Soaring by Kristen Ashley

He looked down to me. “Douche,” he stated. “Don’t worry, Amy.” He then gave his attention back to the front where there was a panel of five seated behind a long, tall, official-looking bench desk.

  The one in the middle was saying something, but I was thinking that I was under the impression, considering I hadn’t heard from him in some time, that Boston Stone finally got the hint and stopped calling me. We’d had one date. We’d had one kiss (well, one and a half).

  What we had not done was make avowals of love.

  So whatever he was up to that had to do with Mickey couldn’t be about me.

  Surely.

  A variety of business was swiftly brought up and voted on without any comment from members of the public. This was not surprising since the room was not quite half full, and I suspected attendance was greater that night because the volunteers of the MFD were there.

  Clearly, the town of Magdalene didn’t involve themselves too much in town business and from how very boring it was, I didn’t blame them.

  Ash and Cill were playing games on their phones (due to the Rhiannon situation, Cill now had his own) when the issue of additional town resources allocated to the Magdalene Fire Department was raised.

  Evidently, the head honcho sitting in the middle thought it would be voted through without demur because when he asked for public comment, he missed movement in the room and immediately started, “Right then we’ll vo—”

  “One moment, Councilman Whitfield,” a smooth voice I knew called out.

  I looked to the side, my neck muscles tensing, and watched Boston Stone strolling arrogantly (and you could stroll arrogantly, he was proof) up the center aisle.

  “Boston, of course, take the podium,” the head honcho, apparently Councilman Whitfield, invited.

  Boston did just that, lifting an attractive, slim leather briefcase in front of him to rest it on top of the podium and pulling out papers.

  Once he had them, he started, “I can only assume with this referendum being raised, our town council members aren’t aware that, nationwide, the incidence of fires is on a dramatic decline and has been for the past decade.” He then raised the papers he’d gotten out and shook them officiously.

  The inference the council had not done their homework was not lost on any of them, they didn’t like it and they showed it.

  “We are aware of that, Boston,” Councilman Whitfield retorted, sharing this verbally.

  “Then I must admit to being curious, since that’s the case, as to why you’d be allocating more funds to a city service that should, in fact, be getting less,” Boston replied.

  Mickey straightened beside me and both his children looked up from their phones.

  On my part, I found my hands forming fists.

  “Due to their function and its importance to public safety, I can’t imagine anyone would begrudge the current funds the MFD receives,” a female council member off to the left stated.

  “I’m a citizen of Magdalene and I’m doing just that,” Boston returned.

  “I would assume you’re in the minority,” she retorted.

  “Please don’t assume, Louise,” Boston replied condescendingly, shifting some papers. “To that end, I’ll present you with a requested action, voted approved by the members of the Magdalene Club, that this referendum be deferred until further research into the need of fire services and the funds allocated to that need are thoroughly researched. After which we call for a report to be offered to the citizens prior to an open public vote on this issue.”

  Bobby twisted his neck, gave Mickey a dour look, mouthed, “Asshole,” and turned back.

  Councilman Whitfield held up his hand resignedly and invited, “I’ll have a look at that if you don’t mind, Boston.”

  “Not at all,” Boston murmured into the microphone in front of him, moved from the podium, presented the papers to Whitfield and returned to the podium. “As you’ll see in the addendum attached to that paper that a goodly number of businessmen and women in this community, who voted that action, are concerned about this issue.”

  “In other words, the rich folk, thinkin’ they’re high and mighty and their money should get them attention, wanna throw a fit about somethin’ none of us get but if they get their way, could put us in danger,” a man called from the gallery.

  Whitfield looked from his study of the papers over the reading specs he’d slid on in the direction of the voice. “Tom, if you have something to say, we ask you say it during your turn at the podium.”

  “And make me listen to this crap in the meantime?” Tom, who I saw was the Tom who ran The Shack on the wharf, returned.

  “Everyone has a voice in this meeting and if a citizen takes their time to share their thoughts with this council, as servants to this town, it’s our duty to listen,” another council member replied.

  “Not if their thoughts are full of it and it isn’t worth your time,” Tom shot back.

  There was a titter and I caught Mickey grinning at his lap.

  “Tom—” the council member started but was interrupted when someone else spoke up.

  “This is crazy. The boys at the MFD volunteer. And just last week, they put their asses on the line, makin’ sure the entire jetty didn’t go up in flames like it could have.”

  “I’d ask you to refrain from using coarse language, Jeff,” the council woman named Louise requested firmly.

  “What else would you call it?” Jeff asked. “Straight up fire or fire damage closed down that whole shopping area and if the worst happened, those same things coulda took out the folks fightin’ it. I call that puttin’ your ass on the line. Now, no disrespect, Louise, but I didn’t hear about you in your gear fightin’ that blaze. I sure as hell didn’t hear about Stone doin’ it.”

  That got another titter.

  “They aren’t all asking for salaries,” someone else called loudly. “They want one salary for one guy. Town’s over two hundred years old and we never paid a single firefighter. Only pay a chief and he acts for the whole county so we don’t even pay his full salary. Think it’s about time we did that. Shoot, if it was up to me, they’d all get paid.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said.

  “I agree,” a woman piped up.

  “How about that,” Tom put in, standing. He looked around. “Who’s for a deferral of the vote so the council can take a look at this referendum and find some blasted money to pay all our boys who wear a fire helmet?”

  “Me!” Jeff shouted.

  “That’s got my vote,” the woman yelled.

  “Me too!” a new man called, standing up to do it.

  “I’m in too!” a woman added, also standing up and doing it continuing to speak. “We don’t do this, what’s next? We ask all the sheriff’s officers to do their jobs volunteer too? That’s crazy!”

  A gavel banged and Councilman Whitfield called, “Quiet!”

  Tom wasn’t quiet.

  He looked to Boston and remarked, “You know, Stone, just because a pretty girl prefers a firefighter to you doesn’t mean all the boys at that firehouse need to suffer for you bein’ jilted. Far’s I know, you got served this lesson at least once before. Learn, son. You may actually land a girl one day if you stop actin’ like an ass.”

  Oh God, he was referring to Mickey and me.

  Small town.

  Someone kill me.

  I felt my cheeks flush as I sunk in my seat because several eyes turned Mickey and my way.

  Yes.

  Somehow they all knew.

  Someone…kill me.

  “Cool, Dad,” Cillian stated under his breath but under it for a boy his age, which meant he did it loudly. “You beat out Boston Stone for Amy? Awesome!”

  “Right! Quiet! Order!” Whitfield commanded on another bang of his gavel.

  Before anyone could disobey, he trained his eyes again over his specs on Boston and continued speaking.

  “I’ve had a quick read of this, Boston, and I’m sorry to say that the current referendum we’
re discussing was communicated to the citizens of Magdalene for their examination four months ago via our usual procedures, which means anyone could access and study it thoroughly. That time allowed plenty of opportunity for any resident of this town to share with the members of this council their concerns or to be present at this meeting to have their voice. The names on this document represent a negligible percentage of the inhabitants of our town and thus, I must say, it really carries no sway during these proceedings.”

  “Have you had a close look at those names, Whitfield?” Boston asked threateningly.

  “I have indeed,” Whitfield retorted immediately, flicking the papers to his side so the woman sitting to his left could take them. “And I’ll take this opportunity to share with you news I hadn’t intended to announce until the next election, but Sue and I are moving to Florida next year. I won’t be seeking reelection. However, your implication that the names on that document, some of whom donated to my past election campaigns, would sway me while I’m sitting in this seat is most unwelcome.”

  At his tone, a tone that said it was more than unwelcome, it was insulting, slanderous and entirely unacceptable, meant everyone quieted and those standing sat.

  “I meant nothing of the sort,” Boston returned.

  “You most certainly did,” Whitfield bit out.

  I smiled, deciding I liked our head honcho Councilman.

  He kept talking.

  “Now, if you have nothing further, I’ll ask you to vacate the podium so if someone else has something they wish to say, they can do so.” He looked beyond Boston and through the gallery. “I’ll state, however, that you all have also had an opportunity to study the referendum prior to attending this evening’s meeting. We will not entertain a delayed vote or an alternate resolution to be put to the vote. If you feel the town should consider compensating the entirety of the members of our fire department, request a new referendum to be researched by the council and presented for discussion and vote at a future meeting. I’ll warn you, however, this town relies heavily on the goodwill and generosity of time and skills from our firefighting force and we’re all aware of it. If we could have afforded to pay them, we would have. But if this town is content with increased taxes in order to see to that, that also can be discussed.”

  “We just want one boy, Whit!” Bobby shouted. His head turned the way of a woman who was highly attractive, had great hair, and I could tell was definitely fit even only seeing her shoulders and head. She was sitting one bench in front of him and down, looking over her shoulder at him, appearing miffed. Then he finished, “Or a girl! Whatever!”

  Well, there she was; firefighter Misty.

  “Then let’s see about getting you that,” Whitfield replied. His eyes went back to Boston. “Boston, please step down.”

  Boston glared at him then turned, and without a glance at anyone he stalked down the center aisle. He didn’t wait for the vote. He walked right out of the room.

  I couldn’t believe that Boston connived to put the entire town in danger because he was angry I was with Mickey.

  But apparently, it was because he was angry I was with Mickey.

  Which meant Mickey was even more right than I thought he was that day when he told me not to date the guy.

  Brilliant.

  “Anyone else have something to say?” Whitfield invited.

  There was a low murmur of noise but no one moved to the podium.

  “Excellent, then we’ll put it to the vote,” Whitfield declared. “All in favor of allocating further resources to the Magdalene Fire Department to hire a full-time salaried firefighter, say aye!”

  There were five ayes.

  I grinned.

  “No nays, the resolution passes,” Whitefield announced. “Now, the next order of business…”

  “So, now how you feelin’ about not takin’ my advice about that asshole?” Mickey muttered in my ear.

  He didn’t sound angry.

  He sounded teasing.

  And patronizing.

  I snapped my eyes to him and narrowed them.

  He gave me an easy grin before he gave me a quick kiss.

  I was still glaring at him when he finished, which set him to chuckling.

  “Heard through the grapevine he had somethin’ up his sleeve,” Bobby whispered as Whitfield kept talking and both Mickey and I looked to him to see him again turned to us. “Good news, that’s done. Better news,” he smiled, “task force of the county councilmembers have full hiring authority when it comes to the fire chief. Nothin’ comes to a vote. And they do this volunteer themselves so they aren’t gonna spend months goin’ through some hiring process, which will end with them goin’ for whoever I recommend in the first place. This means, when I put you forward, you’re in, son.”

  “Yeah, Bobby, that is good news,” Mickey replied.

  Bobby slid his eyes to me. “You seriously dated Stone?”

  “No. It was only one date. And I did it before Mickey and I were together because I was angry at Mickey who was, at the time, being annoyingly bossy,” I shared.

  “Seems good reason,” he uttered these words as the obvious lie they were.

  “I’ll have you over for dinner, explain the entire thing to your wife, then let her explain it to you,” I stated.

  His eyes twinkled and he murmured, “Ah.”

  “That’s done, Bob, gotta feed my family,” Mickey put in, already shifting like he was going to exit the bench.

  “Right,” Bobby said to Mickey then looked back to me. “Nice meetin’ you, Amy. Lookin’ forward to that dinner invitation and my brownies.”

  Staring into his kind eyes, I was looking forward to dinner too.

  “We’ll plan through Mickey,” I said, shifting after Mickey.

  “Right. Later, sweetheart.”

  “Later, Bobby,” I replied.

  Bobby looked to Cillian who was moving down the bench behind me. “Boy,” he greeted.

  “Uncle Bobby,” Cillian replied, giving Bobby a high five when Bobby raised his hand.

  Next came Ash. “You walked by me once without givin’ your Uncle Bobby a kiss, pretty girl. Don’t do it again.”

  “Uncle Bobby,” she muttered, bending in to give him a quick kiss then moving fast to follow us.

  Together, we walked down the aisle, out of the room, out of the Town Hall and Mickey stopped us on the sidewalk.

  I looked up at him. “Happy?”

  He smiled down at me. “Oh yeah.”

  “So cool, Dad! You’re gonna be fire chief!” Cillian shouted, jumping at his dad, and Mickey caught his boy in his arms, giving him a squeeze Cillian gave back.

  “Totally cool, Dad. Happy for you,” Aisling mumbled when Cillian moved away. She slunk in, ducked her head but gave her dad a sideways hug that was genuine.

  “Thanks, baby,” he murmured against the top of her hair, obviously not caring it was greasy. He didn’t let her go far, keeping her close to his side with his arm around her shoulders, asking all of us. “Lobster Market, Breeze Point, the Boathouse or Tink’s?”

  My choice was Lobster Market or the Boathouse because the former was wonderful and I’d never been to the latter but I’d heard it was good.

  Cillian shouted, “Tink’s!” just as Aisling said, “Tink’s.” So even not voting, I was outvoted.

  “Amy, babe?” Mickey asked me.

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “Tink’s.”

  Cillian raced toward my car, yelling, “I ride with Amy!”

  Mickey turned his daughter around but did this stretching out a hand to me. I took it and Mickey got to walk with both his girls close as we made our way to our vehicles.

  The only thing that happened during this brief trek was seeing the tall, good-looking sheriff Mickey had been talking to standing with his back to us between a car and an Explorer decorated in sheriff colors with a county sheriff insignia on the driver’s side door.

  He was on his phone and I heard him asking tersely, “Trouble
follow you from Denver?” and before whoever he was talking to could possibly reply, he demanded, “Answer me!”

  I looked up at Mickey as we kept walking. He felt my eyes and gave his to me.

  I lifted my brows.

  He gave a shrug.

  I let it go and we went to Tink’s, Cillian riding with me, Aisling riding with Mickey.

  The burgers were again phenomenal.

  But the place still scared me.

  * * * * *

  “Yeah. Right.” Pause. “Yeah, I get it. You forgot. That’s okay. I appreciate you showing.”

  Mickey was pacing his room in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms (these flannel also, but navy), his broad chest and cut abs bare.

  Usually, I would watch this with great fascination.

  But since I’d told him Rhiannon had come over and he was speaking with her while I sat cross-legged on his bed in one of my nighties, I decided to give them a modicum of privacy.

  I did this tearing my eyes away from my guy, giving my attention to my own phone, and texting Robin.

  Did you call Lawrie?

  I sent that and then reached for the moisturizer Mickey bought me that was sitting on his nightstand.

  I was rubbing it in when she texted back.

  I finished rubbing before I grabbed my phone again and read, Yes. He’s coming to town. Wants to get drinks.

  My hand curled around my phone and I just stopped myself from pumping my arm in victory.

  Instead I texted back. Lovely, are you going?

  To which she quickly replied, Of course, he’s Lawrie.

  Fabulous!

  “Okay, Rhiannon. That’d be good. Like I told you this morning, the scene with Ash didn’t sit great with me,” Mickey said and I looked up at him. “Right. It’ll be good you do that.” Pause. “Okay. Later.”

  He took the phone from his ear and sauntered around the bed to his nightstand.

  I looked to my phone and swiftly texted, Good. Have fun! Now going to bed. Talk to you later.

  Then I looked to Mickey. “All that okay?”

  He nodded. His phone was on his nightstand and he was throwing back the covers.

  He got in, settled with his back to the headboard and gave his attention to me.

  “Like I said after you told me she came ’round, I ended our détente this morning to give her the info on the scene with Ash. She says she’s also noticed the deterioration, came by to check in, talk to me, maybe speak with Ash. She forgot about the council meeting. Now she says, when she gets her back, she’s gonna give it a go.”