so weird, so wrong.

Now it was easier. Today, she was ready to go a step farther. Lacey took the ring out of her sock drawer, but instead of sliding it onto her finger again, she dropped it into her royal blue clutch. Today would be the first time since she had gotten her wedding ring that she would go out in public without it on. At least she’d have that to show Mayor Mills.

By the time she came down the stairs, Mr. Gold had already finished breakfast. He was folding the newspaper and getting ready to go.

“Good morning,” he nodded to her politely. Then he stopped and looked again at her outfit. Yep, there was nothing wrong with his eyes or his cock. He just didn’t want her. “Are you going into town today?”

Lacey nodded and kept both hands behind her back. “I’ll grab breakfast at Granny’s.”

She would do no such thing, but this version of Mr. Gold liked to know she ate.

As he drove them to the shop, Lacey wondered--again--if Mayor Mills knew what Mr. Gold’s ring looked like. One plain gold band was pretty much the same as any other, right? The other day, when he had left her alone in the shop, she had gone through the inventory of men’s rings and picked out a few likely candidates. If she had ever seen Mr. Gold taking off his ring, she would have tried to swap it out with a fake. As it was now, she might still try to pass off shop inventory as her husband’s private property.

But he would be able to tell the difference if she tried to switch the rings. And even if Mayor Mills didn’t have Mr. Gold’s eye for antiques, she would know when she was being lied to. She was a smart, savvy woman in power. A useless idiot like Lacey couldn’t hope to fool her.

Lacey, please stop insulting yourself. This is how you let yourself get hurt!

The voice was getting pushy. Lacey waved it away from her mind like a wasp at a picnic. Besides, what the voice didn’t understand--what no one had ever understood, except for Mr. Gold and now Mayor Mills--was how much she wanted to get hurt.

****

Lacey managed to keep away from City Hall until around noon. She spent the morning walking in a spiral around town, circles getting smaller and smaller as she zeroed in on her target.

She stayed away from the familiar stores today. If she went to Sugar’n’Spice or Hair Today! she might be tempted to tell Mara or Janine what she was planning. They would try to talk her out of it. They’d tell her that she deserved better--as if they knew anything about her. She also gave a wide berth to Marine Automotive and Game of Thorns. Lacey had only just gotten on better terms with Dad, she didn’t want to have to deal with his judgement again. And Uncle Manny only liked her so much because he remembered a little girl who could repeat jokes and read meaningless trivia out of books.

Her family, everyone who loved her, didn’t really know her at all. They loved the person she was in front of them--fun and smart and hard-working. They would never understand who she really was. Her darkest, ugliest, most depraved self. The part of Lacey that had slipped so easily into being Mrs. Gold. No one could ever love that version of her.

Good thing she wasn’t looking for love.

Heart in her throat, Lacey climbed up the stairs to City Hall. What time did Mayor Mills usually take a lunch break? She didn’t know, but she would find out, wouldn’t she? If this worked out, she would know the mayor’s schedule intimately.

As she thought about that scenario, Lacey’s breathing began to even out. Surely even someone as professional and orderly as Mayor Mills wouldn’t be above an occasional nooner. Of course Lacey would be available at any time of the day or night. If the mayor had a bad day and needed to unwind, if she was furious with the incompetence of the stupid bureaucrats and drones she worked with and needed to vent out her rage, then Lacey would be there. Ready and willing. For as long as Mayor Mills would have her.

Lacey, she’ll kill you. Regina killed Sheriff Graham--she killed Maleficent! And her own father! If you take one step out of line, she will rip out your heart and crush it!

“Mr. Gold already did that,” Lacey muttered to herself as she opened the big double doors. The worst Mayor Mills could do would be to finish what her husband had started.

The stuttering male receptionist told her that the mayor was in a private meeting, but of course Mrs. Gold was more than welcome to wait.

She sat in a hard red plastic chair directly in front of the mayor’s office. There was a magazine in her hands, but she couldn’t even pretend to read. Instead, she looked at the door. Then at the shiny black and white tiles. Then at her left hand, and the indentation in her fourth finger.

Hours could have passed. Days, or years. What was time? It felt like she had been waiting all her life, or like she had never been alive before this moment. Or like she still hadn’t been born. Not yet, Not until--

The door opened. Mayor Mills was dressed impeccably in a black pantsuit. The blazer had a thin border of white around the lapels, to match the blouse underneath a black vest that was cut to accentuate her bust. She was stunning. And she was smiling. Not a smirk or a grin, but a real smile that radiated joy and triumph.

Lacey’s breath caught. How could she have forgotten how magnificent she was?

However, her spirits sank when she saw just who Mayor Mills was holding the door open for.

It was him. It was Mr. Gold’s “Belle.” The tall, handsome, well-dressed man who had destroyed every hope she’d had of a happy marriage.

Jefferson!

Unlike Mayor Mills, the man left the office frowning. He held a battered old top hat under his arm, close to his chest. When he saw Lacey, his slate blue eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but it was Mayor Mills who spoke.

“Why, Mrs. Gold!” she smiled. “This is turning out to be a banner day! Please come in.”

The man stared at her, but she didn’t look at him as she hurried into the mayor’s office. She stood in the center of the circle on the floor while Mayor Mills shut the door behind her. There was an extra click as the door locked.

“You know, I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to have you back so soon, dear.” Mayor Mills came up behind her and wrapped her arm around her waist. The closeness made her gasp. The mayor’s hand took Lacey’s and rubbed approvingly along her naked fingers. “You’ll find I reward prompt obedience in my underlings.”

With a final squeeze, Mayor Mills broke her contact with Lacey and went behind her desk. An apple sat on the white stone surface. One of the mayor’s Honeycrisp apples, as red as blood. It already had a bite taken out of it. Mayor Mills sat in her black leather chair like it was a throne.

“Now,” she said, “do you have something to show me?”

“Yes!” Fumbling with her clutch, Lacey pulled out her ring and set it on the desk next to the apple.

Mayor Mills looked down at it, pleased but clearly expecting more. “And?” she said brightly. “Where’s the other one?”

Lacey opened her mouth. “I--” she began. “I don’t think we really need it. T-there’s nothing special about Mr. Gold’s wedding ring. I can prove my devotion to you in any number of way, Madame--”

“No!” The single word was a wrecking ball, crashing through all of Lacey’s pitiful excuses and desperate begging. “No, that is not good enough, you stupid whore!”

Despite her fantasies, Lacey winced at the reality of the mayor’s wrath. It took all her strength to stay standing. She didn’t deserve to kneel.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“I gave you a job, you brainless blow-up doll! And when I tell people to do something, I expect it to get done!”

“You’re right, Madame Mayor. I’m so so--”

“Get out of here,” she snapped. Mayor Mills grabbed the half-bitten apple off her desk and dropped it into her purse. She started turning off the lights around the office. “Don’t come back until you can get Gold’s wedding ring away from him.” She unlocked the door and opened it. When she looked at Lacey again, some of her good mood seemed to have come back. “I promise you, dear, you’ll have plenty of time to make this up to me. Right now, I’ve got some baking to do.”

And she left.

****

Standing alone in the middle of the mayor’s office, Lacey heard the click-clack of high heels on tile, fading away.

“What the fuck?” Lacey whispered. For a moment, she wondered if the voice in her head would say something. But there was nothing.

She was nothing.

Nothing to Mr. Gold, and nothing to Mayor Mills. She wasn’t even important enough for them to hate or degrade. They didn’t care about her.

She was nothing.

It was like she was in shock. She couldn’t move. If there was anything to hear or see, she didn’t notice it. Again she had the feeling of time evaporating into mist all around her. All her hopes of a future had just turned into ash and crumbled away.

Slowly, the door creaked open. A man’s head popped into the office. No, not just a man. The man. The man her husband had sex with and called “Belle.” The man he loved.

“Are you okay?”

Lacey wanted to laugh. What a question! And from what a source! Sure, why not? Why not talk to “Belle”? It wasn’t like it could make this day any worse!

The man stepped into the office. He didn’t speak to her at first. He walked to the desk and picked up her wedding ring. He held it in his palm and smiled.

“You know, I’ve never seen you without this on, in one form or another.” He held the ring out to her and she jolted back to life.

“How many times have you seen me?” She snatched the ring out of his hand. “I never saw you before a month ago. But I guess it makes sense that you knew about me before I knew about you. The wife’s always the last to know, right?”

The man didn’t match her anger. He just smiled at her, the same kind of condescending compassion usually reserved for children or morons.

“Why did you think Regina would help you?” He tried to move his hands, but he was limited with the hat under his arm. “Now me, I knew exactly what I wanted, and I demanded payment in advance. That’s the only way to deal with her. She’s not like your husband.”

“Please don’t talk about him,” Lacey hissed. “Or about her. Or about anything! Why are you even here? Just to torture me?”

His smile vanished, his eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m not your enemy,” he said.

“No, you’re my rival. Are you fucking both of them? Do you seek out people I might have an interest in and seduce them before I can get a chance? Did you dig up my old high school boyfriend and rock his world too?” God, it felt good to be angry, to have somewhere to direct her anger that wasn’t at herself. Jefferson could take it.

“I’m not fucking Regina.” He was almost sardonic as he said it. “One thing I learned in my travels is don’t put your dick in crazy. That’s something you should have thought of before you came here, missy.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and stomped out of the office. The man stayed behind her until they were out of City Hall. On the front steps, he grabbed her arm. Not hard, just enough to get her attention. Just enough to turn her around to face him.

“So what’s your plan now?” he challenged her. “Regina was kind of loud in there, I couldn’t help overhearing your predicament.”

“And you want to help?” Of course he did, he wanted Mr. Gold all to himself.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” he said. His mouth twitched and he looked away for a minute. “I wanna know how badly all this has fucked you up.”

She scoffed and began to walk again. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. Away from this weirdo. Away from everything.

She stopped at the crosswalk and watched Sheriff Swan’s yellow bug turn the corner onto Mifflin Street. Was she going to Mayor Mills’ house? Why? God, was everyone having sex with each other except her?

The man was still following her. “Listen,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk? Maybe you have questions for me? We’ve got a lot in common.”

The thought made Lacey want to gag. The swell of anger was the push she needed to turn on her heel and face this homewrecker.

“Why does he call you Belle?” she spat. “Mr. Gold doesn’t like nicknames and it doesn’t make any sense to call a man that. So what’s the story there?”

He blinked. The face he made seemed to be genuine shock. He looked her in the eyes when he asked, “You think I’m Belle?”

Lacey was going to scream. “Oh, good God! How many people is he cheating on me with?”

The man held up his hands. “Just me, as far as I know. I can’t imagine him with anyone but me and you.”

“And Belle,” Lacey taunted them both with the name. “I know that Belle exists and I know that he loves her. If that isn’t you, then who the fuck is it?”

Exhaling, Jefferson scratched the back of his head. “Um,” he said. “Wow. Okay. Um. Have you… ever talked to your husband about Belle?”

She bristled, crossed her arms over her chest. “Where do you think I got the piddling information I have? Yes, Mr. Gold says that Belle is real. He talks about her like she’s a woman--actually, he talks about her like she’s an angel, but that’s neither here nor there. He says that he loves her and that she trusts him.”

“Do you trust him?”

Lacey scowled. “Why should I?”

“Because he loves you.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “No. He doesn’t. Never did, never will.”

The man made a noise, a wordless expression of pity. He looked at her like she didn’t understand something blindingly obvious.

“You can’t expect me to believe that Mr. Gold loves me.”

“Mr. Gold? Nah. But your husband? Honey, your husband loves you more than anything in any world.”

She couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned away so he wouldn’t see, bracing herself against a fence. It was plastic made to look like wood, the sort of thing you got in the bad part of New Town. Up ahead, the yellow bug was on Main Street again. Must have been a short visit.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. The man was still behind her. “Isn’t Mr. Gold loving me a bad thing for you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a wife of my own. I’m gonna see her soon. I’ve got a piece of what I need for that.” He held up the top hat, as if that explained how he was going to get back to Leona. “Point is, there are some people that belong together. They’re a matched set. In one world or another, they’ll find each other.”

Lacey shook her head. “That’s only true in fairy tales.”

Jefferson patted her on the back. “Exactly.”

She shook her head and started walking again, faster than before. Somewhere in the distance, ambulance sirens blared. Behind her, the man picked up his pace to catch up with her.

“You keep following me and I’m going to call Sheriff Swan.”

He shook his head. “Emma’s got her own problems right now. Hopefully, she’ll have her own solutions too. You need to figure out yourself, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Someone called her that. Not this man, not any of her friends or family, no boy she’d ever dated, but a man. A man who loved her.

Rumple.

Lacey wiped at her eyes again. God, her makeup was probably ruined. “Alright, Jefferson, fine. If you have all the answers, why don’t you tell me what they are?”

The man got ahead of her and stopped walking. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes. His mouth was open, but it took him a moment to speak.

“Two questions,” he said at last. “One at a time. First, what do you want from your husband?”

She sighed. There was no way she could tell this man what she really wanted from Mr. Gold. And she couldn’t very well tell Mr. Gold about it either. So she settled for the next best thing.

“I want him to give me his wedding ring so I can give it to Mayor Mills.”

The man pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay, well, you’re going to have to tell him that.”

“What?”

“Just be honest with him. Tell him that Regina wants your wedding rings. Tell him that she wants to hurt you and you want to let her. You’ve tried everything else, haven’t you? Maybe that’s the only thing that will work.”

Lacey shook her head. “That would never work! Mr. Gold isn’t going to give me something just because I ask for it!”

Jefferson shrugged. “He’s fair, isn’t he? Make it a deal, truth for truth. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

She kept shaking her head. This man might have fucked her husband, but he didn’t know him at all.

“Second question.” He held up two fingers. “And then I have to go. School’s letting out and I need to see my daughter. But the question is,” he leaned forward, and looked her straight in the eyes. “How did you know my name is Jefferson?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a showy flourish, he spun around and put the top hat on his head. Then he sauntered off, with Lacey alone on the sidewalk.

****

She trudged along by herself, from the New Town mansions to the Main Street shops. Unlike her frantic spiral to City Hall, Lacey walked slowly now, in a straight line. There was no avoiding where she was going, where she had to go. But there wasn’t any hurry either.

He was right--the man, Jefferson, whatever--she had to talk to Mr. Gold. Lying and sneaking around hadn’t worked. But maybe they could make a deal. She couldn’t imagine what he would demand as payment, if she asked to be freed from their marriage.

If nothing else, Dad would have to start paying rent again. She couldn’t live in Mr. Gold’s house anymore. She’d be homeless, jobless. She could probably crash with Janine or Mara. Live with them and work at Game of Thorns for whatever twenties Dad could spare after he had paid the bills. On the bright side, he probably hadn’t cleaned out her old bedroom. She could still wear her clothes from high school.

It was a bleak future, but at least it was something. It was better than hating herself all the time, the way she did around Mr. Gold. The way she would if she gave herself over to Regina Mills.

Rumple will protect you, Lacey. He loves you!

And maybe she could beg Dr. Hopper for some therapy. Clearly she had a lot of issues, even before she started hearing voices.

When she got to the shop, the Closed sign was facing out, even though it was the middle of the day. But the Cadillac was parked by the side door, and she had her key. The bell rang as she let herself in.

“We’re closed,” her husband’s voice came from the back.

“It’s just me,” Lacey called. Whoever that was.

She made her way to the back slowly. Between all the walking and all the emotions, she was wrung-out. Bone-tired and ragged. She slumped on the doorframe and looked at him. These could be the last moments for her to pretend that he was her husband.

Mr. Gold was sitting at the work table, appraising some kind of antique. It was shaped like an egg but the size of a football. It was gold, and covered with clear gems so huge they had to be fake. Diamonds that big didn’t exist outside of museums. The two halves of it opened on a hinge, and lay flat on the table like a book. Gray velvet lined the inside, covering the indentation meant for some kind of small bottle.

What was that thing? A holder for a bottle of perfume? A carrying case for an expensive liqueur? Something to do with Easter?

Standing up, Mr. Gold closed the egg on its hinges and locked it with a key. His hand slipped into his pants pocket. He was hiding something. That didn’t surprise her at this point. As far as she knew, he was hiding everything.

She cleared her throat and stood up straight. “I went to City Hall today,” she announced.

Mr. Gold pulled a jewelry box off a shelf, then frowned at the dust on top. “Oh really?”

Lacey knew that tone. That dismissive, disinterested voice he used every time he wasn’t growling or snarling. Being ignored was worse than being hurt, and that was all he had done to her in months.

“Yes,” she spat out the word. “I had a meeting with Mayor Mills.”

That stopped him from looking at his inventory. When he turned his head to her, she saw that his teeth were on edge.

“Why?” he whispered.

A deep breath. Do the brave thing. Tell him the truth. He loves you.

“Because I wanted her to hurt me.” Lacey had tears in her eyes. When had that started up again? “Because I want her to fuck me, and insult me, and treat me like shit. The way you used to.”

Grimacing, he looked away from her. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she couldn’t do it.” Lacey kept breathing, deep and even. She felt… strong, somehow. Like there was more inside of her than there had ever been before. Maybe bravery had followed her after all. “She tried to play it off like she wouldn’t do it, like it was a principle or something. But I’m pretty sure that something stopped her.” She swallowed, and took a step toward him.

Rumple.

“I think...” she began, and then stopped. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy.”

“Say it,” he whispered. His eyes--so dark, so lovely--brimmed with tears. “Please say it, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Another breath. Another step.

“I had a dream,” she said, “where you said you would protect me from Regina.”

“Yes.” He stared at her. He looked at her like she was the only star in the sky. He moved toward her, arms open. “Yes, I’ll protect you.”

He held her. He embraced her. For the first time in months, she felt his arms around her. He cherished her. He loved her.

Lacey wanted to melt into him. She wanted to cry so hard she dissolved. But she couldn’t do it yet. There was more that she had to say.

“In my dreams... I call you Rumple.”

A shudder went through him and he held her tighter. “Yes,” he whispered into her hair.

So, Lacey thought, as crazy as she sounded to herself, somehow she was making sense to him.

“And in my dreams,” she went on, “you call me Belle. Am I Belle? Have I been Belle all this time?”

He broke apart from her gently, and kissed her on the forehead. “No,” he murmured. “But you will be, sweetheart. I promise.”

Moving away from her, he went to one of the shelves. He pulled down a box--a fireproof safe--and unlocked it with two different keys. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what was inside.

“I think it’s time,” her husband said, “for me to tell you everything.”

Then he turned around, and put something on the work table. It was a knife--no, a dagger. A ruby-pommelled, wavy-bladed dagger. On the flat of the blade, facing up from the table, a name was engraved in black enamel.

Rumpelstiltskin.

Lacey blinked. She had seen that dagger before. Was it in a dream? Or a memory? She looked at her husband, who stood back from the blade as though he had no claim to it.

She looked at it again. She knew that dagger. It was hers. He had given it to her. Long ago, in another world. Or in a dream. Or in a memory.

Picking it up, she looked at him. Understanding was so close she could taste it, but she wasn’t there yet. All she could do was ask her husband.

“Rumple?”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfiction #ouat

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songofthealps · 3 years

Text

@aphrarepairweek2021

Day 3: Culture

In which Lara and Lukas try to make fondue with brunost~

Pairing: SwissNor ( Nyo!Switzerland and Norway) (Lara&Lukas)

Word Count: 658

“It isn’t going to work, liebling.”

Lara wasn’t talking about her relationship with the man who represented Norway. No, she was talking about the fact that he’d presented her with something that looked like chocolate and cheese had a baby. When she said they were going to have fondue night, and tasked Lukas with getting cheese, she didn’t anticipate that he was going to get.. that.

“What?” Lukas had been sitting across from her, holding Lara’s Norwegian forest cat, Liebe. Said cat was purring, content that her owner, and the man that represented the land she was from, basically lived together.

“This.” Lara lifted the.. Whatever it was, into her hand, looking at it before she moved to smell it. “It’s a cheese, I think? It doesn’t smell like chocolate..” Her eyes said chocolate, but her nose said cheese.

“Brunost, Lara, it’s brunost” Lukas was already laughing, reaching across the table for a cheese slicer, and slicing a wafer thin piece to hand to her. “It’s just a cheese, dear.” Tugging her wrist, he lead her around the table to let her sit in his lap, popping the cheese into her mouth. “Very popular in my home, it’s ‘typically Norwegian’ or so people say.” Wrapping his arms around her middle, Lukas leaned his chin on her shoulder. “Do you like it?”

Lara, to her credit, wasn’t unhappy about her current seating situation, and had obediently opened her mouth when he’d sliced the cheese for her, slicing one for him in turn. As his arms wrapped around her, and he’d asked the question, she had popped the piece into his mouth.

“I do like it, yes. But in Switzerland we’d use something like Swiss cheese, or gruyere. Very different taste and textures to this brown cheese of yours.” She’d already looked in their fridge, and neither of those cheeses were to be found. Hence why she’d asked Lukas to pick some up on the way home.

“Suppose it could work,” She’d commented, leaning forward to slice another piece, “if we went for a sweeter fondue, something that might go well with fruit? Could make something else for dinner, believe we have lox.” Lara leaned back in, nuzzling into the groove between his neck and his shoulder.

“Mmm, lox are fine. Do you want it on bread? Maybe with cucumber?” Lukas was already planning, their cat perking up at the word “lox.”

“I’d be fine with that, I’m more amused that you found a way to marry two of our foods together, assuming this doesn’t taste bad. Let me up?” She’d asked, pressing her lips to his once before she stood, opening their fridge. “Oh, and can you cube that?”

Listening to Lara, Lukas slid the cutting board over, grabbing a knife and starting to chop as Lara came back with arms full of fruits, cream, vanilla, sugar, and water.

As Lukas was cutting, she placed fruits near him, particularly apples. “Your national fruit, babe.” She’d commented as he was rolling one back to her. “And yours.”

She’d poured cream, vanilla, sugar, and water into the fondue pot, warming it up and then gesturing for him to add the cheese. “It’s going to be sweet, but I think that’ll offset the apple.”

Once it had reached a temperature she’d deemed hot enough, she took one of the apples slices Lukas had prepared, dipping it into the mixture.

“I’ll admit that I am either really insane for this, or we’re really smart,” She’d commented, watching him dip one as well. Moving to his side, she laced her arm through his so they both could place the apple into the others mouth.

Crunch.

“You know, it’s not bad,” Lukas spoke around his piece of apple, hand before his mouth. “I like it, sweet. But also sour?”

“Should have known, take two of our favorite things, and make it just that much better.” Lara had chirped back, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek.

#aphrarepairweek2021 #swissnor #aph norway #nyotalia #hws norway #nyo switzerland #fic

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cialbi · 4 years

Text

Summertime Happy Daze - Chapter One

Summary: Working in a small, local grocery store down by the shore has its perks; good pay, free food and seven handsome coworkers. Your first day back after two years abroad, your happy summer days have just begun.

Genre: Slice of Life, Friendship, Romance (fluff), Hurt and Comfort, (BTS AU)

Pairings: BTS ot7 x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8651

Based on TRUE Daily Events

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The faint cry of seagulls could be heard overhead, circling the sky in hunger as you stood lucidly, staring at white twin doors that had paint peeling off with age. The familiar image was comforting in a way, like seeing an old classmate from school that you hadn’t known very well, but brought back those memories of the good old days.

And like seeing an old classmate, a part of you wanted to duck away and avoid them altogether.

You gripped the rim of your oversized sweatshirt for comfort, the brush of your tightly tied ponytail tickling the nape of your neck as it blew against the breeze. The sleek, silver name tag pinned to your clothes sailed in the sunshine. Little beads of sweat had begun to form on your forehead and the sticky summer heat thick against your skin as you drew in a breath.

You checked your watch; it was 11:00 am in the morning.

It had been awhile since you were down at the shore; the heavy scent of ocean prominent in your nose. You wrinkled it in discomfort.

The idea of spending your summer at the beach had been your parents' decision and they had leant you their beach house to use while you were working. Leaving you to your own devices, your mom and dad had chosen to take a much needed vacation to Hawaii. Instead of keeping you company they had retired you to fend for yourself.

Although you understood, you also felt bitter that they up and went without you.

“Structure. Discipline. Self reliance. Think of this as practice for the fall when you go back to school.” Your dad had said.

“We think this is what’s best for you, sweetheart.” Your mom agreed.

You narrowed your eyes at the memory of their words. Yeah, what ‘was best for you’ was to hightail it out of here and retreat to the comfort of your own bedroom. You didn’t bode well in anxious situations and your first reaction had always been to run the opposite direction.

But now that you were standing outside the back of Kim’s Market, that option didn’t seem very plausible. Today was opening day, and you knew as much help as possible was needed.

Almost every summer spent down the shore you’d worked in this little, local market. Since you’d been eighteen to be exact. The pay had been good and the owner allowed his employees to snack on food for free; not to mention the heaps of down time and 5G wifi. You’d done a lot of instagraming in those days.

The last two years were the longest you’d been without paying a visit to Kim’s. Choosing to study abroad, you’d saved money by spending the summers over there instead of returning home to your country. Though every now and then you had found yourself thinking about the little market and wondered how it was doing.

Standing in front of it now felt nostalgic, but you realized that two years was a long time and that many things could have changed while you were gone. And that’s why you found yourself so nervous.

Will they even remember me? You wondered to yourself.

You reached out your hands to touch the chipping wooden door and felt the wrinkles of maturing paint beneath your fingertips.

By they you meant your former, future, coworkers that you spent months of your time with over the past years of your life. Would they be happy to see you? Had they changed at all? Because you knew that you certainly had.

You remembered their faces as clearly as you could see in front of yourself. Their laughter and smiles were an unforgettable memory ingrained in your brain and the special moments you had spent with each of them had been precious. The long hours at work, the trips to the beach to enjoy an afternoon picnic, even the gaps of silence that had dispersed like a welcomed breeze. Every second had been cherished, and the heat of the fierce, beaming sun was always a reminder of the lovely summer days you’d spent together.

Because above having been your coworkers, they had been your friends.

Get a grip. You told yourself. How long you’d been standing there, you couldn’t tell, but by the looks of nosy passerbys it must have been for a while now.

Taking one last, nerve wrecked breath, you pushed open the tall double doors that lead inside to the back office, a blanket of air conditioned cool prickled your face.

It was dimly lit. Only the small rectangular windows that poured in the early afternoon sun provided any sort of light in the small wood paneled room. It looked as if plant life had invaded. Pots of tiny trees and baskets of wild flowers decorated almost every surface. Their gardener had a knack for floral feng-shui.

Said gardener stood behind a marble counter, back slightly bent as he trimmed stocks of parsley with a pair of gardening shears. A happy melody vibrated through his lips as he hummed to himself cheerfully. His deep brown eyes glimmered as if stars swam in them.

He wore a black, deep cut v-neck shirt and airy blue jeans stained with dirt. Glowing brightly in the afternoon glare were the words Kim’s Market plastered across his chest and a little silver tag with the name Hoseok etched into its face.

He looked peaceful, eyes lidded as if he had drifted into his own, little world.

“Hi Hobi.” You piped up, his nickname shy on your tongue.

The man snapped his head of chocolate brown hair up from his ministrations and squinted at you--or maybe he just couldn’t see well without his glasses. Nearsightedness if you recall. Even so, realization seemed to dawn on him as you were greeted with his infamous sunny smile. The perfect ‘welcome back.’

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you.” Hoseok said, then shrugged. “Well, you know, as much as I can see you.”

You shrugged back with a smile. “It’s good to be seen.”

He placed the shears onto the cutting board and approached you with outstretched arms. You thought for a moment he was going to hug you, but instead he placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and held you in place.

“Let me get a good look at you!” He said, eyeing you once over. “Beautiful.”

You blushed, looking down at the ground in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Beautiful wasn’t the exact words you would have used, feeling a little frumpy in your baggy attire.

“Thanks.”

“So.” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, your eyes meeting. “How was Japan?”

You bit your lip a little and averted your gaze once again to the tiled floor beneath your feet. You knew well that Hoseok could always tell when you were lying. “Good. I had a great time.”

His eyes followed yours, brows furrowed as he aimed a curious look at your face. The older man opened his mouth to say something but before he could utter a word he was sorely interrupted by an outburst from the deli.

“Y/N!” A chorus of voices in assorted octaves shrieked with delight.

Shocked, but happy to be off topic, you turned your head to meet the smiling faces of Jimin and Jungkook. They peered from a little open frame in the wall that doubled as a fissure between the office and the deli.

Jimin’s eyes twinkled in excitement while Jungkook grinned at you from ear to ear, and suddenly you felt your prior worries begin to dissipate. Returning their expressions of friendliness you waved at them with an arm tucked behind your back.

“Hey gu--woah!”

A little yelp escaped your lips as you felt your legs being lifted off the ground.

Arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug, a mess of shaggy black hair had burrowed in the crook of your neck. “You’re back.” It purred, deep, husky voice muffled by your shoulder.

Knowing exactly who it was before you even saw his face, you giggled, touched.

“Hey Tae. I’m back.”

At the call of his nickname, Taehyung lifted his head and flashed you a smile so winning that you got the idea he didn’t smile like that very often.

“Hi! I missed you!”

A light chuckle from Hoseok tickled your ears as the enthusiastic Taehyung hug-dragged you around into the deli so that the rest of the boys could properly welcome you. After a lingering minute the hold on you dropped, which allowed you to take a gander at your surroundings.

The deli looked pretty much the same, albeit a bit cleaner. It was small--homely--the entire area itself took up only one third of the modestly sized market. The deli case, up front and center, was lined with meats, cheeses, salads, ground hamburger chuck and fresh cut slabs of prime beef, each holding a respective, organized place amongst one another. Three scales were scattered on the top, separated by Hoseok’s potted plants and a few steps away were the rows of slicers that cut the hunks of meat and cheese into cold-cuts.

On the left of the case, pushed snuggly against the wall, was the grinder block. That was where all the chuck for hamburgers were ground into ribbons and panned on trays to be served to customers. Parallel was the butchers block and across from that, way in the back, was the sandwich block followed by the wrapping block and the walk-in fridge.

They were all placed pretty close together and you could recall many collisions from the past as everyone had rushed to deliver their orders. Your heart warmed in remembrance.

“So, whatcha think?” Jungkook’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

He was leaning against a tall metal hand-trolly piled high with boxes of what-nots and arms folded proudly across his chest. You noticed immediately that he was bigger than you remembered. He looked like an adonis from where he stood, his blue-and-white-striped shirt clung to his muscles, almost every ridge and curve visible to the naked eye. He oozed with pride.

You thought Jungkook was inquiring about his muscular metamorphosis or the very least about the deli, but when he gestured to the trolly you frowned.

“Uh. Nice… boxes?” You raised a brow. Jimin chuckled from beside you.

“Not those--well yes those. I’m stocking this year!” He boasted, face lifting in dignity.

You felt Jimin shift. “Yeah! And don’t forget you left me all alone with the registers!” He pouted.

Jungkook’s lip quirked to the side. “You know hyung, you could have joined me if you weren’t so…” He trailed, fishing for the right word. “Weak.”

You thought Jimin would pop what with the way his face puffed, flabbergasted. “I have abs! I can lift things!” He retorted, pulling up his sweater and smacking his toned stomach for emphasis. You looked away in shame.

Someone clicked their tongue from behind the sandwich block. “You’re too short.”

It was Yoongi.

You hadn’t noticed him from his seated position on the floor, but there he was, clad in a grey sweatshirt and backwards cap, knees hugged loosely to his chest as he scrolled through his phone.

“Don’t take his side hyung!” Jimin turned to you with sad, gooey sparkles in his eyes. “You see what happens when you leave? They all bully me.”

You brought to mind how they all had teased Jimin; the poor boy made it far too easy for them. One time, Yoongi had pretended that Jimin was invisible for two days, all the while Jimin had relentlessly thrown himself in front of the older and practically begged to be acknowledged.

“Where’s Jimin? I don’t see him. I hope he’s not dead.” Yoongi had taunted, shielding his eyes as if looking for someone.

Jimin had bit his lip so hard it turned purple. “Stop it hyung! You know I’m right here.”

It wasn’t until you had locked his paycheck in your locker that Yoongi could miraculously see him again.

Before you left, you had been Jimin’s safeguard. You had taken pity on him because he always looked so lost and helpless. The others could easily fend for themselves, but Jimin--with his cute pouty lip and doleful eyes--there was something that had made you highly defensive of him; like a mother protecting her young. And he felt about you like you were his knight in shining armor.

In times like this one, you would have ruffled his hair affectionately or perhaps even went after his offender and gave them a piece of your mind. It had always thrilled him to tears when you stood up for him.

But time had passed and you didn’t know if the same tactics would still apply.

You looked up at Jimin as he hissed at his coworkers like an offended kitten, a look of attack and desperate attempts to sound big. But in the end he was still nothing more than that. A kitten. Although you’d never admit it to him, you were the tiniest bit charmed.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to try?

Tenderly, you patted his glossy head, receiving a startled jump from under your touch.

“Don’t listen to them Jiminnie.” You cooed. “Your job is just as important and neither height nor arm muscles makes you any more or any less of a wonderful, capable man.”

Both Jungkook and Yoongi scoffed.

“And you two!” You swiped a delicate finger between them. “Don’t think that because I’ve been gone for some time, that I won’t hesitate to kick both your asses if I hear you tell him otherwise.”

Jimin beamed at you with crescent moon eyes, catching your hand in his. “She’s really back.” He whispered, just loud enough for only you to hear.

The five of you exchanged looks before Yoongi snorted and the rest of you fell into a gleeful bote of laughter. No. The deli, the market, the atmosphere, it really hadn’t changed much.

But the boys themselves most certainly had.

Yoongi’s hair had gotten longer; crimped seafoam-green bangs touched the tips of his eyelashes and his once sunkissed skin had faded a few shades. His shoulders slouched a little more. He’d always been a quiet man, but something about the way he held himself seemed more aloof and less interested.

Jimin was much skinnier, almost worryingly so. His once pinchable chubby cheeks were replaced with sculpted definition to his jawline and his collarbone protruded amidst his baggy baby-pink sweater. He still had his abs, yes, but when he had previously exposed himself to the group, you had noticed the little lines of ribs poking through his honey-colored skin. Although still painfully pretty, you worried he hadn’t been eating enough.

Jungkook--muscle growth aside--seemed to have grown an entire foot in height. His pointy nose was slightly sunburned and his cappuccino hair swept to the side, streaked with highlights. His former, innocent demeanor now dripped with overconfidence and tenacity; something you instantly knew would be difficult to keep a handle on.

Even Hoseok, sunny, energetic, ever-loving Hoseok had looked uncharacteristically tired. He had tried to hide it, but the lines under his eyes gave him away.

And Taehyung. His lion's mane of wavy hair, his deep chocolate-brown eyes, his obnoxiously good looks--

You eyed the raven-haired boy who had become completely distracted, busily taping a pair of plastic gloves around his wrists and using a bendy-straw to blow them up like balloons. He cooed excitedly and shoved them in your general direction. “Look Y/N! I’m like Baymax!”

He hasn’t changed a bit.

Perhaps it was the many bodies in such a tight space, or perhaps you were just overly perceptive today but it suddenly dawned on you that two other members were missing.

You frowned. “Hey, where’s Namjoon and--”

“Yah! I see goofing off!” A shout that reminded you of a squawking mother emanated from the other side of the deli case.

Ah. There he is.

In unison, you all whirled around to see the store owner, Jin, shouldering a large silver tray of fresh pastries and looking absolutely perfect. His beautiful full lips pulled back in annoyance and his ivory skin tinted pink like blooming roses. He had an evergreen apron tied around his waist and his free hand was placed fiercely on his hip.

“Hyung, look!” Taehyung wiggled his balloon-a-fied hands at Jin. “Y/N is here!”

Jin looked over to you, his expression softening. “Hey there Y/N.” He said, circling around the deli case and placing the tray on the meat-grinder block.

“Hi Jin.” You blushed. His presence had a way of making you flustered.

He patted his floury hands on his apron before extending one towards you. You took it with a hardy handshake, his touch lingered slightly before he pulled it away.

“Are you ready to work hard?” Jin asked, straightening back up.

You eyed your coworkers skeptically. “Yes sir.”

Taehyung was using his balloon-hands to squish Jimin’s face while Jungkook stood by as witness; the three of them bursted into fits of giggles when one of the gloves popped just above Jimin’s nose. Yoongi, who was completely ignoring you guys, had returned to his previous activities, engaged in his phone once again.

Ready to work hard? By the look of it, you didn’t feel like you really had a choice, because no doubt you’d be carrying a lot of the weight.

“Good.” Jin said and took a spatula from one of the magnetic holsters. “Because it seems to me that with these four slack offs--” he gestured with it at the younger men, “--you have your work cut out for you.”

Read my mind.

You hummed in response and watched as Jin began to square off the pastries with the spatula. He looked good--well he had always looked good, but with his delicately placed locks of black hair and eyelashes that casted shadows across cheekbones, the shopkeeper looked particularly angelic as he focused on his work.

“Ooh! Hyung! Is that the crumb cake?” Taehyung’s short attention span was naturally swayed by the sight of food.

He scurried over to the two of you, a look of unadulterated hunger on his face. The rest of the boys, minus Yoongi, followed shortly after him. Taehyung reached for one, the plastic from his glove still deflated around his hand. Jin smacked it away.

“Don’t you dare touch these with your grubby little hands.” The oldest scolded. “These are for the customers. You know, the ones who actually pay for my food.”

Taehyung whimpered, disappointed. “...looks so good though…”

“They most certainly are. Delicious--” His eyes narrowed. “--and for the customers. I don’t want to catch any of you snacking on these today. Anything else, fine. But stay away from the crumb cake.”

A chorus of protest had Jin stabbing the spatula with a particularly strong force.

“I mean it.”

Jimin’s lip jutted and Taehyung leaned against the grinder block back first, angling his face to fix Jin with the perfect puppy-pout. Not that it worked. Jin’s nerves were made of steel.

“Just a little?”

“No.”

“A crumb?”

“No!”

“A lick?”

“Aish! Stop bothering me!”

“Move.” A curt voice cut through the room.

Namjoon, the last missing member of the group, appeared from the inside of the walk-in fridge, holding a large plastic bin with the words ‘cuts to be trimmed’ written on the side in black sharpie.

You all turned to look at the man as he glared intensely at you; the crowd of people in his way. Namjoon’s arms were shaking under the weight of the bin like he was barely keeping it from falling out of his grip. He was flushed, with tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. You gulped as everyone automatically stepped aside and created a path for him. Even Yoongi scooched over on the ground.

Why is he...

You looked at Jimin confused, but the boy just shrugged. “Namjoon is the butcher now.”

Namjoon mumbled something you couldn’t hear as he heaved the bin towards the butcher's block and slammed it down on the counter. His back was turned to you, not having noticed your presence.

The tallest man’s willowy figure had always been lean but, like Jungkook, new muscle definition ripped up his biceps and upper pectorals. On top of that, his once golden skin was now a deep shade of almond and his brown quiff had been replaced with a silver, clean-shaven undercut.

Two years ago, it had been you, Namjoon, Yoongi and Taehyung that worked in the deli, cutting cold-cuts, making sandwiches and helping out around the market whenever time allowed. Jin had been the one in charge of the beef, only temporarily lending the reins when the store got too busy for him to handle it alone. Jin liked control. He especially liked control over their best selling meat, so you wondered how Namjoon had convinced the uptight shopkeeper to let him go full-time.

He looked poised, a little cold.

You hugged your arms sheepishly. “Hi Joon.”

The butcher slipped, eyes wide and clearly not expecting to hear your voice as he caught himself on the butchers block. Giving himself a second to catch his breath, Namjoon turned to look at you with a bewildered expression.

“Y/N...” He said, taking a step towards you.

“Hey, it’s good to see yooooh my god are you ok?”

Your hands flew to your lips in shock as Namjoon’s heel snagged on a piece of plastic--no doubt left on the floor from Taehyung’s glove--and flew to the ground in a tumble of limbs and a loud ‘crash’. You bit back a laugh. There’s that klutziness.

Wincing in pain, Namjoon stood up, his face red with peevery as he steadied himself. “Taehyung!” He growled.

Silence followed.

Taehyung looked at his only remaining balloon-hand then looked back to Namjoon. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain!?” He cheered, diving for the older with his hands outstretched.

A loud ‘pop’ echoed in his wake. The rest of you exchanged looks of surprise as Namjoon held himself, wielding a long, skinny butcher's knife that extended towards Taehyung’s defending hand. The butcher fixed his eyes on the raven-haired male--who swallowed hard as the tip of the blade barely met his palm--shooting aggressive daggers.

“No.”

More silence.

Jin clapped his hands, breaking the lull. “That’s it! Everyone back to work!”

The shopkeeper shooed you guys away with a flick of his wrist and turned back around to resume cutting the crumb cake. The few “awws” that reverberated from the younger boys' mouths were silenced by the don’t-fuck-with-me look thier boss shot at them.

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Work well underway, the day seemed to slip by pretty slowly. The store was basically empty save a browsing customer here or there.

Jimin had returned to the registers while Jungkook was busy wheeling boxes around and unloading the contents to their respective places. Yoongi remained unbothered on his phone and Taehyung was doodling away with a black deli crayon on a piece of wrapping paper. The only noises that could be heard were the murmurs of Hoseok and Jin from the office and the soft thwacks of Namjoon’s cleaver as he chopped up pieces of meat and dumped them into a vacant bucket.

You sighed to yourself. It’s so quiet...

There were no chairs back in the deli. Jin’s reasoning had been that sitting around made them look lazy, and laziness would repel customers. Nevertheless, none of the boys had any trouble finding ways to look apathetic. So you were leaning against the sandwich block, hands gripped around the wooden sides to support yourself and mind wandering off in boredom.

A little restless, you looked down at Yoongi who was sitting inches from your branched out legs.

“So, Yoongi…” You tried. “How’s business been today?”

Your shift may have started in the early afternoon, but most of, if not all the boys had been here since opening at six. You were privately grateful that you didn’t have to haul ass at bumblefuck am in the morning.

Yoongi looked up at you briefly and you noticed tiny little bags under his eyes. “Slow.”

He had never been much for small talk.

Ennui set in again and you found yourself wishing that you had brought your phone to pass the time. Maybe you’d forgotten on purpose due to your social media sabbatical or maybe you’d truly just forgotten but either way staring at a screen if not just to look at something sounded pretty good. So, to compensate, you settled on looking around the store.

The late afternoon sun had soaked the deli in warm shades of oranges and pinks, the sheets of white menus that hung from the walls glared irredecentaly against the blaring light. The metal of the slicers and the walk-in glinted like precious silver and plastic containers full of lettuce, tomato and onion on the sandwich counter reflected images of your surroundings. You could hear the rolling of pebbles from outside as cars pulled in or drove away from the market and the faint smell of raw beef wafted through your nose. You crinkled it in disagreement.

It was amazing how everything felt so… normal.

Looking at Yoongi’s hunched form, you pushed yourself away from the counter and tentatively took a seat next to him. He didn’t move. A quick peek over his shoulder, you realized he was typing something on a notes app.

“Whatcha writing?”

At that, Yoongi lifted his head and shielded his phone against his chest. You felt a little bad for eavesdropping.

Your eyes met his. The look of genuine interest spread clearly on your face had Yoongi’s lips tugged back in a gentle smirk. He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck and dropped the phone from his chest to expose its contents towards your waiting gaze.

“Lyrics.” He shrugged. “Never know when inspiration will hit you.”

Yoongi had one of those voices that oozed self-control, a voice you couldn’t imagine raised. And the way his eyes glimmered with passion for his art made your heart thrum little pitter-pats against your ribs. I forgot how handsome he is.

“I didn’t know you liked to write music.” You truly hadn’t. He had always been so reserved, even back then.

Yoongi snorted. “Well, my real goals in life are to cut meat and cheese for wealthy, uptight buttfucks. But what can I say? Gotta dream big.”

You laughed. I also forgot how colorful his language could be.

You wanted to ask him more, but a call from the front of the deli had you both snapping your heads towards the order counter.

“Excuse me!” A woman with two chins and sunglasses peered from the other side of the deli case. “Some service over here!”

“Speak of the devil.” You sighed, rolling your eyes in Yoongi’s direction. “Keep writing. I got it.”

A hint of a smile ghosted his lips as you stood up and trotted over to the customer who was tapping her fingers impatiently. You put on your best pseudo grin.

“Sorry for the wait ma’am. What can I get for you?”

She frowned at you--or maybe that was her normal expression. “Yes. Thank you.” Her painted lips sneered. “I’d like a sandwich--”

“Hoagie or Kaiser?” You interrupted. The sandwich bags varied in sizes, so you needed to know which one to write her order on.

“Hoagie.” Her chins wagged as she navigated her eyes to one of the paper menus. “With--”

You scrawled down her elongated list of toppings, checking the right boxes and circling the written words printed neatly on a chosen hoagie bag. The customer paused, opening her mouth as if she wanted to order something else, then promptly closed it.

“That’s all.”

“Alright!” You said with a nod. “That’ll be up in just a couple minutes.”

The customer grumbled something you couldn’t make out but backed away from the counter and went to wait off to the side.

That was the part of the job you hadn’t missed. The entitlement, the poor treatment, the rudeness and you, as an employee, were just supposed to smile and be polite besides yourself.

Walking back to the sandwich block, you slipped past Namjoon, careful so as not to bump him and then clipped the bag on a sleek metal rack. It was your first sandwich of the year and you could feel a twinge of nervousness as your brain tried to remember what to do and what order to do it in.

Yoongi peeked his head up again to watch you quietly, making sure you were ok or if you needed any guidance.

Turkey. Swiss. Lettuce and tomato. A little salt, some hot peppers and onions. Oh and oil. Don’t forget the oil. You recited as you grabbed what you needed from the deli case, hands quivered slightly with nerves. You didn’t want to fuck this up. A part of you wanted to show the boys that you may have been gone a couple years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still make a killer sandwich. The whole store knew your sandwich making skills had always been the best and you had a reputation to uphold.

You went over to the slicers and paused briefly, gathering your demeanor before you switched on the blades. Gripping the butt of the cheese you breathed deeply, quiet enough as to not draw attention to yourself.

There was this irrational fear that you had; you even experienced nightmares once or twice because of it. You had always catastrophized that one of these days you’d slice your hand into a thick flap and then have to walk around with your flesh flopping like a turkey’s throat. Shuddering at the thought, you began to slice.

Thankfully, your body memory took over and suddenly you felt yourself falling back into old motions, cutting the cold-cuts with ease and one hundred percent skin-flap free.

With a slight spring to your step, you brushed past Namjoon again, again being careful not to hit him with your butt as you went about your way. You heard an appreciative ‘thunk’ of blade hitting wood.

When all the items were laid out in a neat line, you began to assemble the sandwich, making sure to place each piece of food in the correct order. First meat, then cheese, then veggies and then oil. You never put oil on the bread because the moisture would make the entire sandwich soggy. You explained this to Taehyung and Yoongi once when a customer had come in with a complaint about an ‘inedible sandwich.’ Finishing up your order with a sprinkle of lettuce and a spray of oil you topped it off with a light dusting of sea salt. Perfect.

While you took a step back to admire your handy work, more customers began to line up in front of the deli case. With a low groan, Taehyung paused his doodling to go help them. Yoongi stood up and tucked his phone away in his hoodie.

“Ahem.” Namjoon fixed you with an instructive stare and you chuckled sheepishly.

“Right. Sorry.”

You gathered up the sandwich and brought it to the wrapping block, careful not to spill anything. Quickly and neatly you rolled the paper over it before taping it closed and stuffing it in the bag.

“Here you are.” You beamed at the customer who had ordered from you, handing over your masterpiece.

She didn’t thank you, just grabbed the sandwich and waddled away.

“You’re welcome.” You muttered bitterly, the corner of your lip twitched in contempt.

Bitch.

You were used to ungrateful customers. Most people who came to the shore were wealthy beach house owners--the top one percent--and most of them didn’t appreciate hard work let alone practiced basic manners.

Giving yourself a moment, you checked your watch. It was a little after lunch time, which explained the sudden pickup in business. Usually between 12:30 and 2:00 the market became increasingly busy, then again between 4:30 and 6:00, giving everyone about an hour to catch their breath.

“Already aching to clock out, eh?”

Taehyung came up from behind you, causing you to squeak in surprise. He chuckled deeply in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You whipped your head around, blood creeping up your cheeks. “No!”

“Cute. Well here.” He handed you two paper sandwich bags. “This’ll pass the time.”

Taehyung graced you with a little wink and a wave of his hand before walking back up to the front of the deli to take more orders.

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh departed your lips, already missing the freetime.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Another hour crawled by. Not a moment to relax as the three of you maneuvered through and around the small space, slicing cold-cut after sandwich. You were beginning to lose your bearings as the line never seemed to end.

“Coming through!”

“On your left. No. Left Taehyung.”

“Behind you hyung!”

“Knife!”

Every once in a while, Namjoon paused from his ministries to help out when the three of you had your hands full. He worked like a pro and made everything seem so effortless. You’d never felt more beholden.

Once the line cleared and the four of you had a moment to yourselves, you breathed a sigh of relief. It truly felt good to be up on your feet again, but damn, dealing with so many people in such a short amount of time really weighed on your introverted personality. Running a hand through your hair, you looked at the clock on the deli phone.

Only four hours left to go.

Phew. Ok. You can do this Y/N.

A slew of giggles erupted from the deli case and you turned your head to see a dwindling customer bent over the counter and chatting animatedly with Taehyung. By the way she twirled her hair and fluttered her lashes you could immediately tell she was flirting. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her. Customers had often flirted with the boys and every time it was a reminder of how seriously handsome each of them were. You frowned.

She was beautiful. A very tall, very blonde woman with a modelesque physique. Her skin was as fair as a jasmine petal, with perfect blue eyes and a perfect snowy neck. The spaghetti straps of her sundress threatened to slip down her tiny, pointed shoulders and you noticed her arms were crossed around her chest, emphasizing her cleavage.

Laughing at something he said, she reached out to touch Taehyung’s arm, a bold move if you ever saw one. He followed with his eyes to where her hand touched him and slowly backed away. Handing over her order, he fixed her with his boxy smile.

“Bye! Come again soon!” He chirped. Ouch.

The customer obviously didn’t want to leave, but Taehyung had already turned his back towards her, clearly ending the conversation. Her pretty, glossed lips bent down in a grimace and reluctantly she sulked off. The raven haired boy caught your stare, his eyes flying up to the sky as he shrugged. You made a gagging motion with your finger and then the two of you laughed.

Yoongi shuffled over, a tired expression creased on his face as he dipped back down to the floor, back flush against the cool metal of the walk-in. His cheeks were rosy from all the exertion and eyes heavy as he sighed. Taking one last look up front as to make sure no other customers were around, he fished for the phone in his pocket and returned to typing fervidly.

“How ya holding up?” You said to him.

“Hm.”

Man, he’s a tough one to crack.

A few moments passed in silence. You enjoyed the cool breeze of the air conditioning, eyes hooded as it satiated your skin. It felt peaceful to be among friends again.

A subtle thunk grabbed you from your stupor.

“Oof. Watch it!” Yoongi jerked forward as the door of the walk-in pushed open from behind him.

Namjoon emerged from the door with a large rack of ribs cradled on his shoulder. He looked between the two of you and quickly apologized to his friend.

“The door knob is a little loose inside, so be careful not to pull it too hard.” He said, gesturing with his chin to the fridge.

You nodded your head and Yoongi hummed in admission, though if he was really listening you couldn’t tell. Doubtful.

“Hey! Which one of you dum-dums keeps forgetting to price the sandwiches!?” Jimin called, face huffy as he poked his head out from behind aisle B.

For some reason, Jin never liked the idea of using up-to-date cash registers, opting for old-fashioned antiques that probably came from the nineteen-thirties. That excluded a barcode scanner, so poor Jimin had to punch in all the item prices by hand. God forbid a customer decided not to buy something because then the boy had to zero out the register and start all over again.

“I had to make the prices up, and you know Jin hyung hates when I do that!” Jimin stomped over in a flurry of dust and dirt from unswept floors. Speaking of things Jin hated.

Your eyes widened. Horrified, you realized it had been you. You totally forgot you had to hand write the prices of the sandwiches along with the orders.

The rest of the members started to busy themselves, avoiding Jimin’s wrath. Taehyung began opening boxes of pickle jars from underneath the counters and Namjoon got to work on prepping the bonesaw for the ribs. To your surprise, even Yoongi stood up and began to clean the counter with a metal scraper. It was like they all turned their heads and whistled evadingly.

You sighed, wiping the bridge of your nose. Honesty was the best approach.

“Sorry Jimin! It was me.” You admitted to the blonde haired boy.

He craned his neck to look at you standing in the back behind Namjoon. For a split second you worried he would tell you off.

Instead, Jimin flashed you a radiant smile. “No worries Y/N. It’s only your first day back--”

“It’s all our first day back.” Yoongi muttered lowly.

“--so it must be hard to remember everything all at once.” He finished, shooting a glare at the sea-green head on the floor.

“Thanks… I’ll try to remember to write them down next time.” You said, heat rising to your cheeks. How embarrassing.

“No problem, love.”

Taehyung scoffed, folding the emptied box in his arms. “It was a problem last year when I forgot that one time to price a ham sandwich. One time.”

Jimin pursed his luscious lips. “That’s because you’re always doing something you’re not supposed to be.”

Taehyung threw up his hands in mock frustration. “Sue me!”

“Ironic that this is coming from the person who’s supposed to be behind the register.” Yoongi said, reminding his younger that in that moment, he’s the one doing something he’s not supposed to be.

Jimin ignored the remark and sauntered over to your side. He grabbed your hand between his.

“I’ve been dying to know!” He exclaimed, brown eyes sparkling. “How was Japan?”

From within the room, all ears perked up.

Your face fell a little at the question, not wanting to answer it again. “Oh you know… it was good. A great learning experience.”

He picked up on your bypassed tone. “Oh… did something happen?”

Suddenly, flashes of broken bottles, a messy room and red lights flashed through your head. You took a step away from him.

“No. Nothing at all. Like I said, it was great.” You forced a little smile. “My Japanese is pretty good now.”

As if sensing your troubled thoughts, Jimin hummed in disapproval. His face was tinged with concern as he said “If something happened, you can tell us.” Great. An interrogation session was clearly in the making.

Abruptly, Namjoon turned from the bonesaw and shot Jimin a warning look. “Min, if you have time to chit-chat, you have time to help Jin or Hoseok.”

Jimin made a face. “But I’m talking to Y/N. We have so much to catch up on.”

The butcher's shoulders squared in irritation. Running a hand through his silver locks he stopped what he was doing completely. “Go help your hyungs or go back to the register. There’s too many of us back here and hardly any room.”

“No fair! You guys get to spend all day with her, and I have to sit up front all by myself!”

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.” Taehyung waggled his thick brows towards you.

Namjoon pinched his nose and shut his eyes to ease the headache he was getting. “Don’t make me call Jin over here.”

“You’re no fun! I hope you cut your fingers!” Jimin stuck out his tongue. “Seriously, you always cut your fingers. It’s beyond me why Jin hyung trusted you as our butcher” He pointed at the array of band-aids that littered Namjoon’s hands.

“At least I’m helping them out! Someone has to cut the meat around here, and I don’t see you volunteering.”

Jimin turned a little green at the thought. “I’m just saying. Lose a finger and you’ll never be able to properly hold a knife again.”

“Fuck off.”

Jimin’s lip quivered. “When did you become so mean?”

You waved your hands at your two bickering coworkers in an attempt to dissipate the negative aura, wishing someone would come to your rescue. As if on cue, Hoseok’s head appeared through the little aperture between the back office and the deli, arms full of leafy greens.

“Jimin, don’t you have a register to monitor?” He raised an eyebrow.

Jimin bowed his head in defeat, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against the gardener. You felt relief wash over you. “Yes hyung…”

With a quick glance back at you, his little body scuttled away to resume his job. A twang of guilt struck you.

Following suit, you squatted down by the sandwich counter and pulled out rolls of bread from orange crates. You placed them on top of the work surface so that you, Taehyung and Yoongi would be prepared for the next rush of orders. It was a quarter past 3:00.

You thought about Jimin’s question, feeling bad for blowing him off like that. He’d always been so kind to you--warm and welcoming--and right then you felt like a raging bitch.

I wish people would stop asking me that question.

As you were pulling out the last bunches of bread, a blur of ebony and white caught your attention.

“I’m a chef!” Taehyung announced, crouching beside you. Startled, you nearly dropped a sandwich roll.

He adorned the pickle box on his head, indeed looking like he wore a chefs hat made of cardboard. He flashed you a toothy grin.

“The fuck?” Yoongi looked up and sniggered.

Taehyung danced around the deli with the box on his head, not bothering to remove it when the next slew of customers arrived at the counter. He wiggled his hips and sprung about full of energy, causing a mixed reaction from the people up front.

A part of you knew he was trying to cheer you up.

You stifled a snort of amusement. “I wonder about the way your mind works, Tae.”

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Around 3:30, Jin appeared from the office.

“Y/N, can you help me with something?”

You were on the ground with Yoongi, reading over his shoulder as he typed away lyrics passionately on his phone. The market had gone completely quiet, so you had seized the opportunity to bond with him.

Taehyung had gone back to doodling, the cardboard box completely forgotten, and Namjoon disappeared outside about five minutes ago. Probably to smoke.

“Sure.” You said. You stood up and brushed some bread crumbs off your clothes.

“Follow me.”

Jin led you outside past Hoseok’s garden and over to a small freezer-truck parked adjacent to the back of the store. The air looked wavy and greasy as it came up from the ground. The heat hung heavy in the treetops, weighing down the leaves so that the only movement was that of automobiles, pulling out from the parking lot and roaring down the streets. Boiling and humid, it was summer at its most stifling.

Jin took out his keys--no key fob, you noticed, but plenty of keys. Your own keyring had two keys and a fob shaped like a cat. You wondered if your keyring said something about you.

He opened the door. The two of you stepped inside, the plastic flaps of the entryway hitting your face as a waft of cool air pricked the hairs on your skin. There were rows of boxes filled with produce and dairy; a storage unit used for things that weren’t yet needed on the market shelves. Jin stood next to a huddle of large boxes filled to the brim with juicy red strawberries that Hoseok had picked from his garden.

The storekeeper gestured towards them. “I need you to take these strawberries and put them on the top shelf of the walk-in so they can defrost.”

You eyed them closely, wondering why he hadn’t asked Taehyung or Yoongi. They looked pretty weighty but you thought you could handle some considerable lifting.

“Sure. No problem.” You said, bending down to pick one of them up. You were right in your assumptions. They were heavy as fuck.

Jin brushed a perfect strand of ebony hair away from his face, a grateful look graced his delicate features. “Thanks. Hobi has been nagging about it all day.”

“My pleasure.” You smiled.

If you were being completely honest, you’d do practically anything for Jin. Your little crush on your boss was a bit embarrassing, but you’d come to terms with it. Shoulding the box with gusto, you turned to leave.

“Oh, and also.” He stopped you. “I meant to ask. How was Japan?”

You gritted your teeth and swallowed thickly. You hadn’t wanted to lie to Jimin, but you really didn’t want to lie to Jin.

You flashed him a weary smile. “It was awesome.” You fibbed for the third time today.

Jin nodded his head with a knuckle to his chin, less sensitive to your hesitance than Jimin and Hoseok had been. “That’s good to hear. Make any new friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet anyone special?”

“No.”

Jin’s expression changed. Was that a look of relief on his face? You blinked, suspicious that your eyes had played a trick on you. You never thought Jin to be the bashful type, but in that moment he looked particularly shy.

Not pressing any further, Jin put a hand on your elbow and stretched his pretty red lips into a soft smile, eyes glittering. “We really missed you.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession, a peaceful feeling returned to your body.

“I really missed you too.” Fucking freudian slip.

The shopkeeper’s face turned pink. Suddenly wanting to look away, you turned your attention back to the boxes and stared. The box already on your shoulder began to falter since you’d been holding its weight for so long.

Jin followed your eyes and sighed. “Thank you so much. I’d have Jungkook do it, but I already have him making runs to the delivery trucks and bringing those boxes around front.” Ah. It’s delivery day. That explained why you hadn’t seen much of the youngest boy.

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help.”

Although it’s only filled with strawberries, the pressing weight they provided made you breathe hard as you hauled it through the double doors and back into the market. Hoseok looked up from his office chair, a spread of bundled herbs layed out in front of him.

He waved at you with a bunch of rosemary and chuckled brightly. “Need a hand?”

Not wanting to bother him, you shook your head. “Nope! I got it.”

“You sure? That looks heavy.”

“Don’t worry Hobi! I’m stronger than I look!” You tucked the box in the crook of your neck and flexed your bicep.

He eyed you skeptically but nodded nonetheless, resuming his work.

You heaved yourself back into the deli. Sweat threatened to drip down your face as you walked in on Taehyung holding a circular plastic container filled with a curious, salmon-pink substance. What was that boy up to now?

“So… what, exactly, did you put in it?” Yoongi asked. He was bending over the sandwich block watching Taehyung with sick intrigue.

“Potato salad, egg salad, tuna salad, seafood salad, chicken salad, macaroni salad… all the salads!” Taehyung cheered, then paused. “Except for coleslaw.” He shivered in disgust.

Yoongi sighed nonchalantly. “It’s just gonna taste like mayonnaise.”

The boy simply shrugged, spooning a good amount of the mixture into his mouth and looked on in consideration. You and Yoongi gagged simultaneously.

Both boys' eyes snapped to you as they finally took notice of your struggling form. Yoongi’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Taehyung put the container down and smiled at you.

“Hey Y/N, need some help?”

You placed the strawberries on the butcher’s block to catch your breath. “Nah. Seriously, I got this. Just gimme a second.”

“I can do it if you want.” Yoongi said, folding his arms over his chest.

Determined to finish the job by yourself, you raised a hand and waved off the offer. “I can do this.”

“Alright, well, I’ll get the door.” He pushed himself off the counter and turned to open the walk-in.

You hummed in appreciation. Lifting the box again, you hauled both it and yourself through the waiting door. A cold breeze coursed beneath your flesh.

Yoongi held it open, watching you with slitted eyes as you stood on your tippy-toes and tried to place the box on the top shelf. It began to wobble in your hands. You grunted, your arms begging to give and you realized too late that you were too short. The box doubled back and suddenly, you felt yourself go with it. Your heart began to hammer in your chest, dread washed over you as you anticipated your fall.

There was a click of the door shutting closed as two hands shot out from behind you and steadied the box, which consecutively steadied you.

“Careful.” Yoongi warned.

Your eyes widened.

He was really close. His hard pectorals pressed up against you and it was then you realized how strong his body was. You could feel his quickened heart thumping, which only aided in the increase of your own pulse. He smelled like mint.

Your ears burned red despite the cold.

Yoongi helped you push the box onto the top shelf, hands enveloping yours. His fingers were long and elegant, a couple silver rings sheathed around them. You noticed lengthy veins that protruded through his skin and you gulped. Even though the box had already been shelved, he didn’t move away.

“Uh. T-thanks.” You stuttered.

“Yup.”

Finally he backed up and removed his hands. You turned around slowly and met his eyes. Yoongi’s face was equally flushed. After a moment of awkward silence, you found your voice again.

“W-we should… uh… head back out. Jin has more boxes that need to be moved.”

He rubbed his neck and averted his gaze, but nodded slowly.

Together, the two of you soundlessly turned to exit the fridge, anxious to get out of the cold. You willed your heart to slow, feeling embarrassed that you let the moment get to you.

You reached out and grabbed the handle.

Whether it was from your spaztic sensitivity or the way your hands shook, Namjoon’s previous warning had escaped you as you pulled it way too hard.

The handle snapped off and fell to the floor with a rambunctious ‘clang.’ For a long moment you just stared at each other.

“Fuck.”

You and Yoongi were undoubtedly trapped inside.

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Next⤏

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feastofcadavers · 3 years

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Surrounded in the overcoat that Aloe had given him, Mint's trembling hadn't subsided. Even as he was gently guided into the room Sandwich had told them to go into... The fear that the scene had instilled in him shook the poor violinist to his core. So much red... He felt the need to wretch even as the atmosphere became clean. Homely, even. Moving without seeing, lost in his terror-fueled haze, he was gently nudged into a chair and sat at a small table with Aloe kept behind him. Though he wasn't paying attention, he could feel the presence of the other behind him.

"I am sure you are startled, but..." Aloe settled a hand upon Mint's shoulder, attempting to find the right words. The musician laid his head against it, shivering against how cold it was compared to the heat of his panic. It was almost grounding in how much of a difference it was to his system... Almost. "Know this state you are in is not permanent, at least... The fear, that is." Ugh, the researcher wasn't meant for this type of comforting- or any kind for that matter. Though, if they were to think of what Co would do...

Should they? It could be invasive, cause something worse to occur, even spur on thoughts of the past they weren't entirely to trace back to. Then again, it was either this or have Mint get to the point of passing out or having his instincts go wild like them... And the very thought of Mint losing himself got the scientist to huff and close their compound eyes as they gently, and hesitantly, hugged the one that was so utterly shaken.

For the one who received it, the hug was... Something that he couldn't exactly register all too well. Despite how cold the taller happened to be, there was some quality that brought comfort that he hadn't felt in so, so long... Was it a touch that was meant to be something comforting? Secure? Safe? He didn't quite feel safe, but at least it was better than being left with nothing but himself and this coat to cling onto. "No harm will come to us here... So long as we remain calm..." The researcher murmured, voice just above a whisper. A moment, two, three passed before Aloe would remove themself from the other.

There was mainly silence that came over the room, save for Aloe's steps to sit across the quaint wooden table that the two would share. It seemed to be meant for two, as big as the room was. It was almost surreal... Such a warm place behind a gruesome coating of what was the cannibalistic nature the shop owner had. Having a moment of relative calm after such sudden and high amounts of panic were sure to leave some type of daze in the atmosphere...

...one that wouldn't be noted by the slamming open of the door and who else but Sandwich bursting through with her stacked plates of plate, sandwich, plate, sandwich, and Spinny upon her shoulder! Despite how solemn the both of them seemed- including the fear that Mint had due to the door opening so suddenly- Sammy grinned as she swiftly set the sandwiches down before the both of them. To the untrained eye, these sandwiches would look akin to normal meat and cheese sandwiches. Neither would dare ask where the cheese came from for this case.

Mint would silently pick up his sandwich, gaze settling on the white plate beneath it as he would eat the awful substance. His stomach growled quietly with his first bite as if it was reminded of what is required. He was oblivious to his own body's reactions at this point, mind staring sightlessly at the plate that showed his reflection. It was so similar to what it used to be, but the bags under his eyes were more than prominent. Huh... And here he thought he had gotten a good night's sleep. Oh well. At least he can eat in thoughtlessness.

"I certainly hope you two enjoy your meals! If you need, I can get some water for the both of you, too!" Sandwich's whole body tilted to the side as if she was curious about the response she would receive. Though Mint was lost in his head, Aloe quietly nodded as they took their food in one hand. As prim and proper as they are, their eating habits were... Less than that. At least they wouldn't speak with their mouth full. "That would be appreciated. Though before you do so-" Ah, they had caught the slicer before she went out the door. Too eager to serve, wasn't she? "I... I have a few questions about you and that doll of yours..."

"Doll? This is no plushie or anything of the sort! This is Spinny!"

"Right... I have a question about Spinny."

"Go on, then! Anything for a dear cursed customer!"

There was a gentle huff as Aloe would contemplate how to phrase such a question without offending the other party. She seemed in such denial that someone dear to her was gone. Though they couldn't help but admit that in the same situation, they wouldn't consider that someone to be 'gone', either. "So, I assume that something horrid had happened to Spinny, yes? Did it happen to be fatal?"

Sandwich's face twisted into something that had never been seen from her before. Was it disgust? Fear? Something along those lines... But it was quickly shrugged off for that ever-chipper smile and voice pitched for joyousness. "Well, kind of! She was a tasty snack that I was planning on planting for the sake of, ahaha, getting away with things! But this lovely lady offered to help me out of my despair! And repair Spinny into something she could live through again! And all it took was a small part of her and some sweet memories! Truffle is such a sweet lady, I tell ya!" That... most certainly caught the many-eyed scientist's attention. "And she was brought back to life? In this new d-... In this new, cloth-covered form?"

"Mhm!! Spinny is practically as good as new!" The server gently picked up the doll from her shoulder, holding her out in front of Aloe. They could see the little thing squirm, which was followed by Sammy laughing giddily and bringing her back to the shoulder of comfort. "She's super shy, but when alone with me, she acts just as she did before she became a little wacky snacky!" The prospect gave Aloe a glimmer of hope, eyes widening for a moment before they realized that there was likely more than meets the eye. Let the excitement die down before letting disappointment and despair consume them again... Though perhaps there could be some consideration, right?

Aloe let themself take a bite of their sandwich, body feeling a wave of relief over finally being fed properly, before swallowing and following up on the conversation. "So, if you happened to have such an encounter, would you happen to know her location?"

"Oh, of course! In fact, I visit her often! If you'd like to see her, you can even do something for me in exchange!"

"That seems entirely fair... What would that happen to entail, though? I would never accept a deal without knowing both ends of the offer." ...or if they happened to be in a state of desperation, accompanied by a 'this is the only way' mentality. They were lucky not to have such at this very moment, and that the deal would be as calm as it is. "All I ask is that you deliver something for me! I run a special sandwich over to her every other day or so as thanks, so! When you two head out, I'll give you instructions on some slip and a bag full of sandwiches for her!"

"Just a delivery, hmm? Understood. We will accept your offer... It is not as if we have any other means to spend the rest of our time today... Ah, what was the woman's name again?"

"Truffle! The widow! Though- ahaha- don't call her a widow directly unless you call her a spider! She loves those!"

"How fitting for someone sympathetic of us..." Spiders and mosquitos... The relationship between the two of them was glossed over by the researcher as their mind wandered to something far more hopeful. Obliviously faithful, one could say. Such as one could be for someone near and dear... Such as they would be for them... "I accept your offer. Now, ah, you are free to grab us water. Pardon for holding you up."

"No biggie, no biggie! Just enjoy your sammies!! I will be back! Incredibly soon! Faster than juice through a kid's silly straw!!"

#🎻 the court's conflicted #🌵 the rabid researcher #🥦 an adorable snack #🥪 the eccentric slicer #mint choco cookie #aloe cookie #spinach cookie #sandwich cookie #feastofcadavers #📝 written scriptures

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ziaualhaque19 · 3 years

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To clean a meat slicer can be harsh if anyone doesn't do this before. First, you have to arrange essential elements or tools to follow our direction correctly. Once you have found a good conclusion after reading our easy-to-follow guidelines.

By the way, a meat slicer is highly recommended to slash or cut meats as well as cheeses versatile, you know. Not only the household kitchen but most of the groceries, delis, or sandwich shops would like to use this versatile tool.

Now, we are going to mention some realistic steps along with relevant evidence that is extremely important for getting vital all on this matter.

The Essential Things to Clean A Meat Slicer

There are no necessary a ton of elements for washing your fantastic meat slicer. Just you should accumulate some aspects that are below.

Protecting or cut-resistant gloves.

A small brush.

High-quality detergents.

Fresh water in a sprayer.

Sanitizers & air dryer.

Hot water to clean buckets.

Why should you Clean Your Meat Slicer?

Perhaps, you notice that your meat slicer looks awful and unhealthy if you and your staff can't clean it regularly. Alternatively, due to the unclean meat slicer, most of the people have attacked several foodborne diseases, even restaurant staff.

So, to prevent any foodborne infection, every person should have to clean a meat slicer appropriately.

On the other side, as a restaurant owner, if you always try to clean all the kitchen tools and provide great customer service, you are a champion.

Be sure you are capable of receiving encouraging feedback and passing from the report of any health inspectors. So, clean and sanitize the meat slicer regularly after using it.

However, if you desire to get a high-quality meat slicer, you can check the best meat slicer reviews.

Before You Start?

You should follow some instructions when you start to clean your meat slicer. Safety fast, you know. And, a meat slicer is quite dangerous. This is because we mention here some safety tips and tricks.

1.First, for cleaning your meat slicer, you have to wear protective hand gloves because it contains sharper blades as well as other risky components. You will move your hands on the whole of the slicer and deal with the knives for washing. That's why normal gloves are not permitted, cut-resistant gloves are always suitable.

2. Don't plop the meat slicer in the sink or dish machine. Remember, you can't provide pressure on this machine at the time of washing.

3. Even steel wool is not applicable to clean a meat slicer because it may scrape your slicer.

4. Always keep the bucket clean. For washing it, you can use a high-quality rinse or mild detergent. Plus, take hot water to get a good result. Then, sanitize other ingredients.

5. Another important thing is that you should consider the manufacturer guide before starting to clean.

How To Clean A Meat Slicer: Four steps

Meat slicer can be harmful while you go through to clean it without safety or unconsciously. By the way, due to its available use of cutting several foods, bacteria and germs attack directly. For this reason, users should sanitize as well as clean it every four hours.

At this moment, we highly focus on four effective steps that support finding how to clean a meat slicer.

Ready to get launched? Read on!

Preparation

First, switch off and unplug the connection of the machine, ensuring it disabled, Adjust the thickness level to zero.

Next, wear the cut-resistant gloves, separate the removable parts (Food/Product Tray, Baffle Plate/Blade Guard, and Knife Sharpener if any) of the slicer. In this case, follow the manual to separate them.

Note: If your machine has a knife removal tool, it is highly recommended that you should use it. If not, you should be careful while cleaning the blade.

Cleaning the Removable Parts

Keep all the removable parts in the sink water that is mixed with dish detergent for a few minutes and wash them gently. After that, wipe them with a paper towel. And then, spray multipurpose sanitizer and keep them for a few minutes for air dry. Finally, rinse them with fresh water, wipe them with a paper towel, and keep them aside to dry again while you go to your next step.

Clean the Main Part

For cleaning the main part, you need to eliminate the large food particles from the slicer machine with a paper towel. Then spray the dish detergent all around the machine along with the blade of the slicer.

Scrub all the areas such as screws, handles, knob, the front and backside of the blade, and the center hole at the blade using the small brush.

Now, wipe the blade with the scrub pad inside out and gently rub the whole machine all around.

It is time to Insert the clean cloth between the blade and blade guard (if the blade guard cannot be removed) and rub it along the entire backside of the blade to remove residue.

On the whole, use the clean cloth and paper towel to wipe the entire slicer, including the areas you scrubbed earlier.

Importantly mind that to avoid injury you should move from the center going outward while rubbing and wiping the blade. Next, you have to rinse water and clean the entire slicer with fresh and sanitized cloth.

Sanitize on all portions of the meat slicer, ensure sanitizer and keep them a few minutes for air dry.

ultimately, rinse water and clean the entire slicer with another fresh and sanitized cloth. Allow the slicer to air dry.

Finishing the Task

Finally, you can apply a thin coat of cooking oil/food-safe oil to the slicing blade and lubricate where necessary according to the manual. Reassemble the slicer carefully.

Conclusion

As a smart user, you love to wash your meat slicer regularly scheduled. This tool is highly recommended to create designs or shapes, meats, or foods. Cleaning meat slicer ensures a healthy lifestyle.

ultimately, we have mentioned the most important things to provide you flat direction on how to clean a meat slicer.

Now, you are prepared to clean your slicer with confidence. But, if you face more problems, you will communicate with the manufacturer directly.

#kitchen #food mention #meat #meat slicer

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softboywriting · 5 years

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Holding Fire | Shawn Mendes | Firefighter AU

Summary: Shawn is the newest member of Fire Station 15′s crew and he’s a hot one. It’s not long before you and Shawn hit it off and start an amazing new relationship. Will it last or go up in flames? [firefighter au] [slight angst] [fluff]

Word Count: 18k

|Masterlist In Bio|

When you were ten years old you watched your father’s bakery burn to the ground. When you were sixteen years old you watched your house burn to the ground. Now at twenty two you work at the deli across the street from the fire station that responded to both of those fires and saved you and your families lives. Two of the older firefighters and your father's ex coworkers, Mike and Jack, both stayed in contact with you and became like family to you and your sister after your father died when you were nineteen.

The owner of the deli is Mike, now an ex firefighter, and he hired you just after your dad passed away. The deli is nice and small, you have a few tables for eat in guests and you serve sandwiches and breakfast made to order on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It’s a local hang out for a lot of the town’s police officers and firefighters and it really feels like home. You have gotten to know everybody by name, you’ve memorized their orders and you even keep up with their personal lives as they come in and talk about their day while you make their lunches. Nothing ever changed much in your little town, not until you watched Shawn walk through the doors of the deli one day, Fire and Safety Station 15 shirt tight across his chest. That day...well...it was something.

______________

“Has lover boy stopped in yet today?” Mariel, your best friend and colleague asks from where she is wiping down the cutting boards after slicing up some lettuce for the upcoming lunch rush. “I heard he couldn’t stop staring at you the other day.”

“Mariel! That is not true! Who told you that?” you laugh and she just zips her lips. “Oh you’re the worst. But no, he hasn’t come in today. It’s not even lunchtime yet, he’s probably out working.”

“Oh yes, out saving kittens from trees and kissing babies!” Mariel cackles as she heads to the back room to grab some bread to put in the oven. “Oh Shawn, please, come rescue me!”

You turn scarlet and throw a towel at her. “Stop it! You’re so mean!”

“You’re so single. Get his number, or I will.”

“Mariel you wouldn’t.” She raises her eyebrows as if to challenge your statement. “Mare, you better not. You know I like him and that would be-”

Someone clears their throat at the order counter behind you and you turn around to see Shawn standing there with a flushed face and mess of wet curls on his head. “Could I order?” he smiles, biting his lip.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” you splutter, grabbing your order pad and a pen out of your pocket.

“Long enough to know you were arguing about a guy?” Shawn laughs and you let out a sigh. He hadn’t heard his name. Thank god.

You put your pen and pad on the counter and start scribbling down the orders Shawn gives you for the guys at the station. “And what would you like?” you ask, looking up to see he is smiling at you.

“Actually, I’d like you to make me something today. Your favorite?”

“Yeah?” you giggle and he crosses his arms, making that oh so fitted tee pull across his chest. “You think you can handle my favorite?”

Shawn bites his lip and chuckles. “I think I can handle it, just no tuna please. I’m not wild on tuna salad sandwiches.”

“Damn, my favorite is the tuna.”

“Really?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No! No really. Tuna is gross. Alright, one special of the day.” You scribble it down on your order pad and clip it up on the sandwich station. Mariel comes over and helps you to prepare meats on the slicer for the sandwiches while Shawn leans with his arms folded against the high counter where the toppings are all displayed for easy choosing.

“He’s staring at you,” Mariel whispers and you clench your jaw. “I think he is looking at your ass.”

“Mariel, I’m going to slice my hand if you don’t stop distracting me.”

“I’m just saying, he’s staring right over the counter like a love sick puppy dog.”

You turn around to grab a new ham from the cold case under the topping station and you’re met with Shawn staring, just like Mariel said. “Was there something else you needed?” you ask and Shawn shakes his head. “Just curious?”

“Very curious.”

Mariel turns around and grins. “Curious enough to ask for her number?”

Shawn turns bright red and looks between the two of you. “Well I-I really meant I was curious about what kind of sandwich she's making me.”

“It's a special. Don't worry about it,” you smile teasingly and Shawn drops his head against the top of the case. “I know what you like.”

“Damn girl,” Mariel clucks, elbowing your side. “He's gonna turn into a tomato if you keep up that flirting.”

From the counter behind you, you hear a mumbled “too late” and you know it's Shawn still hiding his face in his arms. He was so cute, a grown man but still somehow boyishly cute. Ugh. Perfect.

You prepare Shawn's sandwich the way you like yours on your lunch break. A classic Italian with extra pepperoni, olive moufletta and spicy brown mustard, toasted. You're sure he will love it. He always got the Italian cold or the French dipped roast beef with extra onion and pepper relish. You had to admit, the guy had good taste in sandwiches. Unlike some guys who came in and they looked cute but their plain turkey with American cheese and mayo turned you way off. Bland eats what bland is.

Mariel helps you sack up the sandwiches and label them according to the list Shawn gave you. She spares you any further embarrassment or attempts at flirting and rings him up while you clean up the slicer and building station. That doesn't stop Shawn from saying goodbye, smiling and tucking a ten dollar bill into the tip jar on his way out.

“You gotta get that man tied down,” Mariel says as she watches him jog across the street. “He's too fine to be the one that got away.”

You wipe your hands on your apron and shrug. “Well...I dunno. I'm just a little wary about him. Like where did he come from? We know everyone in town and this mysterious stranger just appears and has an interest in me? I dunno.”

Mariel rolls her eyes. “You're such a weirdo. If you need to know his whole life story why don't you ask him out?”

“I can't! I mean look at him!”

“Look at you! Damn he thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread! Come on girl read the signals, they're saying, date me date me in big flashing red letters!” Mariel flashes her hands out in front of you for emphasis. “Don't. Let. Him. Slip. Away.”

“Okay! Fine. This weekend is the annual firehouse block party. I'll try to talk to him then.”

“You better or else I'm going to find some way to trap you in a room with him so you have no choice.”

“I will. I promise.”

__________________

Station 15’s annual block party was the event of the summer. It was held at the end of August every year rain or shine and always included live music, barbecue, dancing, games, you name it. Ever since you were little you could remember going to it. The real fun started after the kids went home and it was just the adults in the firehouse drinking and shooting the shit with each other. You remember how your dad would always talk for hours with Mike and Jack, sending you and your sister home with the babysitter for the night. It wasn't until you were eighteen that you were allowed to stay, and even then it was mostly older towns people who stuck around.

These days there was a lot more of a younger crowd, people in their twenties like you are. All your friends having come back from college or having already graduated. The party is bigger now, with families growing every year it seemed. You love it, seeing everyone so happy and together. Usually you'd end up playing games with the young kids because they always looped you into their shenanigans, but this year you had a different agenda. One with Shawn written all over it.

“Can I get a whiskey ginger?” You call out to the guy with his back to you at the bar that is set up inside the firehouse garage. He turns and you find it's none other than Shawn.

“Hey,” he beams, smile going ear to ear. “I didn't know if I'd see you tonight.”

“Ah yeah, I come every year. What about you? Why are you bartending?”

Shawn grabs a bottle of whiskey and starts preparing your drink. “Well I volunteered while the actual bartender stepped out to get some more ice. He should be back soon.”

“Do you know what you're doing?” You chuckle as he accidentally pours the soda all over the little wooden countertop.

“Shit,” he mumbles, wiping it up quick. “I do know what I'm doing surprisingly. Bar tending put me through college,” he chuckles, passing you your drink in it's red solo cup.

You raise your eyebrows. A firefighter who was a bartender who possibly has a degree. What kind of dream boat were you dealing with. “That's interesting, what'd you go to college for?”

“Nothing really, I ended up just going to a community college in Ashland for two years before I decided I hated it. A friend of mine got me into the fire academy and here I am.”

“Wow, you like it though? Firefighting?”

Shawn makes himself a whiskey ginger as well and places it next to yours on the counter top. “It has its days but it's generally very rewarding.”

The bartender returns with a bag of ice that he pours into a cooler. You recognize him to be a guy you went to high school with that you're pretty sure your sister dated. You don't want to hash that past out so you grab your drink and lead Shawn over to a couple of lawn chairs set up for the fireworks show.

“How bout you? College?” Shawn asks as he sinks into the chair beside you. He takes a sip and smiles expectantly.

You shake your head. “College wasn't really on the table for me when I graduated. My sister and I had a hard time after our house burnt down when I was in high school. Then not too long after I graduated my dad died so, it just...it was hell for a few years there.”

“Oh, wow. I didn't realize that I had brought up such a sore subject I'm so sorry.”

You take a sip and lean back in your chair. Your dad's passing still hurt, even three years later and it still felt like just a few months ago. You missed him, especially during things like this, things he helped set up in the community. “No, it's fine. It's been three years now. Cait and I are surviving, I've got the deli and my side business. She got married last year and has a kid on the way.”

“Side business?”

“Yeah, I bake. My dad was a great baker, he started late in life after an accident as a firefighter messed up his leg, had his own place and everything. It burned down, but he reopened a year later. When he passed I couldn't run it alone and Cait had already moved out of town and was starting her own life. We closed up and I started work at the deli while baking on the side, mostly catering small events.”

Shawn crosses his arms and just looks at you. In awe of you it would seem. “You've survived two fires? Damn. My story isn't half as interesting.”

“Oh yeah? Spill your guts.”

“Well, I graduated and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. So I took a few classes at the community college just to get some credits out of the way y’know. I picked up bartending with a friend at a bar in downtown Ashland for some extra cash. I did that for about two years before realizing I hated everything about college and the stress caused me ulcers. Another friend of mine had just joined the fire academy and I figured why not? Turned out I was pretty good at saving people.”

“So you never dreamed of being a firefighter? Like as a kid?”

“Nah, never. I wanted to be a doctor but I couldn't commit. Too much responsibility and too many years of school. I guess I just wanted to help people, and this job is just as rewarding and important as being a doctor.”

You glance over and he has his head back, watching the stars appear in the darkening sky overhead. His profile is amazing, strong jaw, perfectly shaped nose and soft lips. He was living art and you're not drunk enough to be admiring him this way. “That's pretty deep,” you say over a sip of your drink. “Do you always pour your heart out to women you like?”

Shawn chuckles as his smile grows wide, a flush on his cheeks. “I don't but I guess you're easy to talk to.”

“Yeah? You're easy to talk to too.”

A loud noise from your left makes you jump and you see a big glowing ball shoot into the air. It's the first firework and it pops, showering the sky with purple and blue light. Shawn downs the rest of his drink and stands, moving his chair right beside you instead of a foot or two away. You don't say anything about the boldness but you like it. He was definitely one worth pursuing.

______________

Sunday. You're still feeling the effects of the block party as you walk to work. You rarely drank enough to get drunk but when you did, whew, you sure did. You and Shawn had ended up meeting up with a couple of the other firefighters and staying up until well after midnight drinking and chatting. It was the most fun you've had in ages and the residual gross body and headache was well worth it.

“So you and hot stuff get together?” Mariel asks as you slip your apron over your head to start the day. “I saw you two in the firehouse drinking and giggling.”

“No,” you chuckle, grabbing some sausage from the fridge to get it started for breakfast. “Shawn walked me home and we parted ways at my doorstep. Like a gentleman.”

“Right but did he kiss you?”

“Mariel, come on! He didn't kiss me. He just said goodnight and went home.”

Mariel snorts. “Do you think he's...”

You sigh and send her a look that could cut glass. “No. I don't think he is gay. He was plenty interested in me and it is not like the time that I read everything completely wrong with William Hannover.” You flip your sausage patty angrily, hitting the flattop with a little more force than necessary with your spatula. Just the idea of going through the embarrassment like you did with William was enough to piss you off. “God, just because he didn't kiss me after one night doesn't mean he's gay. I'll have you know he was-”

Mariel eyes go wide and she mouths “Shawn” and points to the front counter. You turn slowly and Shawn is standing there. He looks like he's just gotten out of the shower, cheeks rosy and hair a little damp and wildly curly on top. His shirt is threatening to rip over his biceps as he puts his arms up on the counter. That must be some damn good cotton stretch fabric. He raises his eyebrows at you. God only knows how long he was standing there but clearly heard you going off.

“Good morning,” he says softly. “And for the record, I am not gay.”

“Oh my God.” You feel like you could just die. Just shrivel up and blow away like a tumbleweed. “I don't think- I mean Mariel just said that because you didn't kiss me...not that you needed to because...fuck.” You put your hand over your flushed face. What a complete ass you've made of yourself. “I've just had a misunderstanding in the past and it's really stupid and-”

“It's okay. I'm not offended or something. I just didn't kiss you because we were drunk, and I don't think anyone should do anything if they're not fully aware and consenting.” Shawn brings his hand up to prop up his chin as he stares at you, smiling around his words. “I actually came by to see if you'd like to go on a date.”

Mariel steps in and grabs the spatula from you. She pushes you toward Shawn with a “I'll worry about the food, go talk to him.”

You walk up to the counter and bite your lip. A date huh? Were you up for that? Maybe. “What kind of date?”

“Dinner? Walk on the beach? Matching tattoos?” He smirks at the last one and you narrow your eyes.

“Dinner is fine. Casual or fancy?”

“Is casual okay? Your choice of restaurant.”

You take a deep breath and smile. “Okay, casual it is. Meet me at The Crab Shack?”

“Tonight or this weekend?”

“This weekend is good. Saturday around six?”

“Perfect. Now, can I get some breakfast or...”

“Oh shit,” you feel around your apron for your order pad. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Shawn laughs. “Take your time, it's a big order. All the guys want something.”

_____________________

Wednesday. You wake up and you just know it's going to be a shitty day. When you look at the calendar and see the date, you know exactly why. It's been a year since you broke up with your ex, Brodie Douglas. Six months you dated him and it seemed serious, you were sure he was gonna be the one you settled down with. Until you caught him in your bed with another girl. It was disgusting. You actually took your mattress to the dump after that and used your savings to buy a new one.

You hadn't seen Brodie since then. The day he left your house he was gone for good. He didn't live in town, he lived closer to Ashland about an hour away. It hurt, still sort of hurt to be honest and every guy since him had been a real flop too. Until Shawn. He actually seemed to have some respect for women and other human beings in general.

You push your thoughts aside, putting the past in the past where it belongs. You had work to do, people to see, a life to live. A life without any assholes in it.

You get in the shower, hot steam filling the bathroom. Your favorite body wash is almost out and you sigh, filling it halfway with hot water and shaking up the remains. That sucked. You definitely didn't want to make a trip into Ashland just to go to the bath and body works. The cab fare alone would dig into your savings. Regular drugstore body wash it would be then.

Midway through soaping up your hair you hear a knock on your front door. You figure if you ignore them they'll probably go away. Besides if it was someone you know then they could text or call you before coming over. You continue washing and the knocking returns.

“Okay fucking really,” you mutter, snatching your towel off the rack and going to the front door. Your hair is dripping wet and there is soap in your left eye. This person better really need something. “Hello?” You ask sharply as you pull open your front door to the cold morning air.

The person on your porch turns and your stomach drops. It's Brodie. His hair has grown out, he looks like he's gained a few pounds and by Gods he's so ugly. Why the fuck were you ever with him? Did he always look like this? Fucking hell.

“Hey, long time no see,” he smiles weakly.

“Goodbye.” You slam the door in his face and flip the lock. This was a joke right? He was going to show up a year later on the day you kicked him out? This had to be some sick joke. What kind of psychopath was he?

“Wait! I need to talk to you!” Brodie yells through the door and you turn to go back to your shower. If he thought you wanted to hear a single word out of his mouth then he was gravely mistaken. “God you're such a bitch!”

You take your time getting ready for work, blow drying your hair and putting on your lotion far slower than you ever would regularly. You want to make sure he is gone before you leave the house. At a quarter till 7 you peek out your front curtains. His car is still parked across the street. The same piece of shit Honda he had before. Great.

You leave the house out the back and jump your neighbors fence to cut across the yards to the intersecting street that lead to the deli. You're sure Brodie is going to notice you haven't left the house and he'll come searching for you eventually, figuring out you snuck out the back. You'd deal with that when you came to it.

Surprisingly work goes smoothly for the most of the morning. You don't mention Brodie to Mariel because you know she will hunt him down and probably knife him. She was there for you after the break up and dealt with the fallout with you. She hated Brodie about as much as you did. It's not until lunch that shit hits the fan.

You're in the middle of making an order for the station that Jeremy called in a little after noon when Brodie appears. You've just finished an italian sub and you look up the see Brodie standing there at the counter.

“Hey, come on, hand me the...” Mariel trails off as she turns to see what was taking you so long. “What the fuck do you want?” She sneers, eyes boring a hole through Brodie and into the back wall.

“I need to talk to you,” Brodie says completely disregarding Mariel's existence. “I wanted to talk about-”

“Yeah I really wanna talk to you after you called me a bitch this morning.”

Mariel steps around in front of you and grabs the lettuce knife out of it's holder on the counter. She rests her arm casually up on the top of the countertop window, knife dangling oh so threateningly. “Listen buddy. If she wanted to talk to you, she'd give you a call. You fucked up, you don't get a second chance.”

“Please I just want to apologise. It wasn't me, I wasn't myself back then or at the house today,” he says, leaning to look past Mariel to where you've turned your back to him.

“Fuck off,” Mariel growls. “Or you're going to be the special of the day.”

“I'm not talking to you bitch,” Brodie sneers at her and pushes off the counter, knocking the tip jar to the ground where it shatters. “I'll see you later then,” he says and he slams the door behind him, the bell chiming harshly throughout the deli.

Marel drops the knife in it's holder and puts her arm around you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears in your eyes. “Thanks. He showed up at the house this morning but I shut the door on him. I knew he'd be back but I just...I just wasn't ready.”

“No no, it's okay. I got your back.”

“Thanks Mare. I hope he gets the hint y'know?”

“Yeah or else.”

_____________

Brodie doesn't get the hint because he's about as thick as an oak door when it comes to reading situations. It's 3pm and you're heading home, watching for Brodie's car as you exit the deli, hand on the pepper spray in your pocket. Not that you think Brodie would try anything but you never know. You're crossing the street toward the fire station when you see him. He's heading toward you on foot as if he had been waiting at the park catty corner to the deli.

You know exactly where to go. The firehouse. All the guys knew you, it would be safer than walking alone with Brodie following you. You keep your eyes locked on the side door to the garage where the trucks are kept. It was always unlocked while the guys were in house. You had delivered sandwiches a few times. You can hear Brodie getting closer, his boots scraping on the pavement behind you.

The door opens just as you get to it and you push past Jeremy, the current station manager. Jeremy mumbles a quiet “What the hell?” But you don't waste time explaining.

Shawn is sitting on one of the old sofas in the living area that is open to the garage and he looks up as you make a bee line for him. He was safe. He would keep Brodie out. You know it. “Hey, what's going on,” he asks and stands up, circling the sofa to meet you.

“I...can you take me home?”

“Yeah, you okay?” Shawn lays his hand on your arm and rubs up to your shoulder. “You look pretty shaken.”

“Was that guy bothering you?” Jeremy asks as he walks into the living area. “I saw him following you and then turn away when you came in.”

You glance over at Jeremy and shake your head. “Yeah, he's nobody. It's fine. I just need a ride.”

“No, was he bothering you?” Shawn asks, stepping past you and heading to the door. “I can go talk to him. No, y'know what, I'm gonna.”

“Shawn don't.” You follow after him but his stride is longer and he is already opening the door. It's half closed by the time you get to it and when you go out you can see Shawn walking across the driveway towards Brodie who's heading back to the park. “Shawn! Stop!”

You jog over just as Shawn reaches Brodie. “Hey, you,” Shawn barks and Brodie turns around.

You grab Shawn's arm and pull him but it's no use. He's far bigger than you in every way. There is no way you can hold him back, he's over six feet of basically pure muscle. His arm flexes under your grip and you can't help but squeeze tighter. “Shawn, please.”

“The fuck do you want dude?” Brodie asks, eyes going to you and then to your hands around Shawn's arm, and finally to Shawn's face.

“You better leave her alone, and stop following girls home.”

Brodie scoffs. “I wasn't following her home. I just need to discuss some private business with her.”

“Yeah, that seems like it would have been a very one sided conversation if she came to the firehouse to get away from you.”

“Who the fuck are you anyway? Her fuckin body guard?”

“Brodie, just go away. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to hear anything you have to say. We're done, it's over. It's been a year, move on dude. I have.” You step back so you're more behind Shawn. For some reason you're very uncomfortable with Brodie. Something about him wasn't right.

Brodie clicks his tongue and lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh I see what this is. He's your boyfriend right? Got yourself a firefighter in case your house burns down again?”

That hurt. Like a punch to the gut. You don't have time to snap back at him because Shawn's arm is pulling away from yours and colliding with his face. The sound is sickening and you're sure Brodie's nose is broken. He drops like a sack of potatoes, crumpling to his knees on the pavement holding his face.

“Let's go,” Shawn says, shaking his hand out and putting his arm around you to walk you away. “I'll drive you home.”

“You hit him, Shawn, you just punched him!”

“Yeah because he was being an asshole. Don't act like you didn't think about doing it yourself.”

You try to look back, not out of concern, but out of curiosity. Shawn turns your head back forwards and keeps walking you toward his truck parked in the stations lot. “Is he going to be okay?”

Shawn shrugs. “Listen,” he stops with you by the passenger side of the truck. “If you wanna go back and see if he's okay, be my guest. Somehow I really don't think you're going to though. Now can you get in the truck so I can take you home?”

You look back and Brodie is still on the ground. Fuck no you weren't going to go over there. He was an asshole and frankly Shawn was right. You had thought about punching him in his stupid face since the day you found him cheating. Yeah your punch probably would not have done nearly as much damage and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't just as gratifying to have Shawn punch him for you. Maybe he'd get the hint now.

Shawn clicks to unlock his truck on his key fob and you open the door to climb up and in. It's really nice, clean inside like it was new and big. Fitting for a guys Shawn's size. Somehow you don't think it's an overcompensation thing. Shawn gets in and starts it up, pulling out of the lot and passing Brodie who is now up and heading toward the park again. You get just barely a glimpse but you could tell his face is a gruesome scene. Suits him. The ugly prick.

Shawn drops you off, walking you up to your door and making sure you get inside okay. You highly doubt that Brodie would come after you for any reason but honestly you couldn't be one hundred percent sure. He seemed to have snapped and lost his mind in the last year.

“You sure you're gonna be okay? I can stay a while just in case,” Shawn says leaning against the doorway. “I don't mind.”

“No, it's fine. I don't think he's going to bother me anymore. If he shows up I'll call the cops.”

“Yeah, good idea. But just in case I'll give you my number.”

You raise your eyebrows. He was slick. Just working that number exchange right in there like that. “Alright, okay,” you smile, shaking your head as you pull out your phone and he tells you his number. “I'll text you if I need you.”

“What's your number?” He asks, pulling his own phone out of his cargo pocket.

You shake your head. “I'll text you if I need you. Then you'll get my number.”

Shawn smiles, chuckling just a little. He thought he was slick, well, you were slicker. “Alright then. I see how it is. Well, have a good night. Be safe.”

“Yes sir,” you murmur with a little salute as you grab the door and close it with a goodnight. Letting him in was tempting but you think maybe you oughta have a first date before he gets to see the inside of your place. You'd learned your lesson about diving head first into relationships already.

___________________

Saturday. You're sitting on a bench outside the crab shack waiting for Shawn to show up. It's a calm night, breezy and a little chilly. Enough to warrant a light jacket. You mentally note to ask for a inside table and not one on the deck. The restaurant is fairly busy, Saturday night being a popular date and family night apparently. You're not too surprised though. You used to work weekends bussing tables here in high school for about a year before things went to shit with your house and your dad falling ill.

You sigh, looking up at the big decorative crab that held onto the sign over the front doors. As a kid you always begged your dad to lift you up to touch it. It wasn't until you were eight that you ever actually reached it. How satisfying that day was.

“Hey.”

You turn and look to see who's calling out and you see Shawn walking up in a pair of jeans and a nice sweater. “Oh, hey, you made it.”

“Of course I did. Whatcha looking at?” He asks, nodding toward the sign.

“Oh nothing. Just the crab. I used to beg my dad to lift me up to touch it.” You chuckle at how ridiculous that sounds now. “Come on, let's go inside.”

Shawn lets you lead the way along the sidewalk and up to the doors. As you approach the doors a pair of hands wrap around your waist and suddenly you're being lifted up. You let out a shriek and you hear Shawn laughing.

“Touch the crab!” He says, hardly audible through his laughter.

You reach out and touch the lowest dangling leg and he brings you down quickly. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Oh you know you wanted to touch the crab.”

You smack his chest and he giggles, jumping back to avoid further assault. “Okay, okay I'll warn you next time.”

“Oh so you think there's gonna be a next time?”

“A guy can hope right?”

“Right,” you roll your eyes and walk into the restaurant, Shawn hot on your heels.

The two of you are seated right away in a booth that had a window out to the deck. You chat a little bit about how the firehouse is pretty slow and Shawn mostly naps all day or works out. The waiter comes and takes your orders. You get a burger with a side salad and Shawn gets the shrimp linguine. He makes fun of you for not getting seafood at the seafood restaurant but it's all in good fun. You both know the burgers are just as killer as the seafood and he really can't blame you.

“So, how'd you end up here?” You ask, sipping on your strawberry lemonade.

“The firehouse was looking to hire on a few guys and I was looking to get a job.”

“So you grew up in Ashland?”

Shawn shakes his head. “No, I grew up in Benton. I just went to the community college in Ashland.”

“Benton? The farm town?”

“Yeah, my parents are soybean farmers. I am a farm kid,” he chuckles, looking out the window. “What a shocker I know.”

“Not really. You definitely aren't like any of the guys from the city I've ever known. I guess you were probably raised better than a lot of them though.”

“I dunno. I mean my parents instilled a lot of values into me as a kid, but I got into my fair share of trouble and I had my less than graceful moments growing up.”

You shrug. “I think we all have had our moments in our youth, it's whether or not you learn from them and grow up that matters.”

“You're right, that's a good way of putting it. Damn did I learn some hard lessons though. What about you? Are you from here?”

“Yep. Born and raised here. My parents were both bakers, my mom passed away shortly after I was born so I never really knew her.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, no it's fine,” you pause, stirring your lemonade. “Cait, my sister, was like a mom to me growing up. Well, as motherly as she could be. She's only five years older.”

“You said your parents were bakers, that's what you like to do too right?”

“Yeah. I have all my dad's recipes and I'd love to have my own place one day but that's a far off dream. For now I just cater small events and I have a Facebook page.”

The food arrives and your conversation slows as you eat but quickly picks back up as you start discussing the food and trying each other's meals. Shawn tells you about the first time he came to the crab shack with the guys from the station. They ordered two crab boils and ate out on the deck on the long party tables. You'd done it once before for Mike’s birthday a few years back.

The night dwindles down and your pack up what's left of your burger and a few of Shawn's shrimps that he saved for you. He pays, refusing to show you the bill and saying don't worry about it even though you insisted on splitting the cost.

Shawn drives you home, walking you to your door like he had done each time he had taken you home before. This time though you don't go inside right away, you linger on the porch.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You're welcome, I hope you had fun. I know I did.”

“It was great. And thanks again, y'know for the other day with Brodie.”

Shawn crosses his arms and chuckles, looking down as he kicks the toes of his boots against your doormat. “Of course. Anytime. I don't mind punching a douchebag.”

“Fuck, oh my god no!” You laugh, pushing his shoulder. “I meant thank you for being there for me in general. I don't want you punching people.”

“Right, right. But you kinda liked it, I know you did because you had a little triumphant smile on your face the whole way home afterwards.” He reaches out and pinches your cheek. “Just a cute little smirk right here.”

“Quit it!” You giggle, batting at his arm.

He flattens his hand and cups your jaw, instantly changing the whole mood from playful to intimate. His fingers brush against the nape of your neck, thumb smoothing over the little chicken pox scar on your cheek from when you were very little. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says quietly, stepping closer so there's but a few inches between you.

“You're not too bad yourself.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Shawn asks, eyes heavy on your lips.

You give a little nod and he leans in. His lips are soft against yours and he caresses the back of your head. It's easily the tenderest kiss you've ever received and it leaves you a little speechless.

“Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow.”

You nod numbly, the feeling of his lips lingering as he steps off the porch. He crosses the yard and gets into his truck. You're left there, nerves memorizing the feel of his hand in your hair, his palm on your cheek, his lips on your lips. You never want to snap out of it, you want to stay like this forever.

______________________

For the next few days Shawn stops in for meals for the firehouse. He always chats a bit, making you giggle and flush. Mariel loves to tease you endlessly when he leaves but you can't care because he makes you so happy. Shawn hasn't mentioned a second date yet and you don't want to bring it up in case he doesn't want to, though you're sure he does. You suspect he may be giving you space after the Brodie incident.

You have an event to cater on Thursday. A baby shower in town for your ex coworker Cara. She has asked for three dozen baby boot shaped cookies in blue icing and a small cake with blue iced middle an a white outside. A classic gender reveal cake. You start work on Tuesday so you can be ready to go on Wednesday evening. It's a fairly simple order.

Thursday after work you head to the party, driving Mariel's car to transport the baked goods safely. You arrive and the mother to be, Cara, is elated with the cookies and cake. She helps you set up the cake on a stand and get the cookies into a little box she had on hand to keep them a secret until the reveal.

You're on the deck outback talking to an old friend from high school when you hear a familiar voice. Shawn. You turn and look through a small crowd of people and see him, towering over everyone by the sliding glass doors. He is hugging Cara, and holds up a little bag with a bow on it. So he knows Cara, small world.

“Hey you,” Shawn grins, catching your eye and walking over after greeting Cara. “What're you doing here?”

“I could ask the same.”

“Cara is my cousin.”

“Ohh. I know her because she used to work at the deli. Wow such a small world.”

Shawn chuckles. “Very small. Can I get you a drink?”

“I'm good. Thanks though. How's work been? I know you said you had a call on Monday and that's why you didn't come in for lunch.”

“Yeah, it wasn't much. Just some punk kids setting fire in a trash can at the high school. Everything was fine.” Shawn follows you as you walk into the house because Cara is gathering everyone around for cake and cookies before starting the baby shower games. “How bout you?”

“Usual, work and then going home.”

“No word from Brodie?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. I think he got the message to leave me alone.” You take a seat on a stool in the kitchen while everyone gathers around Cara at the table in the attached dining area. “Have you been keeping your distance because of Brodie?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows. “I've been keeping my distance?”

You shrug.

“Is this because I haven't asked you out again? Because Brodie has nothing to do with that. I promise I want to go out again but I've been covering Ryan's over nights at the station. His wife is sick and I volunteered to help him out.”

“You've been working twenty four hours?”

“More like seventy two hours almost. I got this evening off since Ryan wasn't scheduled.”

“You are gonna crash. I know you can take naps at the station but still, it's not good sleep.” You lay your hand on his arm. “Promise me you'll get some rest tonight?”

“I promise I will. Are you free Friday night?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Meet me at the station around eight?”

You raise your eyebrows and he looks away as the group around the table cheer in congratulations for Cara. James, Cara's husband, calls Shawn over and he walks away to give Cara a hug and congratulate her as well. You watch as he snags a cookie from the box on the table and grins at you, holding it up before taking big bite while James talks to him about something. You roll your eyes. You were definitely going to go on the date with him, even if it was just hanging out at the firehouse. You liked Shawn that much, you could just watch TV with him. Damn. He was getting to you.

_____________

Friday night. You have no idea what to expect as you walk up to the firehouse. Shawn's truck is in the lot and so is Jeremy and Max's. Three meant that was the whole overnight crew. Had Shawn forgotten about your date? You open the side door of the firehouse and walk into the darkened garage toward the living area. It's quiet, no one around and you can feel your heart sink.

“Hey, you're early,” Shawn says, appearing from a doorway to your right. “I was just coming to meet you outside.”

“Oh, are we leaving? Aren't you on the night shift?”

Shawn chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. His shirt strains across his chest and you can't help but bite your lip. “I am on the night shift. I hoped we could stay in and have our date here?”

“Here? But aren't the guys here?”

“They're asleep in the bunks upstairs. I promise we won't be bothered.”

“And what are we doing?”

“Well,” Shawn steps back through the doorway and you follow him. He leads you into the small station kitchen and you can see all the basics for baking laid out on the counter tops. “I thought maybe we could bake together. Or more of you teach me how to bake.”

You grin. A baking date might just be the best thing you'd ever heard of. Shawn was truly a man after your heart. You circle around the center island and touch the bag of flour, chocolate chips, sugar and mini cupcake liners. “So do you want cupcakes or muffins?”

Shawn walks around to meet you and he's holding two aprons in his hand. “Muffins. They're my favorite cheat day food.”

You slide the apron on over your head and look down. It has a little muffin picture glued on to a felt heart. It's cute and you're pretty sure it's hand made. “Did you make this?” You giggle, smoothing your hand over the front of yourself.

“I did. I thought it was cute and you'd like it.” Shawn puts his apron on and his has a matching design. “Now, how bout those muffins?”

Shawn doesn't pay attention to half of what you say as you make the muffins. He tries so hard, he really does and you can tell. His focus is mostly on you, telling you how cute you are and how you're so good at this because you can do it without a recipe.

Every time you ask for him to measure something for you he asks what cup that is. You're pretty sure he has never baked a day in his life let alone used a measuring cup or measuring spoons. How he survived this long you'll never know.

“Shawn, have you not cooked before?” You ask with a giggle as you swat his hand away from the chocolate chips you're measuring.

“I cook all the time. I just don't bake. I don't measure anything other than rice or like liquids.” He leans against your back and tries to sneak his hand around to steal chips. He thinks he's slick. “Let me have some!”

“No!” You giggle and jerk the cup of chips away from his hand. You end up spilling them mostly in the bowl. “Oh you better stop.”

“Or what?” He asks against your ear. His voice sends shivers down your spine. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

“I won't make your muffins.”

Shawn's hands slide around your front and up your stomach. “Just one chocolate chip. Just a little tiny one.”

“Fine.” You grab exactly one chocolate chip and hold it up.

He leans over, pressing you into the counter with his chest and waist slotted firmly against your back. He closes his mouth around your fingers and takes the chip. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your ear, kissing it tenderly.

“You're welcome,” you whisper though you're very much alone in the kitchen with him.

Shawn pulls away, turning to grab the muffin tins off the island counter and the tension is broken just like that. He oils the pans just like you reminded him to earlier because the liners he bought were for a mini pan and he had a regular size pan. You can't help but watch as he carefully wipes each cup with an oiled paper towel, deliberately coating every inch of the metal. Something about him being so focused, so interested in baking, makes your heart flutter.

You turn your focus back to the batter. There was no time to be getting caught up in your feelings yet. This was only the second date. “Are you ready for the batter?”

“Yes ma'am,” Shawn grins, holding up his oiled pan. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Yes,” you chuckle. “I promise I won't make you eat muffins that are scraped out of the tin.”

“I mean I'd still enjoy them, but yeah it's a little easier when they're whole.”

“Okay, put them in the oven for twenty minutes and then we'll be set.”

Shawn carries the pan to the preheated oven and puts it in. “So, what do we want to do while these cook?” He grabs a handful of chocolate chips off the bowl on the counter and shoves it in his mouth. “We have movies.”

“You don't have a plan?”

“Well...ah...” He rubs his neck. “I suck at planning?”

“Obviously.” You walk towards him, hand raised to wipe a smear of chocolate chip on his lip. “You got some chocolate. Hold still.” You wipe it with your thumb but it just smears it. You can't help but stare at his soft pink plush looking lips. They're so kissable, so not chapped and ready for you to lean in and taste.

“Did you get it?”

“Quit talking.” You try again and it almost all comes off. “Hold still there's a little bit left.”

Shawn raises his arm and wipes it on his hand. “Better?”

“Worse!” You let out a laugh and he looks helpless. “I think you had some on your hand!”

“You're gonna have to lick it off.”

“Oh no I'm not.”

“Oh?” He steps closer, backing you against the island. “So you don't want to kiss me? That's not why you were staring at my lips, mouth parting, tongue peaking out to wet them...”

“Shut up.” You lean up and kiss him, licking the chocolate off his lip and smiling in the process. His lips were just as sweet and soft as you imagined.

Shawn brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “Knew you wanted to.”

“You talk too much.”

Shawn grins and presses his lips to yours once more. The kiss grows heated and intense. His hand find your hips, yours find his hair and back. You lick into his mouth and he responds just as eagerly.

You're so lost in each other that you don't hear someone walk in. You don't even know they're there until you hear, “In the kitchen? Come on.”

Shawn turns his head, eyeing the intruder. You look too, cheeks hot with embarrassment. In the doorway is Jeremy.

“I don't want to know. I just want a water bottle and one of whatever you're making when they're done.”

“Of course, yeah,” you say with a nervous little laugh.

Jeremy grabs his water and mutters something about damn kids these days. As soon as he's out of sight you raise your eyebrows at Shawn.

“They were asleep, I promise.” Shawn pleads. “I'm sorry I embarrassed you.”

“It's okay, I'm not that embarrassed. We were just kissing. But since he is up now, maybe we should keep it a little more low key?”

“Yeah,” Shawn chuckles. “I'll grab some cards if you're up for a few games?”

“Sure.”

The rest of the night you and Shawn play cards in the kitchen, eat muffins and just talk about all sorts of stuff. He asks about Brodie but you're not too keen on rehashing that past quite yet. You ask him about his parents and what they think of him becoming a firefighter and not taking over the farm. They're actually very proud of him and never expected him to work the farm if he wasn't interested. They were very supportive of him. The night winds down and you're stuffed with enough muffins and decaf coffee to gain a few pounds. Shawn offers to take you home and you accept, taking one last muffin for the road.

________________

“So what's new?” You ask Cait as you walk around your room looking for something to wear on another date with Shawn this coming weekend. He had stopped by the deli on Monday and asked you to go to the beach with him.

“Oh not much, just bedridden and seriously fat,” Cait laughs.

“Oh quit it. You're not fat. The baby is probably fat.”

“You're right on that one. Adam is a big guy, I'd be shocked if this baby was less than seven or eight pounds.”

“So you're due any day huh?”

Cait shuffles around and you're pretty sure she drop the phone for a second. “Any day now. I insisted on not being admitted early because of the bills. I'm beginning to regret that though. This little bugger is killing my back.”

“I bet. Have you picked a name yet?”

“Not yet. We're torn between Nathaniel and Andrew.”

You put your phone on speaker and grab a dress out of your closet. It's a nice simple black A-line. Maybe not too beachy. “Why not use one as a middle name?”

“I'm using dad's name for his middle name. Besides, I'm partial on Nathaniel. It works best with dad's name.”

“You're right. Definitely go with Nathaniel.”

“Duely noted. What about you? How has things been with the firefighter guy?”

You smile to yourself. Was perfect enough of a descriptor? An absolute dream? No. You sound crazy. Shawn was nice and good but he wasn't quite prince charming. Yet. “It's going really well. We have another date this weekend.”

“I Facebook stalked him, he seems like a real genuine guy. What does he like?”

“He likes books and food. I know he likes working out and he definitely has a soft spot for dogs I think. Every time Mr. Peter's walks his dog by the deli, Shawn stares like he wants to pet him so badly.”

Cait laughs. “If he pets that dog he will lose a hand! Remember when it chased us home from the park one time?”

“Oh my God I forgot about that. Damn that dog is old as hell.”

“Probably a real hellhound if you ask me.”

“Cait! Be nice.”

Cait scoffs. You can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Anyway, Shawn sounds like a good guy. I hope he works out for you, God knows you need it.”

“Are you saying I'm hopeless?”

“Your usual taste in men could be better.”

You roll your eyes as you reach for your next dress in the closet. Too fancy for the beach. Jeans and a tee were looking to be the best option right now.

“Are you still planning on coming to the hospital with me?” Cait asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Of course. Mike knows when I get the text from you that I need to go.”

“Awesome. I can't wait to see you. I'm gonna hang up now though, I have to pee and I think I need a snack. Talk to you later, love you.”

“Love you too sis. Bye.”

_________________

It's just before midnight when you wake up to the smell of smoke. It's all too familiar and strikes a deep fear into you immediately. You jump out of bed and look around, there is no smoke in the house. For a split second you think it must be a nightmare, your brain playing tricks on you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You circle your house, taking a walk from your bedroom to the living room and ending in the kitchen. That's when you smell it again. The unmistakable smell of burning. It's coming from the open window in the kitchen. You turn and look to the front door, sure enough there are lights flashing, blurry from your curtains. The sound of sirens suddenly blaring in your ears.

You grab your robe and pull it on, heading for the front door to see what is on fire and where. The moment you step outside it's apparent where the smoke is coming from. One house down in your row of houses, there is black clouds billowing from the front window. The other neighbors are all in their front yards too and four of the firefighters are approaching the house.

One of the crew pulls away and starts jogging across the yards toward you. He pulls his helmet off and you see it's Shawn. In seconds he wraps his arms around you, the bulky gear rough against your exposed skin.

“Oh thank God it's not you.” He says desperately as he squeezes you tighter, face in your hair.

“What's going on? Of course I'm okay.”

“I saw the address and my stomach sank. I thought you were in danger, I thought I was going to lose you.” He pulls back and cups your face with his gloved hands. “But you're okay.”

You hold his arms and lean up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Yes I'm fine. Go do your job.”

Shawn looks back and two of the guys are walking out of the house carrying fire extinguishers. The owner, an elderly lady, is sitting in her lawn chair just shaking her head. “I think they've got it handled.”

You cup Shawn's cheek and he looks back to you. “Go. I'm fine.”

“Yeah...you're right. You're sure though? Are you feeling okay? I know the fire probably stresses you out.”

“I'm fine. The panic has passed. As much as I'd love to keep you as my emotional support firefighter, I'm sure Jeremy probably wants you with them.”

Shawn chuckles and kisses your cheek. “Tell your neighbors not to scare me half to death again. I dunno if my heart can take it.”

“I'll be sure to do that. Go on,” you shoo him away and he walks backwards, hand in yours until your arm is stretched out to just your fingertips touching.

“Good night,” Shawn says and you let your fingertips slip from his glove.

“Good night Shawn.” You grin and wrap your robe tight around yourself as you head inside to get some sleep.

________________

“Order up!” Mariel yells, passing you a sandwich to ring up.

You punch in the cost and turn to grab a bag of chips from the rack behind you. Your phone buzzes on the shelf under the counter and you spare a glance, obviously too busy to pick it up. It was probably just a telemarketer anyway. Or maybe Shawn making plans since your date the weekend before was amazing. You had taken him for sushi in Ashland and he loved it.

“Alright, that's ten dollars. Would like to add any extras today? A cookie or a drink?” you ask and the customer shakes his head and slides his card.

Your phone buzzes again and this time Mariel steps in and says you should answer it. You grab it and walk over to the side counter. The screen shows an unknown number and you roll your eyes before clicking answer. “Hello?”

“Oh thank God, it's Adam. I'm at the hospital with Cait. Something happened and I can't explain. She's okay but we need you here. She is freaking out.”

“Adam what happened? Is she in labor? What's going on?” You ask frantically, already pulling your apron off as you head for the front door. You glance back at Mariel and she just waves you off. “Adam, what is going on?”

“Cait fell, I don't know how. She called she was taken in an ambulance. They said she is okay but they're doing an ultrasound now. I have to hurry up, I'm using a pay phone outside and I'm out of change. We're at Berkin Ho-” The phone cuts off and the line beeps.

Your stomach churns. You have no idea how you're going to get to Berkin hospital. It's over half an hour drive and you're not really up for trying to find a car and drive there. You pull up the cab services number and as you hit dial, you see Shawn walk out of the firehouse and unlock his truck.

“Shawn,” you mutter desperately. You jog across the street and he looks up with a smile when he sees you. “Shawn, can you take me to Berkin Hospital? Please I'll give you anything you want, I'll owe you a thousand muffins. Please.”

“Whoa hey are you okay?” He asks, circling the front of the truck to hold your arms, eyes scanning you for injury. “What happened?”

“It's not me. It's my sister. She's pregnant...she fell or something I don't know,” you're sobbing, body shaking like a leaf. “Her husband called from a pay phone and he sounded scared and he said Cait is freaking out.”

Shawn pulls you into a quick hug. “Let's go, you need to be there.”

________________

By the time you get to the hospital Cait has just been taken in for a C-section. Adam is in the hall beyond the emergency waiting area and he comes out to explain what happened. He says that Cait said she was going to the kitchen for water when Boo, their cat, got under her feet and she fell backwards onto her butt. Her water broke and she called emergency services, and then him in the ambulance. The doctor recommended a C-section because he is afraid of something having happened in the fall, the baby getting jarred a little harshly, and he doesn't want to wait until Cait is fully dilated in the event there is injury. Cait agreed and decided to have a C-section now, but they're in prep and waiting for her doctor to show up.

You turn to Shawn as Adam walks back through the door to the emergency wing, intending for you to follow him. “You can go home. I'm okay, thanks for bringing me.”

“Can I stay? I really don't have anything going on at home and you look like you could use some company.”

“Uh yeah, sure. Come on.” You lead Shawn through the doors and into the small room where Adam is sitting. “Hey, Adam. Do you mind if Shawn stays?”

Adam looks up from his phone. His eyes are red, he's been crying and you can just now see it in the bright lights of the sterile room. “No, that's fine. He's your boyfriend right? Cait told me you were seeing someone.”

“Ah, yeah. He's my,” you glance over to Shawn and he's trying to hide a smile but failing. “He's my friend. We've gone out a few times. It's whatever.”

Adam looks between the two of you with a half smile. “Me and Cait were just friends too.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, shoving Adam. “Hey, I thought your phone was dead.”

Adam holds it up on a bright purple cord that attached to a wall charger. “One of the nurses got a cord from a lady up in the ICU for me.”

“Oh, that's good.” You look around the small room and lean against the wall awkwardly. There was only one guest chair and Adam was sitting in it.

Shawn picks up on the situation and clears his throat. “Anyone want some food? I can swing by the cafeteria while we wait.”

“No thanks man. I'm not hungry, too nervous,” Adam says and turns back to his phone.

You nod, knowing Shawn probably hasn't eaten in a while. “Yeah, I should eat something. I don't feel like it really but I haven't eaten since breakfast.”

Shawn puts his arm around you and leads you into the hall. “I know my way around here pretty well, and I have a discount at the cafeteria.”

“Yeah? Work brings you here?”

“Not always,” Shawn chuckles. “Not always.”

________________

Shawn tells you to get whatever you want as he stands in line at the hot bar. You look around at the selection on the soup and salad bar and decide to just get a small salad and crackers. You meet up with Shawn at the register and he has a tray loaded with food. He shows some sort of ID badge and the cashier scans it before he pays.

“So firefighters get a discount here?” You ask as you dress your salad. “Or are you just special?”

Shawn chuckles. “All emergency service personnel gets a discount here. But I am special too.”

You roll your eyes. “Special huh?”

“Yeah, I was admitted here as a kid. I spent like three weeks in the ICU while they figured out what was wrong with me. Turned out my appendix had attached itself to my muscle tissue and was inflamed to nearly ten times it's size.”

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Shawn chuckles over a bite of his chicken sandwich. “Yeah of course. The appendix is pointless anyway, but it was hell for the doctors to get it off the muscle wall without it bursting. I've got a scar now but it's not too bad.”

“Damn. You're lucky then I guess.”

“Very lucky. Wanna see the scar?” Shawn stands up and tugs his shirt up for you to see. It's pale pink, about the length of your index finger and right along the V of his hip to his lower stomach. “It's faded a lot now.”

“That's big. Did they take any of the muscle with it?”

Shawn plops back down and sticks some fries in his mouth, shaking his head. “Nah. The doctor was really good. But anyway, how about you? Any crazy medical stories?”

“No,” you laugh softly. “I was a healthy non reckless kid.”

“That's no fun. No broken bones? Toys stuck where they shouldn't be?”

“No, oh my God. My dad kept an eye on me and so did Cait.” You push your salad around on the plate, momentarily lost in thought. “Cait is gonna be a good mom.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Mmhmm. I'm glad her and Adam finally got pregnant. They've been trying for ages. She deserves it y'know? After all we've been through, she deserves a happy ending.”

Shawn bumps his water bottle against yours and you look up from where you've spaced out, staring into the depths of your salad bowl. “You deserve it too. Don't forget that.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Yeah I guess so.”

________________

You and Shawn talk a little longer, mostly about family stuff and some crazy childhood stories. Most of his make you wonder how he's even alive still, but you conclude he must just be extremely lucky. Adam texts you and says the doctors are taking Cait to a room to recover and he gives you the floor and room number. You and Shawn wrap up and head for the elevators to get upstairs. Cait would want to see you no doubt.

“So do they know what the gender is yet?” Shawn asks as he leans forward, holding the door open for a nurse who was jogging to catch it.

“Yeah, it's a boy. I just hope they settled on a name.”

“Shawn?” The nurse asks as the doors close softly.

“Uh yeah?” Shawn tilts his head, looking her over as if trying to figure out how she knew his name.

“Darcy, from the emergency responders luncheon two years ago?” The nurse says, grinning.

Shawn shakes his head. “I'm sorry, I don't recall. Did we sit together or...”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

You give Shawn a look and he just kinda deadpans.

“I'm really sorry. I must have been out of it.”

Darcy scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah obviously. You'd had a few but I didn't think you were smashed enough to forget me.”

Shawn turns scarlet. His eyes go wide and you have a feeling he remembers exactly who Darcy is now. He remains silent until her floor dings and she gets off, leaving you with Shawn alone in an awkward silence.

“She sounded upset. What was that about?”

“Listen, I was a jerk a few years ago. Brand new firefighter with cockiness to spare. Believe me. I was a douchebag. She probably should have slapped me.”

You let out a low whistle as the doors open on your floor and the two of you step out. “So I should be careful huh?”

“I grew up. I promise.”

“Mmhmm.”

You get to Cait's room and she is overjoyed to see you. The baby is sleeping on her chest, so small and fragile, only five pounds she says. His name is Nathaniel. You introduce Shawn and explain that he brought you to the hospital, and he's the one that you'd told her about on the phone. Cait plays it off like she didn't recognize him immediately from her Facebook creeping. After a while of visiting you get to hold the baby while Cait rests.

Shawn looks like he's going to die when you glance over to where he's sitting in one of the guest chairs. He just stares at you while you're cuddling this little tiny bundle of baby and blankets in your arms.

“Do you want to hold him?” You grin and he looks terrified.

“I don't know. I probably shouldn't.”

You stand and walk over to where Shawn is sitting and you carefully pass Nathaniel to him. He cuddles him against his chest awkwardly, arms huge in comparison. “It's not too hard. See, he fits right in your arm there.”

“He's so small.” Shawn boops the baby's nose. “I always wanted kids one day. But when they're this tiny I'm nervous I'll break them.”

“They're more resilient than you might think.”

Shawn pets back Nathaniel's little bit of sparse dark hair. He looks so soft, so natural holding a baby like this. It makes you smile, and gives you a strange butterfly like feeling in your stomach. Shawn with kids is a little too much for you to dream of but you'd be damned if you weren't.

“You're still here?” Cait asks sleepily from the bed.

“Yeah, Adam is on his way back now. I figured we would stay until he got here.”

As if on cue, Adam walks in with Cait's over night bag. You help Shawn put Nathaniel into his bassinet and give Cait a hug. You say your goodbyes and promise to visit as soon as she's is home and feeling up to visitors. Shawn drives you home, leaving you with a chaste kiss and plans to meet up after work tomorrow evening.

________________

It is just after four in the afternoon a week later and you sit outside the deli waiting for Shawn to get off work. You check your phone, scrolling through social media and chatting with some people who messaged you. Before you know it half an hour has passed and still Shawn hasn't come out of the firehouse. You don't want to seem like that annoying girl but he made plans and wasn't even replying to your texts.

You cross the street and knock on the door. No answer. You try the handle and it's locked. They must be out on a call. You feel kinda bad now, not even thinking about the possibility of him actually working late. You had just gotten used to them not getting called out very much recently.

You decide to walk home, maybe stop by the minimart on the way to grab some snacks. There was no telling when Shawn would be available or if he would even feel like hanging out after a call. It's fine, you would just talk to him tomorrow.

The minimart bell dings and you raise a hand in greeting to Mae, the old woman behind the counter. She greets you with a smile. You grab a few things, a small pint of chocolate ice cream, a Snickers bar and a bag of chips.

“Bad day?” Mae asks, ringing up your purchases.

“No, just wanted a few snacks.” You glance over at her little tv that is showing a newscast from a reporter in a field. There is a massive blaze behind him and he keeps glancing back warily.

“That's sad isn't it?” Mae asks, looking back at the TV. “They said the drivers of both vehicles are dead and the explosion hurt some of the emergency responders trying to get them out.”

Your stomach sinks. Shawn was probably out there. “Oh my God. What happened? Where is it at?”

“Tanker truck hit an SUV I think. It's just off route 45 to Benton I think. Probably a truck coming to fill up the tanks at the Phillips station.”

“I-I have to go.” You leave your items on the counter and take off running for the deli.

The door clatters loudly as you rush in the deli and up to the counter. The few people in the dining area give you worried looks as you lean over the counter.

Mariel comes out of the back area and sees you, her face falling immediately. “What's wrong? What happened?”

“There's an explosion and a crash on 45. I need your keys I need to get there now. Shawn could be there.”

Mariel digs in her apron pocket and hands you her keys. “Be careful.”

Ten agonizing minutes later and you pull Mariel's little blue car over off the side of the highway and leave it in favor of walking the last few hundred feet. The tanker is still on fire, both fire engines are parked off to the side, no hydrants are available for water this far out on the highway. You look around for any of the firefighters, desperate to find out if Shawn is there.

“Ma'am, you can't be here!” An officer yells as you walk past the news crews who are waiting for more details.

You ignore him, your sights set on a group of firemen standing by an ambulance. Your heart is pounding, none of them look tall enough to be Shawn.

Another officer cuts you of, holding up their hand to stop you from getting at closer. “Ma'am you need to go back to your car. No bystanders are allowed near the wreck.”

“I'm not going to the wreck I'm going to the ambulance over there,” you say, pointing to the ambulance that's getting ready to leave.

“No you're not. You need to leave.”

“Sir you don't understand, I need to-”

The officer steps forward as you start to try and pass him. “Ma'am, I'm not going to tell you again. Go back to you vehicle and leave.”

“Jeremy! Ryan!” You shout and the officer says something but you can't hear him. He grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. “JEREMY! JEREMY!”

Jeremy turns around and sees you being pulled away by the officer. He comes walking over, calling the officer off as he approaches. “What are you doing here? This is a dangerous situation.”

“Where is Shawn? Is he here? I saw on the news that some people got hurt trying to rescue the drivers.”

“Shawn will be okay. I need you to leave. I'll call you as soon as I can with more information.”

“Oh my God,” you start trembling, stomach churning. “Ohmygod he's in the ambulance isn't he?”

Jeremy puts his hand on your arm and you lean against him. He pulls you into a hug, hand on the back of your head as you let out a heavy sob. “He will be fine. He's strong, he knows the dangers of his job. Please, you need to go home. There is nothing here for you.”

You don't go home. You go to the hospital and wait in the ER lobby for two hours. Two agonizing hours. The receptionist won't tell you anything, she doesn't know anything actually. She says she will let you know when he is allowed visitors. You text Mariel that you have the car and you're at Birkin Hospital. She says she walked home and it's fine that she understands.

You're curled up across two hard seats, half asleep when the receptionist says that Shawn is allowed to have visitors. You grab your purse and push through the automatic doors as they open slowly to the ER rooms. You turn down the hall to room 042 and push the door open and your heart stops.

Shawn is asleep, chest rising and falling softly. He has an oxygen tube in his nose and he's hooked up two a few monitors and an IV drip. He's in a white hospital gown. His face is mostly clean, a few remnants of blood and what looks like mud on his chin. You just stare, tears burning your eyes and spilling over your cheeks. You take a shaky step forward and grab a couple paper towels and wet them in the small wash sink to the right of his bed.

“Jesus Christ what were they doing for two hours?” You wipe at his face, clearing off a smudge of blood from his cheek. It's then you notice his arm is in a white plaster cast and there is tape and gauze sticking out from under the collar of his gown.

The door opens and a nurse walks in. “Oh, hello. I'm Shona. I'm the nurse on rounds for tonight.”

You introduce yourself, lying that you're his fiance just in case she doesn't release any information to you. You watch as she administers a syringe of something into his IV drip. “What is that?”

“Morphine. He's going to be hurting when he wakes up.”

“What happened? I mean, what took two hours? I know what happened, like the accident.”

Shona grabs a chart on the wall beside the bed and flips it up. “Fractured arm, multiple lacerations to the chest and stomach. Bruised ribs.” She scans down the chart. “Looks like he was on oxygen and being monitored for smoke inhalation and potential internal bleeding for a few hours. The bleeding was negative. That's what took so long it seems.”

“Jesus Christ Shawn.” You ball the paper towel up in your hand and take a seat in the guest chair.

“If you need anything or if he wakes up, let me know. Just press the nurse button and I'll come see how he's doing.”

You nod and Shona leaves the room. You don't care how long it is, you're going to stay until he wakes up.

Jeremy shows up a little while later. He talks to the nurse, getting a run down of Shawn's condition. The two of you talk briefly and and says to text him when Shawn wakes up. Let him know if he wants visitors or if he's going to be admitted. You promise that you'll keep him updated.

________________

“What're you doing here?”

You sit up from where you've passed out across the two hard plastic chairs. It's almost midnight according to the clock on the wall. On the bed Shawn is sitting up right, well, propped more upright with the help of the bed.

“You're awake!”

“Yeah. I just woke up, what happened? Why are you here?”

You stand and go over to the side of the bed. He grabs your hand and holds it in his. “I'm not entirely sure what happened. I think the tanker exploded and you must have been knocked back? You're pretty beat up.”

“Fuck.” Shawn closes his eyes and licks his lip. “I knew I shouldn't have gone into try and help the truck driver. He was already fucking gone.”

“Shawn, it's okay. You were doing your job.”

“I was being an idiot. I know better than to try and go into a situation like that. I could have died.”

You lay your hand on his cheek and turn his face to look at you. “You didn't die. You're fine, a little rough, but you're fine. Stop beating yourself up.”

“What are you doing here?” He asks, eyes tearing up. “You should be at home, sleeping and angry I stood you up. Why are you sitting in a crappy ER room with me?”

“I'm here because I saw the news and I just knew something had happened. I don't know how, but I knew you were hurt and I had to get to you.” You wipe a tear away with your thumb. “I’ve been here since they brought you in. Jeremy came by but he didn't want to hang out too long. I gotta let him know you're awake.”

“How did you know they brought me here?”

“I followed the ambulance. Shawn, I drove to the accident because I was freaking out. I almost got arrested for resisting an officer just to get closer to find out where you were.”

Shawn's eyes widen. “You are the craziest woman I know.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“God I love you.”

“Shawn, you better just stop talking. It sounds like the morphine is making you a little loopy.” You grab the bed remote and press the nurse button. You pull your hand from Shawn's and he pouts, eyeing you from across the room as Shona comes in and starts taking vitals and asking how he feels.

You excuse yourself to the hall so you can call Jeremy. Really it's because Shawn's words just gave you a heart attack and you're pretty sure if he kept talking you'd go into cardiac arrest.

________________

Six hours later and Shawn is released. Jeremy had stopped by with a change of clothes for him from the firehouse. You had tried to get him to call his parents, to let them know what happened, but he said he wasn't ready. The doctor said he shouldn't be left alone, that it would be best if you or someone stayed with him over night just in case but all his vitals were normal and other than bruising and the broken arm, he was in amazing condition. He was lucky.

The drive home is quiet. You swing by the 24 hour pharmacy on the way out of town to get the pain medication that the doctor prescribed. Shawn waits in the car. You grab some snacks and a couple of reusable hot/cold compresses. You're sure he will need them.

You help Shawn into the house and he insists on sleeping on the couch but you know that is not what he needs. You don't mind taking the couch for a few days or even weeks. However long Shawn needed to stay with you was okay. It takes a lot of convincing but he eventually agrees to sleep in your bed propped up.

“You don't have to do this,” he says for the dozenth time since you left the hospital. “I'll be alright.”

“Shawn, I'm not going to leave you at your place alone. The doctor said to monitor you and that's what I'm going to do.”

He's quiet, just like every time he tried to get you to leave him before. You don't know what he's getting at by telling you the same thing. You're also not sure, but it could be a side effect of the pain medicines making him a little loopy and forgetful. “You're amazing.”

You fluff a blanket out across his lap and shake your head. “You would do the same for me.”

“I would. A thousand times over I would.”

You lean forward to grab a pillow and he grabs your hand, stopping you halfway. You look down at his scraped up knuckles against your soft skin. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” He whispers, eyes finding yours. “I’m sorry I scared you and put you through this.”

You rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “You we're doing your job. I know what dangers come with being a fireman. I know what I signed up for.”

Shawn cracks a soft smile. His tired face looking far more gorgeous than it should right now. “You say that like we're a couple.” His eyes are glassy and you want to discuss relationships and feelings right now but somehow you know it's not going to do any good. His medicine was knocking him out and he was getting loose lipped. You don't feel right talking about something serious while he basically has no inhibitions.

“Get some rest,” you say, pulling your hand from his and cupping his cheek. “I'll be in the living room and you can just holler if you need anything.”

“Yes ma'am.” He hums and leans back against the pillows, eyes closed. You move around the room quietly, picking up a few things before leaving him be and by the time you finish he is passed out, soft snores filling the room. You give him one last look from the doorway and sigh softly. You were definitely gone for him and you don't mind one bit.

________________

The next few days Shawn's spends mostly in bed. He doesn't go out, just hangs out at your house while you go to work. The guys from the fire station stop by the deli and ask about him, you tell them he's doing alright. Which he is. He just seems a little shaken up still, like it's really hitting him that he could have died. Jeremy brought you his keys and spare clothes from the station to take home with you so he would have some things to wear.

It's Wednesday and you wake up stiff from sleeping on the couch again. It's your day off and you plan on trying to get Shawn to go visit the guys at the station. You sit up and Shawn is standing in the kitchen trying to break eggs into a bowl with one hand. He's getting visibly annoyed and you climb off the couch to go help.

“Shawn, let me do it,” you say softly as you approach him and see three shattered eggs in a bowl.

He sighs heavily, stepping aside to let you take over. “I hate this.”

“I know.” You fold the carton closed and turn the stove off. “We're going to go out for breakfast. You've been cooped up here for days, it's time to go out.”

Shawn grumbles. “I don't want to go out.”

“Too bad. You're becoming a grumpy old man. And you owe me a date.”

“I do,” he sighs softly. “Okay, you got me. I'll get dressed.”

Half an hour later and you are walking together along the beach and you're feeding him bites of a muffin. The two of you opted to get some blueberry muffins and coffee from the cafe to go.

“I'm really sorry,” he says as you head for the underside of the pier that was attached to the deck of the crab shack

“For what?”

“For putting you through this kind of stress. I was reckless and I got myself hurt.”

You finish off the bit of muffin in your hand and shake your head at him. “I mean, I know what risks a firefighter has to take. I know you're going to get hurt. I don't like it, and yeah, you were reckless and you could have died. But you didn't.”

“I don't even have anything to show for it. I didn't save the truck driver.”

“Hey,” you grab his hand and he threads his fingers through yours. “You have your life to show for it. I'm not angry at you, I'm not even disappointed. I'm glad you're alive and barely hurt.”

Shawn drops your hand and sits down in the sand. You sit beside him and the water washes up over your toes. “Why do you care so much about me?”

“Because I like you. You're an amazing guy and you're sweet. You're everything I've ever dreamed of in a guy. How could I not care?”

He shrugs. “I guess I've never felt that sort of thing from anyone I've dated. We hit it off so fast, I was actually really nervous I was going to fuck everything up.”

“Well you didn't.” You laugh and lay your head on his shoulder. “You actually did quite the opposite.”

“I did everything right?”

You nod.

He grabs your hand and plays with it. His knuckles are scrapped up, red and a little bruised. He measures your hand against his, palms together before bringing it up to kiss softly.

“Can I ask you something really cheesy?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laugh softly. Before you met him, you probably would have said no. But there was something about Shawn that changed everything for you. Something that made you feel like you couldn't get enough of him. Something that made you wanna go all in and not stop.

“I think I do.”

________________

Six months later

“Hey hot stuff,” Shawn purrs, hands on your waist pulling you back against him. “Is this my shirt?”

You let out a squeal and drop the spatula you are using to stir your scrambled eggs. “Yes it is. What are you doing scaring me like that?” You laugh, leaning your head back against him.

“Notice anything different?” He wiggles his fingers against your sides. You don't feel the familiar hard edge of his cast pushing against your skin.

“Your cast is gone!”

He turns you around and holds his hands up. The blue plaster cast is totally gone. You put your hand in his and he squeezes gently. “It's going to be weak for a while, but I have stretches and stuff to do to build the strength back up. The doc said my bones looks good and the muscles should bounce back in no time since I did the exercising with my fingers with the cast on.”

“I'm so happy. You'll be able to do more than just in house work at the station. I know between that and hanging around here you were getting a little stir crazy.”

Shawn grabs your hips and lifts you up on the counter top so you're just a hair taller than him. He steps between your legs and bumps his nose against yours. “The only thing that makes me crazy is you.”

“Mmm,” you lean in for a kiss and he kisses you slow and drawn out for just a lingering moment. “This is very sexy and all, but you probably shouldn't be lifting me quite yet.” You lay your hand over his forearm and he makes a noise of protest as he bumps his nose against yours for another kiss. “I'm serious Shawn.”

“I know.” He pulls back, looking at you softly. “I got excited. I haven't been able to do what I want for a while.” He grips the swells of your hips and grins. “Couldn’t hold you like I wanted to.”

“Shawn,” you flush and he gives you bedroom eyes. “Later.” You reach over and pull your pan off the burner so your eggs don't over cook any more.

Shawn looks over and steps back so you can get down and finish making your breakfast. “I'm just saying, my station tee would look really good on the floor of the bedroom right now.”

You turn and point your spatula at him. “And I'm just saying, it sounds like you need to take a cold shower and calm that fire in your pants, hot stuff.”

Shawn just groans and turns away, going to the bathroom. You hear the shower come on and you just laugh, sitting down to eat your breakfast.

________________

“Are you still interested in the old antique shop next to the deli?” Shawn asks one day over lunch. You're sat together in the station dining room while the other guys nap in the bunks upstairs.

“Yeah, but I'm a little over a thousand dollars short. I might take out a loan or something. I really want to open the bakery. I'm so close but it's still so far.”

Shawn twirls a stir stick between his fingers. “I uh...I have a couple grand in my savings.”

“No.”

“Honey, I'd be an investor. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be able to come back to firefighting full time with my arm the way it is. I've got permanent screws in it. If I can make your dream come true, and possibly be a part of it, then that's everything I could ever want.”

You lay your hand over the scars on the back of his forearm and sigh softly. “You're making great progress. The doctor said the screws shouldn't stop you from doing your job.”

Shawn sighs. “It's just...what if I get hurt again? What if it's worse?”

“Shawn.” You turn his face up to look at you across the table. “Why did you take this job? Remember what you told me when I asked why you became a firefighter?”

“Because I wanted to help people.”

“That's right. And you're going to do that. You're going to save so many lives Shawn. I know you're anxious about returning to the job completely, but don't get into the mindset that it's not going to work. You can do anything.”

“You're right. I can. So I'm going to be a firefighter and I'm also going to be an investor in your bakery.”

You shake your head as you let out a laugh. “Shawn, no! I can get a loan.”

“Listen,” he covers your hands with his and lifts them up. “I always wanted to help people, that was my dream, and I'm doing something I love no matter how anxious I am about returning to it. You want to bake, you deserve to have your dreams come true as well. Let me be part of it, please?” He kisses your fingers gently.

“Fine. Just the thousand, I'll pick up the rest. It'll be enough to get the lease on the shop, supplies and pay the first two months utilities. I have all of dad's equipment in storage so we just have to install everything.”

Shawn grins big. “I know a couple of strong guys who would love to help out in exchange for some baked goods.” You giggle and he leans over the table to kiss you.

__________________

“The place is all set up with fairly new electrical and plumbing, everything is up to code for a food business or retail. What was it you wanted to put in here?” The realtor asks as she walks you and Shawn around the empty shop.

“A bakery.” You stand by a counter that could use some love but would work for the time being.

“Oh! Well the building was actually a bakery at one time so the outlets should definitely be up to code for food equipment.”

You turn and look at the realtor. Her name is Peggy. “I know. It was my dad's place.”

“Wow! Really? That's amazing. Does the landowner know that?”

“I'm not sure. Why?”

“Well, sometimes people are sentimental to family businesses. I can talk to him if you like, it's worth a shot.” Peggy lays down her folder on the counter. “I'll leave you with some of the information on the building. I'm sure you probably know most of it, but take a look at it and get back to me with an offer and I'll contact the owner.”

Shawn walks over from the windows and puts his arm around your waist. “Why didn't you tell me this was your dad's place? This is going to be amazing.”

“I know, I can't wait,” you beam, taking the folder off the counter and following Peggy out of the building.

_______________

You walk in the doors of the firehouse and the place is loud and bustling. The garage and living area have been turned into a party room. It's the annual fill the boot fundraiser, where the firefighters raise money to fill one of the boots from their gear to donate to a charity. It's an adult only event that goes over quite well with the town's residents. There is food, drinks, games and even a little something special. Every year a couple of the guys volunteer to play a game where they dress up in all of their gear and attendees pay set amounts for certain pieces of clothing and gear to come off. All proceeds from the game, food, and drinks go to “fill the boot” for the years charity. This is only your second year attending and Shawn said you had to come, that he'd be devastated if you didn't.

You're a little late, having worked an extra hour at the deli to help deep clean behind the counter. You had already promised you would or else you wouldn't have stayed. There is loud music, some catchy country band blaring over the speakers in the garage. Everyone is chatting and having a good time. You don't see Shawn right away, eyes scanning for the hard to miss giant.

“Grab a table, I'm gonna get drinks!” Mariel shouts from beside you over the music.

You no sooner get sat down then the DJ for the evening is announcing that they're going to have their next firefighter come out for the clothing bidding and that the goal is three hundred dollars. It's a steep amount, usually the guys go for a hundred or so.

“Again, that goal is three hundred dollars! And as always no touching the firefighters unless they allow it. Keep your hands in your pockets and your cash ready to donate!”

Shawn walks out of the office in his gear and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. No wonder they were looking to raise so much. Shawn was the youngest on staff and by far the most attractive. Of course you're biased, but you see the way people stare at him when you go out. Honestly you can't blame them, but he is all yours.

Mariel sits next to you and slides you a Coke. “Is that your man?”

“Yes.” You lean back, folding your arms in amusement. You can't wait to see how fast his clothes come off.

The DJ starts the bidding with his helmet at twenty dollars. Usually it's a ten dollar item but not with this hot commodity. The helmet is gone instantly, a lady you recognize from the grocery store hands over a bill for it. Gloves fly off at twenty. Boots at thirty take a minute but someone takes one for the team to get the ball rolling. His jacket is next and you just chuckle at the crowd already getting excited.

Shawn looks to you and you just shake your head. He walks into the tables toward you and starts unbuttoning his jacket, opening it and cheering people on to donate the forty dollars to take it off. He winks at you, biting his lip. There is a taker as soon as he leans against the table of a group of college girls across from you.

The pants are next, it's just the fireproof ones but the way Shawn undoes them you'd think he was taking off his jeans already. People are getting rowdy, young ladies reaching for him. The pants donation goes fast. He returns to the front area where the DJ is calling out the next article of clothing. He is barefooted, standing up there in his blue jeans and tee shirt. Of course he has on one of his station shirts that is tight and shows off his body. The jerk. He was loving this.

Mariel lets out a whistle as the DJ calls for his shirt donation. A whopping fifty dollars. You roll your eyes and he grabs the edges, ready to pull off. A guy walks up and drops the donation into the DJ's hand. Shawn pulls the tee up and over, revealing a tank top underneath.

“Are you sure he's wasn't a stripper?” Mariel laughs.

“Nah, he's just cocky. He knows all these people want him.”

“He's just showing off for you.”

“Probably.”

The DJ announces his undershirt for fifty dollars. There's a hesitation in the crowd. It's a lot, and it's one of the top two with the best result physically. “Fifty dollars, for the elementary school to get new play equipment! Come on up, you know you want to see this hot piece of man take his shirt off. It's the best part of the evening- We got a taker!”

Mariel stands up and walks across the room with her money. “Take it off Mendes!”

Shawn throws his head back and laughs. He pulls the tank top off and the room goes apeshit. He crosses the room and hands his tank top to you and Mariel. “Too bad babe, you should have bid on my shirt. I'd have brought it to you too.”

“But I'm going to get it tonight anyway.”

Shawn leans forward and grins. “Yes you will.”

Up next is his pants and that's the last fifty dollars. It takes no time, the DJ doesn't even finish announcing it before three of the college girls come up, the money between them. Sure enough, Shawn undoes his button, zips them down and shucks them. He stands there in his dark red boxers while everyone cheers.

“That is it! Three hundred dollars and you Mr. Mendes are free to get dressed!”

“How much for the boxers?!” Someone yells and Shawn flushes. You laugh.

Shawn goes to the booth and says something inaudible. The DJ leans over to talk to Jeremy who's handling the donation totals.

“Four hundred dollars?” The DJ says quietly, but loud enough everyone can still hear on the speaker. The three men talk quietly for a moment and then Shawn steps back, walking with a smirk to the middle of the front area.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Shawn grins, hands on his hips. “For the remaining amount that we need to raise. For four hundred dollars, yes, four big ones, I will take off my boxers right here and right now.”

Your eyes go wide and you stand up. Shawn looks at you with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. You shake your head as he silently dares you to stop him.

“Do you take credit cards?” Someone yells jokingly.

Shawn saunters out into the crowd and glides his thumbs along his waistband. “No cards, only cold hard cash.”

You leave your seat and walk around to meet him. You lay your hand on his chest and walk him right back up to the front, eyes locked on his the whole time. He knew how to get you riled up. That was for sure.

“No touching ma'am!” The DJ calls out

Shawn raises his arm and waves him off, allowing it for you.

“You want me to donate it don't you?”

“I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you.” He leans in and whispers, “It's working.”

“Do we have a donation?” The DJ asks and you look over to him. To the right you can see a table of people getting their money together. It's about to happen.

“You got your rise.” You glance down at his stomach and he chuckles.

“I did. Grab my wallet out of my jeans. There's a couple hundred in there for tonight.”

You step past him, grab his jeans and fish his wallet out. You march to the DJ booth and hand over the money.

“Ladies and gentlemen we have hit our goal!”

Shawn grabs the mic from the DJ and grins, “If you guys don't mind, I think I'll take my boxers off in front of the lady here in private.”

There's a sigh of disappointment from the crowd.

“Now now, I think she earned it since she is the sole donor.” He looks over at you and you roll your eyes. “And my beautiful girlfriend.”

An awe from the crowd erupts and they cheer as you help Shawn gather up his gear and clothes to take back into the office. The two of you squeeze into the tiny room and Shawn just laughs.

“You're such a little shit,” you laugh and shove his shoulder. “What if I didn't step up?”

“Then I guess I'd be flashing a room of people right now.”

You cross your arms and he steps close, hands on your hips.

“Honey, I'm teasing. I would have made the donation myself. You know I'm yours, I'm not going to show the goods off to the public.”

“There were enough eyes on you tonight. Thank God they can't touch you.”

“Hey,” he whispers, tilting your head to look at him. “I'm yours and you're mine remember? It's just for fun.”

“You're right,” you sigh and close your eyes. “I'm jealous over nothing. I'm sorry.”

He leans in and kisses you softly. “I forgive you. Now, you wanna see my dick?” he laughs.

“Not unless you're putting it to good use.” You smirk and he raises his eyebrows.

He growls and pulls your hips against his and gives you that look that could make you do just about anything. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”

________________

Three months later

The grand opening if Hot Stuff Bakery is easily one of the best days of your life. The owner of the building accepted your offer after the realtor told him your history with it. You ended up getting it for quite a bit less than you planned so you actually had a little left over to do some extra renovation to the front end.

You and your friends and family are all standing around talking, everyone is enjoying your dipping bread and muffins. The whole town has come out to see your shop and reminisce on the days when your dad owned the place. Many say it has the same charm and for that you couldn't be more proud.

“Hey,” Shawn comes around with a little white to go box in his hand. “I made you something.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, grabbing his box and opening it to find a little white frosted cupcake. It's a perfect spiral, just how you'd showed him.

“I made it at home while you were here last night. I even made a strawberry filling. But there is another surprise in there too.”

You raise your eyebrows. Mr. Fancy over here was really trying to win your heart. As if he didn't already have it. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.”

You go over to the refrigerator case and pull out a chocolate iced cupcake. “Well, see the funny thing is, I also made you a special cupcake.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes.” You laugh as you set it down in front of him. “I'm appalled you stole my idea.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and smiles. “I guess we’re like meant to be together or something.”

“Yep. Now, rock paper scissors to see who gets surprised first?” You hold your fist up over your hand and he does the same. Three quick rounds and he emerges the victor. “Ugh! I don't wanna go first.”

“Too bad.” Shawn places the cupcake in your hand.

You dig your thumbs into the side of it. “I gotta see this filling.” You look up at him and he's just grinning. You pull the soft cake apart and out oozes some very delicious looking strawberry jam but also something hard. You pick it out of the sticky filling and realize exactly what it is. A wedding ring.

“Will you marry me?” Shawn asks taking the ring and wiping it on his jeans.

Your jaw drops. You turn and grab his cupcake. “I think your answer is in here.”

Shawn frowns, confused about your reaction. He takes the cake and opens it like you had. There is no filling in his, and a little tiny toy baby falls out onto the counter. “I... don't understand. How is this my answer?”

“What is it?”

“A toy baby? I don't get it, am I supposed to-” His eyes widen and you can literally see his brain working. “You're pregnant?!”

“Two months!” You blurt out and everyone looks at the two of you.

Shawn drops down, hands shaking on your waist. He presses his forehead against your stomach and lets out a little cry of joy and kisses you. He stands back up, hands all over your sides and stomach. “I'm going to be a dad... I'm going to be a dad! I'm going to get married!”

Ryan and Jeremy start the congratulations, clapping loudly and everyone joins in. “You always said you were gonna marry her one day!” Jeremy laughs and you look over and back to Shawn.

“You really said that to them?” you laugh and he wraps his arms around you and spins you around.

“I did. The first day I met you in the deli, I knew I had to marry you someday.” He sets you down and cups your face. “I can't wait to be your husband, and a dad.”

“Me neither.” You grin and he bumps his nose against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too. To the moon and back.”

You close your eyes and smile. “To the moon and back.”

End

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-A

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