Chapter 1
A forever optimist, Melinda Bane practiced the belief that if life didn't work out like she’d expected, and frequently it hadn't, she'd find a silver lining somehow. When life handed you poop, use it for compost.
Now, she had this.
Her poor house! The beautiful back sunroom, the space she loved the most, was gone, and with it her refuge, burnt to a state of smoking remains and scorched walls. She wasn't sure how to spin the loss into something positive. If that was even possible.
After moving back home ten years ago to buy into her family's diner, Melinda had driven by the 1930s Craftsman, fallen instantly in love, and bought it. The first act of her much needed life do-over. Something about the quaint neighborhood with the picket fences had said “home,” and the purchase had rejuvenated her. Melinda had found her footing and left her two ex-husbands and her impulsively-made, poor-decision life firmly behind her.
"The fire's out, but you're gonna need to tarp the area, at a minimum." Shawn, the fireman, was tall, but then most guys were tall to her since she barely reached five-foot-three inches in her stocking feet. She had to focus on his mouth in order to process what he was saying.
She nodded, looked away toward the horizon, noticed light was creeping into the dark sky, and made herself count to fifty. Maybe the fire was a sign. Maybe she was going about things all wrong once again.
She would not cry. She would not cry.
Her lawn was soaked from the fire hose, and the chill of the water seeped into her slippers. The pungent aroma of charred wood permeated her senses, and Melinda wasn't sure if it was the smell, the ruined room, or the loss of her dream that made her want to empty her stomach into the hosta plants she had placed along her property line.
Every dime she'd saved for the last five months was likely going to go into repairing her house. She rubbed her empty womb and felt the impact of the fire at her very core. Two failed attempts at inter-uterine insemination had been demoralizing, each with a depression that had lasted for weeks. But the loss of this third attempt was going to set her for months emotionally, and the fire would do the same financially.
Melinda swallowed the lump in her throat then sucked in a ragged breath.
All those additional hours at the diner, cutting out cable TV, sacrificing little extras like going to the movies, dinner out, or buying new clothes, and forgoing her monthly facials had been easy when she'd first started down this path. For nearly two years, she hadn't had a vacation that went beyond reading a book in her backyard hammock, a day at Clearwater Beach, or swimming in her parent's pool. But lack of success was wearing on her, and even though time away would do her wonders, that wasn't about to happen. More sacrifice was in her future.
"You're lucky we got here before it caught the rest of the house on fire," fireman Shawn said, shifting uncomfortably. "As it is, the back wall will likely need to be replaced." He offered her a blanket.
"Yes, lucky. That's me." If by luck he meant bad, she'd believe that. Good luck would have been her putting the fire out with the large pan of water she'd splashed on it as soon as her brain processed what was happening.
She shook her head, refusing the blanket, crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to chase the chills of loss away by rubbing her upper arms.
"You're insured, right? It should cover this." He indicated to the empty space where her sunroom used to be and a large gaping hole. In the house’s original state, the opening had been the back door, but was now an invitation for the out of doors to come on in.
She nodded. Yes, it would be covered, but insurance was slow, and initially she'd be on the hook for retainers and other costs, forcing her to spend her make-her-dreams-come-true money earmarked for the clinic next Friday. Her small emergency stash wouldn't even cover a fraction of what she would need to fix this disaster. Either way, her plans had just come to a screeching halt.
Normally one to seize life by the belt and drag it behind her, Melinda felt as if she'd taken a hit to the chest. One day she was going to stop being so optimistic. Stop believing that she might have a say in how her life played out, that something might go her way because, today, life kicked her in the balls.
Fireman Shawn tapped his helmet against his leg. "Are you gonna be all right here, Melinda? Can I call your mom and dad for you? I hate seeing you like this."
How long had she'd known him? Since kindergarten for sure, maybe even before that. If memory served, she'd spent seven minutes in heaven with him at one of his famous parties in high school. "How are your kids?"
"Fine. A handful. Crazy how opposite they are. Thanks, by the way, for scoring those Comic-con tickets. You made my little Star Wars fan a happy guy that weekend."
Melinda shrugged. It had been a no brainer to pass along the tickets someone had given her. She had no interest in the event but knew Shawn's youngest son did because that was all he talked about when she'd see him at the diner.
"But I was asking about you. You don't look so good."
"I'm ok. I'll call my—"
"Holy hell, Melly. I don't know if I brought enough tarps."
Melinda turned and, through the glow cast from the neighbor's porch light and beams from the fire truck, watched Jared Calhoun cross her yard.
"What? How?" She squinted her eyes at him. "What are you, construction's version of an ambulance chaser?"
Jared laughed. "I'm a volunteer firefighter. You know that. I heard it on the scanner and recognized the address. Shawn." He held out his hand to the tall fireman.
"Jared. You got this under control?"
Jared pulled a hammer from his back pocket, flipped it over before catching it with one hand. "I can get it tarped before the sun is fully up." He turned to Melinda. "But I'd worked faster if I had some coffee."
She stared at the smoldering building. The parallel to how her dreams had just gone up in smoke nearly caused her to burst out in laughter. Her emotions were on a spin cycle and, in seconds, she went from being simultaneously angry and sad to being bitter and desperate.
She couldn't get sucked into the negative what-if's. She needed to pull strength from her reserves and focus. This was only a setback. Her baby goal was certainly worth all the sacrifices and would continue to be.
"Melinda?" Jared said.
"What?" She looked at him and blinked away her pensiveness, "Yes, coffee. OK." She turned to the fireman. "Thanks, Shawn. Tell the family hi."
She cinched the belt on her pink silk robe and began the walk to the front of her house, her matching silk, pink mule slippers sinking into the wet earth with each step. By the time she stepped onto the porch of her beloved, traitorous house, the fur trim on her slippers was matted and drooping, much like her spirits.
Once inside her foyer, she slipped off her mules and tread the rest of the way in her bare feet. From the sanctuary of her kitchen, she could almost pretend that everything was as it should be. Almost, but the acrid residual smoke made her eyes water and, as she leaned over her sink and looked out through the window at the brightening sky, blinking back tears, she considered bailing. Moving to another city or state and starting over.
Maybe this was the universe’s way of threatening her, telling her to get out. She'd long come to terms with being unlucky in love. She'd given it her best shot, repeatedly, and had finally looked past the idea of Mr. Right, two-point-five kids, and a dog. She had the house with a picket fence but now with a burned backside and the irony of that made her laugh out loud. She shook her head, refusing to give in to such internal histrionics. She’d had plenty of setbacks before. Today would be no different. She'd get past it and somehow figure out a way to keep to her plan. Hopefully. Because any other option would simply not do. No, sir.
The banging of Jared's hammer echoing through her house caused her to jump. Pulling herself from her pity party, she brushed her eyes with her sleeve, then turned to fill her electric teapot before setting it to boil. On autopilot, she measured out the scoops of coffee for her French Press and poured scalding water into it, all while forcing her head back in the game and trying to construct some sort of contingency plan.
She'd have to cancel her appointment and, though she could now predict her ovulation to within a day, stress was going to play havoc with her cycle. She couldn't assume it would be as predictable as it currently was. Melinda groaned in dread. She was back to taking her daily temperature, a task she'd long come to believe a necessary evil. If she had to wait for a third try, she needed to ensure the margin of error of around her ovulation cycle was next to none. She couldn't afford to lose the opportunity over complacency.
She set two mugs on the counter and checked the coffee. To pass the remaining minutes of brew time, she called her father to tell him she wouldn't be in and why. After at least fifty "No, I don't need your help," she went into her office to find her policy and the company's number.
A long term pro at self sufficiency, Melinda inhaled a deep breath through her nose and exhaled it slowly through her mouth, squared her shoulders, and shuddered back the tremors that were threatening to overcome her.
After calling in the fire to the claims department, she poured the coffee, added creamer to Jared's, and turned to take it to him, only to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at her feet.
"That should hold you for now, but I don't like that you're exposed. I'll send a crew out as soon as I can to get a temporary door in place so you can lock yourself in the house." He reached for the mug; dark smudges of soot were on his hands and face. The knees of his pants were damp, and his hammer hung from a belt loop.
"Thanks," she said.
He rubbed a hand over his shaven head, leaving a streak of soot in its wake. "Here." He pulled out a chair from her small kitchen table. "You need to sit. You're in shock."
"I'm OK."
"Your eyes are bigger than the mug you’re holding, and you're pale. Really pale. Sit."
"Jared—"
"Sit." He pushed the chair closer to her. "You can yell at me all you want but not until you sit."
On a huff, she plopped into the chair and promptly burst into tears.
"Hey, hey." He put his coffee cup on the floor, took hers, and placed it next to his, then squatted in front of her. "It's all fixable. Insurance will replace everything. What's important here is that you're safe, and once I get a temporary door on there, you'll be even safer. You're lucky you caught it in time." Crouching beside her, they were eye to eye, and he wrapped his arms around her.
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I was awake."
"I'm sorry…what?"
He stroked her hair and Melinda closed her eyes. "I was awake. It sparked from the outlet and traveled up the wall. I tried to put it out, but I couldn't get water to it fast enough."
"You don't have a fire extinguisher?"
His voice was low and soothing, but that didn't stop her from becoming defensive. She pushed against him and straightened up. "No, Jared. I do not have a fire extinguisher. But you can be assured that I will have one from now on."
"Hey, I'm not faulting you. If I had known you didn't have one, I would've got one for you."
"It's not your job to take care of me. I take care of me." She used the heel of her hand to wipe her tears. The last thing she wanted was to become dependent on him more than she already was. Over the last ten years he'd slowly become a greater part of her life, their friendship cementing with time. The number of guys she'd dated had dwindled, and her time with Jared had increased so much these past two years he'd become a staple in her life. She enjoyed the days when he came into the diner for breakfast or popped over on Wednesdays with takeout after his builders’ meeting. Looked forward to them, actually. She missed him when she didn't see him, and if he started buying her safety equipment and doing husbandly things like checking her tires, she'd be in a heap of trouble. One day he might be someone else's husband, and then where would she be?
"Melinda, when are you gonna realize that I'm here to help? You're family."
"I was married to your brother for forty-three days over fourteen years ago. We were stupid kids. That doesn't make me family."
"But once a Calhoun, always a Calhoun."
Stupid, stupid man. With stupid words that twisted in her heart. If he called her family one more time, she was going to hit him where it hurt.
She sighed with exhaustion. "I appreciate you coming by, Jared. The insurance people are sending someone in a few hours, so I guess I should get ready." She leaned against the back of the chair.
Jared rolled back on his heels, sat on the floor, stretching his long legs before him, and picked up his mug.
"I'll wait here while you shower and get ready. I'm not OK with you doing those things with a tarp as your only barrier."
"You really don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Now go. You mind if I make something to eat? I'm starved."
Melinda shook her head and eased out of the chair. She stepped over his legs and walked as quickly as she could to her room to grab clothes. After closing herself off in the bathroom, she turned on the shower, then sat on the floor and waited for the water to get hot. Sucking in deep breaths, she forced back her tears.
Living with regret was inevitable if one chose to actually live their life, and Melinda had done just that. She made no apologies for it. But, if she could undo one thing—just one—it would be her marriage to Jared's younger brother, Lance. Not because she regretted her time with him. No, they were both young and stupid and caught up in the moment of thinking they knew it all and deserved the world. She would undo it because, more than anything, she wanted a nice guy to share her life with. And the nice guy she'd come to picture was the one that had knelt before her, rubbed her back, talked about buying her a fire extinguisher, and calle
