I slow-blink. “What? A promotion?” Why wouldn’t he tell me?
“He’s the new lieutenant.” Scott’s expression softens. “Don’t take it personally that he didn’t tell you. He doesn’t tell anyone anything.” Before I can respond, he ushers me along. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew.”
Meeting the team distracts me from angsting over Trevor’s secrecy. Notably, there’s Kevin, who is the first to tell me that under no circumstances will he lift a finger today, due to a back injury. Paula is one of three women at the station and is grateful for my presence. She even insists I need to ride in her truck to debrief about the latest season of Euphoria. Everyone is laid-back, boasting friendly demeanors that hit me like fresh ocean air, compared to the polluted smog that is the hospital, with its endless drama.
And then there’s Cameron. He’s built like a lumberjack, towering over even Scott, who’s well over six feet.
Cameron introduces himself with a burly handshake. “How you doin’？” he asks in a Joey Tribbiani New York–style accent. “You’re Scotty’s sister-in-law, huh?”
“Soon-to-be sister-in-law,” I correct, shooting Scott a look. “Although they’re eloping to tropical paradise without me. Leaving me behind in the dead of winter.”
Cameron gifts me with a Calvin Klein model smile. “Hey, it’s not so bad. I’m here in Boston.”
Before I can react to his blatant confidence, Trevor materializes behind me. “Ready to go?” he asks, eyeing Cameron.
I go to respond, but the visual of Trevor suiting up changes life as I know it. Men in uniform have never sparked the fanny flutters, until now. Even in a completely shapeless jacket, his sex appeal has skyrocketed to new heights. The whole thing plays out in my mind in slo-mo. Flexing tendons, strained forearms, all dipping and twisting like art in motion.
The corner of his mouth quirks up when he notices me blatantly ogling him like a tiger awaiting a hunk of raw, bloody meat to be tossed into its enclosure. I think I may have just ovulated.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
My cheeks burn, and I do a one-eighty to beeline for the first available truck, which happens to be Cameron’s.
As I take my first step, Trevor gives the collar of my peacoat a soft tug. “Nope. Not that one. You’re my responsibility today.” His tone is neutral, although I can’t help but feel as if I’m burdening him. Like he’s obliged to babysit me.
I shrug it off, following him into the correct truck. There are two face-to-face seats on either side in addition to a row along the back. He promptly points me toward a face-to-face seat, taking the backward one. Kevin is our driver. Sadly, I’m not in Paula’s truck, or Scott’s. But the other two guys, Ernie and Jesse, are supportive of my suggestion to crank the music.
Everyone but Trevor belts a Queen song as the truck barrels down the city streets toward the first pickup location. Ernie even offers me a red Twizzler. I thank him, peeling one out before passing the bag to Trevor. When he reaches for it, I catch the tail end of a tattoo that extends to his wrist.
“When did you get your first tattoo?” I ask through a sticky bite.
“When I graduated high school. I moved to Arizona for a while for college. I was missing home when I got this one.” He pulls back the sleeve to reveal an artfully designed compass on the inside of his wrist.
“You were in college?”
“Yup. Had a scholarship for rugby.”
More breaking news. Yet another major detail about Trevor Metcalfe I was unaware of. I try to ignore the press of our knees together as the truck slants downhill. Trevor doesn’t seem to notice or care, because he doesn’t shift away.
“I had no idea you played rugby at the college level.”
“I dropped out after the second year.” He catches my concerned-mother reaction and quickly adds, “Came home and joined the BFD.”
“Why did you leave?”
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Lots of reasons. I got injured after the second season. But mostly because I hated being away from home. And Angie was born during my second year. I knew my brother wasn’t stepping up, so it didn’t feel right to be so far away,” he says. “My grandma passed away in that same year too.”
“She must have been really proud of you for getting a scholarship.”
His jaw tics, and he averts his stare to his lap, clearly done with the conversation.
One layer at a time with Trevor, I remind myself as we arrive at our first stop. It’s a local grocery store. The owner and staff wait in the entrance as Trevor and the crew retrieve the food donations. A reporter in a vibrant emerald jacket hovers on the sidelines, snapping photos. Trevor blinks away the flash as he squats down to lift a box of canned soup.
“You don’t like the paparazzi?” I prod.
He passes the box to Kevin, who grumpily agreed to take on the role of stacking the boxes in the truck. “Nah. I’d rather do it without all the fanfare—” He pauses when a stout, balding man approaches, his hand extended.
“I was told you’re the man in charge here. I’m Yoni, the store owner,” he says.
Trevor meets his handshake. “Good to meet you, Yoni. I’m Trevor.”
“I just wanted to thank you guys before you head out. It means a lot.”
“We couldn’t do it without the donations. So thank you,” Trevor tells him.
Yoni nods, casting a proud gaze at the stack of boxes in the truck. “The food bank is a cause close to my heart. As a young boy, my family relied on it. I do what I can to give back.”
Trevor gives him a terse nod and a slap on the back. “Mine did too, man. Full circle, huh?”
I bow my head at the revelation as we return to the truck. I feel terrible for all the times I teased him for being cheap. An apology is necessary, though now doesn’t seem to be an appropriate time.
We repeat the pickup at five more locations. One is another grocery store, while the other four are random neighborhood checkpoints. And by the time our route is over, the truck is stuffed to capacity with donations. With each pickup, Trevor’s mood lightens. At one point, I even catch him mouthing the words to a Bon Jovi classic. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.
The last stop is to drop the boxes off at the food bank. Even I partake in the labor, taking mostly the boxes with pasta and other light goods.
By the time it’s all over, Trevor and I are flat-out exhausted. In the car, I find myself lazily studying his profile. I never noticed before, but the man has a beautiful nose. Perfectly straight. Proportionate to his face. It’s slightly pointed, almost pretty boy, contradicting the rest of his gruff exterior.
When he side-eyes me, I blink, stopping myself from staring at him.
“Hot tub when we get back?” he asks, moving a hand over his right shoulder. He winces slightly as he reaches for his seat belt.
“Yes. I need it. Is your shoulder okay?”
“Yeah, all good. It acts up once in a while. I dislocated it in rugby, and again a couple of years back during a fire call. It hasn’t been the same since.” He reaches over the console and nudges my arm. “Hey, thanks for coming today.”