Page 44 of Angels Fall

“You like it okay, huh?” asks the older guy called Alex who apparently made the plate of rigatoni I’m devouring. Didn’t know I was so hungry. But I’m wolfing it.

“Yeah. This shit is fucking delicious,” I say, mouth muffled by the steaming forkful of pasta.

The firefighters sitting around the table with me laugh. “Sorry,” I mumble sheepishly.

“Shit, sweetheart, I love a woman with a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” says a little guy with a Boston accent who slides his chair about a foot closer to me. “Say somethin’ else.”

“Rod. Go… coil a hose or something.” That’s an enormous guy they call Bear.

“Fuck did I say?” asks Rod.

“So, Maddie,” says the impossibly cool and handsome African-American guy, Dean, while he pets his French Bulldog. (This is, by far, the most interesting group of first responders I’ve ever met.) “Was Evan always into clothes and shit when he was a kid, too? Or is that a recent development since he married up?”

I glance at Evan, who smiles and shakes his head as if to suggest that he’s used to these guys busting his balls.

“Um,” I say, shoving the last bit of food into my mouth. “Yeah, yeah, actually he was, I guess. He gave my brother and Tyler a makeover for senior prom, and neither one of them ever looked so good.”

“Well… To be fair, Scotty looked better than Tyler. I can only do so much with the raw materials I’m given,” Evan says, smiling. He winks at me and I lower my head a bit. Everyone chuckles and then Bear apparently decides that play time is over.

“All right!” he says, slapping the table and standing up. “Let’s clean up and get some work done today. Rod, you get that paperwork into district yet?”

“Aw, fuck me, I fuckin’ forgot. Cocksucker.” Then he looks at me. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” I say in return. “I love a guy with a filthy fuckin’ mouth.”

“Goddamn perfect woman here. Jesus!”

Bear pulls Rod away and they head off. Dean gives me a shake as he takes his exit, and it’s the kind of loose but elegant grip that one usually receives at a grand ball or the U.N. or some damn thing. I half expect him to kiss the back of my hand.

“Glad you enjoyed it, honey,” says Alex the chef. “You’re welcome here any time.”

“Thanks.” I smile at him as he takes my plate and heads into the kitchen.

Then this brooding, quiet guy who was introduced to me as Brandon, and who hasn’t spoken a word throughout lunch, steps over and hovers above me, blocking the light with his firefighter-shaped shadow. He doesn’t speak, and I decide not to either, so we just kind of stare at each other until finally he says…

“I like your hair.” And he walks off.

I glance at Evan again, and he gives me a ‘I have no idea’ look.

And then the young guy, Jeff, comes over.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“What are you sorry about?” I ask.

“I dunno, I just, I feel like I was kinda forward and maybe a little rude or whatever, and I… Y’know, I’m sorry.”

Jesus Christ, he’s like a fucking reincarnation. I find myself choking up again, against my will. But I rally and laugh it off.

“Dude,” I say, “that is not forward. I’ve seen forward, believe me, and that ain’t it.”

He smiles. I continue, “But thanks. Apology accepted.” Again, I smile. He smiles back. And it breaks my heart a little bit.

Then he leaves and it’s just me and Evan. Which is why I came here. To see him. But I feel instantly anxious as I consider all the things that I want to say. That I need to say. And as I debate how to begin…

“So,” Evan says, “hi.”

I laugh ever so slightly. “Hi,” I say back.