Page 103 of Chasing Smoke

“Can I speak with Ansel Mercer, please?”

“This is he.”

“Ansel, this is Wendy Grafton from Portland Fire and Rescue. I apologize for the delay in getting back to you with an answer about the job. One of the key people on the hiring committee had a family emergency and had to go off rather abruptly before a decision could be made. We’re just getting back to the process now.”

“No apology necessary.” I look around to make sure no one is nearby.

“I’m calling to extend an offer of employment to you. Congratulations.” Her voice is chipper and excited and the exact opposite of how I presently feel.

“Thank you.” My voice comes out more choked.

“I’ll be emailing the offer to you this afternoon. You can have a look at it and let me know if you have any questions. Congratulations again. We look forward to having you become a part of the Portland Fire Department.”

I give her a weak thanks and hang up.

With everything going on these past few weeks, I completely forgot about the job. It fell off my radar entirely, mostly because the most important thing to me these days is Collins, not my career.

The question is now—what the hell am I going to do?

FORTY-SIX

Collins

Ansel got off shift early this morning, and he texted me to see if I’d like to have lunch with him, so I’m meeting him at Slice of Life to grab a quick bite. The plan is to get a slice of pizza and take a walk up Main Street since it’s an abnormally mild spring day.

When I arrive, he’s already holding a box out for me. He’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, looking every bit the outdoorsman he is.

“How was your morning?” He gives me a chaste kiss and hands me the pizza.

“Busy. I’m surprised you’re up. Figured you’d sleep a little longer.” I bite the pizza and moan.

Ansel waves for us to start up the street. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His voice is off, and that familiar gut pull tells me he couldn’t sleep because he has to tell me something. Maybe something I might not like. I take a better look at him and notice the bags below his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“The guys at the firehouse confronted me about what’s going on with us.”

I cringe, but my body releases the anxiety. Okay, that explains his behavior. “That bad? Maybe I should go talk to them⁠—”

“No, that went all right, surprisingly.”

“Oh, what did they say?” I take another bite of my pizza, my stomach calming. Ansel is just still processing his firehouse family knowing about us.

“Mostly just asked me a bunch of questions. Wanted to be sure nothing was going on before Caleb passed. But in the end, they believed me. Said they’d have my back with the other guys.”

I run my free hand down his arm. “Well… that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

His voice still holds that tone. If anything, it’s grown worse. So the firehouse situation isn’t why he’s not sleeping. I clock that he still hasn’t taken a single bite of his pizza.

“Then why do you seem stressed out?”

He sighs and stops walking, his eyes downturned and his shoulders sunken in. “I need to tell you something.”

I glance around to see if anyone is nearby, because I sense that whatever he’s about to tell me is serious and I’d really not like to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of town. I take his free hand and lead him toward the bench. “C’mon.”

He waits for me to sit before folding himself next to me. But he doesn’t put his arm around me or his hand on my thigh.