First Chapter: Firefly
Trevor
“Tell the truth. You’re going to miss it, aren’t you?”
“Not a chance, Rye.” I sip the Brooklyn Lager ale and sigh. The crisp malty flavor with a slightly bitter taste isn’t awful; it’s just not my usual Goldenpour favorite from the Gin Mill.
One more day, I mentally remind myself—one more day until I escape the confines of this city and return to Vermont. Hell, I’m even looking forward to shoveling the snow at my parents’ home too.
“Seriously? You’d rather waste your time in the middle of nowhere around mountains and shit?”
Originally from New York, Rylan Gleason had taken part in an electrician apprenticeship program with me in Vermont. Due to the competitiveness of the ones in his state, it was his only option. We became friends and stayed in touch after finishing our licensures.
“Yup.” If I close my eyes, I can visualize my cozy cabin and the picturesque lake and trees in the background—not to mention the absolute quiet awaiting me.
I’m not a city person. Never have been and never will be. Here, everyone is in a rush, politeness is nonexistent, and the smells …
God, I miss the fresh air.
“Man, I almost went insane from the boredom when I lived there.” Rye scrunches his face. “They don’t even have a good pizza place within walking distance.”
“True.” I rest my elbows against the back of the barstool. He signals the bartender for another drink. “But there are a shit ton of other things that make Vermont awesome.”
“Don’t you dare mention maple syrup.” He shivers. “Do you know how long it took me not to gag when I came across that aroma?”
“C’mon. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Okay, fine. And the beer was better too. Speaking of which, did you want another one?”
“No, thanks.” I take the fourth swig of my current beer, scanning the Henry Street Ale House crowd for reasons I’m not ready to admit to myself. “Live a little. It’s your last night.”
“Flying tomorrow,” is all I reply because it’s true. I could have one more, but I’m not in the mood. So, I finish the last of my beer and set it on the counter.
Usually, I’m a friendly guy, but living in Brooklyn these past few months has soured me on socialization. I’ve come here to work, not brunch every Sunday, or eat at the newest Asian Fusion restaurant—whatever that means.
Rye offering me a short-term contracting job in Brooklyn was surprising, not the standard procedure for hiring an electrician, especially since I’m from out of state. There’s a whole process for union members when working across state lines with other local groups. I suggested he ask one of his regulars, but he claimed they were busy on another site, and I was his first choice. In truth, I suspect he was throwing me a bone. Rye knows of my desire to run an independent contracting business and how I need the capital to support my goal.
Stupidly, I initially balked at the idea. Why would I want to leave Colebury anyway? The air is crisp, the people are friendly, and the food is organic. Then, I found out the pay, and I quickly changed my tune. After all, the more money I accumulate, the closer I’ll be to becoming my own boss.
My biggest worry was finding a place to live. My ever-helpful mother thought she had a line on a home through Zara Rossi, now Berenger. Unfortunately, it turns out her husband sold his Brooklyn condo to some celebrity. Luckily, Rye offered me his apartment in Dumbo at a cheap rate while staying with his girlfriend.
Rye breaks me from my thoughts by setting another lager down in front of me. I scowl at the bottle and then at him.
“Told you I didn’t want another one.”
He shrugs. “I figure you need some liquid courage before you approach. You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” I stiffen at his truthful words.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do.
Despite the numerous bars in Brooklyn and Manhattan, for that matter, I’ve frequented this establishment for one reason only.
Firefly.
She’s the attractive dark-haired woman who’s occupied my mind for the past several weeks. Her amber skin color with copper undertones radiated a beauty I’ve never experienced before. I hadn’t known her name, only the dazzling tattoo of a firefly on the underside of her left wrist at the base. Her flair bartending skills are what put the intricately designed inking on full display. It had practically danced with every arch of her hand and rotation of her wrist.
Before I even saw her face, I fixated on her delicate hands when she expertly twirled a napkin in the air, floating it in a way that allowed her to press it flat to the bar top in front of the patron. Then, my gaze followed the shaker as it rolled along her slender yet toned arms. I found myself moistening my lips at her bracing the bottle of alcohol between her neck and her shoulder because it made her plump lips stand out as she smiled. Damn, if that sultry as hell lip curl didn’t bring my lower half to attention.
When I finally caught a full glimpse of her, it nearly knocked all the breath out of my body. It wasn’t the pair of skinny jeans she wore that accentuated her curves, nor was it the skin-tight black tee that hugged her ample chest. No, it was her hazel eyes, the irises perfectly blending shades of green with flecks of gold, and her warm, beaming smile which brightened the dimly lit room. Everything about her radiated happiness, and I wanted to experience it firsthand.
Smiling, Rye flashes a “yeah, right,” expression before swallowing the last of his beer and moving on to the next. The bartender takes his and my empty.
“She walked in a couple of minutes ago while you were staring into space.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, leaning against the raised back of the barstool and doing my best to act nonchalant.
“Be right back. The ginger across the room is giving me sex eyes.”
I grunt a response, watching as Rye makes his way to a woman with shoulder-length curly hair. He and his girlfriend have an open relationship, however that works. I could never consider sharing. I’m a one-woman kind of man, and I expect my partner to do the same.
I envy the ease with which he approaches her. Normally, I’d do the same with my mystery woman. Yet, for reasons unknown, I only watch her. While Rye romances his hookup for the night, I grab my phone from my pocket to check for any missed texts.
My sister, Mabel, or Bunny, as we affectionately call her (due to her unending amount of energy as a baby), is the first message I come across. In it, she demands, Lunch tomorrow, Trev. Or else, ending it with a fist emoji. I grin at her insistence. My idealistic and extroverted sibling missed me. Sometimes, she hides her emotions behind the typical teenager traits of eye rolls and sarcasm.
Outspoken since the age of three, Mabel has no problem telling you what she truly thinks, even if her observations are painfully accurate. She does her best to consider others’ feelings when sharing her opinions, but her open candor can sometimes get her in trouble. Conversely, she will go to bat for anyone she loves and fight tooth and nail for a cause she believes in.
An avid environmentalist, Mabel is still trying to convince me to buy a hybrid car instead of keeping my Ford F-150. I reasoned needing space to fit all of my tools for my denial, but in reality, I could’ve found something that worked. I ended up silencing her by promising to install solar panels at our parents’ place in the spring. I planned on doing it anyway because they were way past due. Typical Vermont winter weather and their roof needing work delayed me for a season.
You’re paying, Bunny.
I reply to her text with a smirking emoji, and hers was a middle finger. She’s not a fan of her nickname and hasn’t been since the age of eleven.
Whoever my blond-haired, freckle-faced sister ends up with will have his hands full after I put the fear of God in him first, of course.
Moving on to my next notification, my buddy Darren confirms he’s picking me up from the Burlington airport at eleven thirty. I’m not sure he’s dragging Kolton along, but I don’t mind the extra company.
Darren Reade and I have known each other since high school, he, a career day presenter, and me a teenager looking for direction. His presentation on working as a tradesman and the training it entails was intense. I wasn’t too keen on his specialization in stone masonry. I had more of a fascination with taking electronics apart and putting them back together again. Naturally, he steered me toward electrical engineering, connecting me with one of his contractor friends. By the time I was eighteen, I had some experience, which made me a shoo-in for the apprenticeship program. Throughout my schooling, Darren acted as my surrogate big brother, checking in on my progress. We remain close friends to this day.
You have the Jacques Torres box of chocolate for Kolton, right? He’s been looking forward to these since you sent the last box.
I cringe at the prospect. Kolton is a sweet kid with some anxiety issues, and I’d never disappoint him on purpose. My family adores him, and they would kick my ass if I ever did anything to upset the little guy. I tap a reply.
Already packed.
Fantastic. Catch you tomorrow.
I’m about to type in another response when a commotion brings me to attention. Slowly, I turn my head toward the end of the bar, shifting my body’s position. Now, facing the direction of the noise, I freeze when she comes into view.
“I’m not paying for this watered-down drink, sweetie,” the asshole slurs, his voice managing to project to my side of the bar. I was so into my phone that I hadn’t noticed her arrival at her station.
“Are we seriously doing this tonight, Todd?” She palms the curve of her hip. “Give a girl the chance to catch her bearings before dealing with the riffraff.”
“Don’t mock me, little girl.” He bangs his fist against the counter, but she doesn’t flinch. To my horror, she gets right in his face.
“Look, I sympathize with you. Erectile dysfunction is a problem for some men but taking your frustrations out on me will land you banned from the bar. Pay your tab and leave.”
Standing, I ease my way toward her and the patron. The bouncer is on his way, but I’m closer.
“Listen, bitch. I don’t even allow my wife to speak to me that way.”
“Hmm. Must be why you’re here ninety percent of the time.”
After slowly rising from his chair, he suddenly lunges forward. Before he has a chance to grab her by her tight black T-shirt, she takes two quick steps back. Due to his drunkenness, he stumbles forward, and that’s when she takes the opportunity to knee him in the nuts.
Ouch.
With him doubled over, I join in on the action, gripping him by the back of the neck and pulling him upright.
“I believe the lady asked you to pay.” I grab his forearm to steady him.
“I got this, handsome.” She barely glances my way.
Reaching in his back pocket, she pulls out his wallet and snags a twenty. “Nice doing business with you.” She tosses the money to the pale and skinny bartender on the opposite side. “This is exactly why we don’t overpour, Bishop. Especially to that guy.”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, slinking away.
Once the slow bouncer finally arrives, she hands him the customer’s wallet. Then her coworker drags the disgruntled man out by his collar.
“Thanks for your help, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Are you sure about that?” I say, “Because that guy was seconds away from slapping you in your pretty face.”
“Listen,” she sighs, slowly turning to face me, “I’ve already put one man in his pl—”
She stops speaking when her gaze lands on the center of my chest. It seems she didn’t expect the seven inches I’d have on her.
At six foot three, I’m taller than my father and most of the men in my family. It was never much of a problem until I moved to New York. It feels like the city is made for short people seeing as I lost count of how many times I banged my head on doorways, not to mention the train’s metal railing. Once, I didn’t duck low enough before taking a seat and hit my forehead dead center. The resulting bruise took a minute to heal.
When the surprise of my height finally wears off, she tilts her head up until her eyes land on mine. She arches an assessing brow, and I counter her, doing the same. After a beat or four passes, the corners of her lips curl into one of her sultry smiles.
“Hmm. I guess you are handsome. In a Brawny paper towel mountain man kind of way,” she remarks, indicating my beard.
Typically, a five o’clock shadow covers the lower half of my face, but I chose to let my facial hair grow out into a full beard while in town.
“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Oddly, I’m insulted,” I reply, my tone amused. She makes an affronted expression, but the delight flashing in her hazel eyes tells a different story.
“You should feel honored to be compared to a man with such prowess in paper product sales force. And you have that whole lumberjack vibe.” She motions to my green flannel and blue jeans. “Though, you’re not as bulky in the muscle department.”
“Wow.” I chuckle. “So, what you’re telling me is that I’m a cheap imitation of a fictional character.”
“Not cheap, per se.” She bites her bottom lip in contemplation. “More like a close second.” I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted when she bursts into laughter, the carefree, soft tone with a musical quality that’s all her.
“I had you there for a second, didn’t I, handsome?”
“Not a chance. A woman as beautiful as yourself doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. For a second, you had me reconsidering my workout regimen.”
“You don’t need to. I’m Melody, by the way.” She extends her hand, and I take it. I consider placing a kiss on the back of her hand but decide it’s too forward. She might still be in a knee-a-guy-in-the-balls mood.
“Great to meet you too, Melody. I’m Tre—”
“Mel,” someone shouts from a short distance, and she turns in that direction. “Bishop is drowning in customers. Get back there and work your magic, girl.”
“Be there in a sec, Edie.” Her gaze returns to mine. “You can let go of my hand now, handsome.” She grins.
“Sorry about that.” I’m not. I wanted to memorize the contours of each finger and the softness of her skin in case I don’t get another chance to touch her.
“I guess this is goodbye, for now.”
It doesn’t have to be.
“It seems that way.” She frowns at my response.
Why in the ever-loving hell didn’t I say the first thing that came to my mind?
Because I’m leaving.
The voice in my head confirms what I already knew. This is a mistake. I had weeks to approach her, but I watched. I watched while other men and women flirted and fawned over her. I saw the casual slip of a phone number in her hand and witnessed her politely decline each one. The possessive side of me liked to think that she did this for me, but the rational part knows she’s probably not the type of person to take a man home.
Which leaves me to this colossal mistake, something I know I’ll regret in the months ahead.
Grabbing her hand again, the left one this time, I rotate it for a close-up view of the tattoo. The second we touch, all surrounding bar chatter falls away.
“Firefly,” I mumble, studying the design. She relaxes into my hold as I trace the translucent extended outer wings and skim my fingers along the opaque inner ones. Then I focus on the glowing yellow shade at the base of the insect. “Why did you choose this as a tattoo?”
When my eyes meet hers, it’s then I notice them burning with some deep emotion I can’t quite read. Perhaps it’s the intensity of her stare and the strength I feel behind it, which throw me for a loop. Whatever the case, my question unintentionally drags her deep-rooted feelings to the surface, and she lays it bare for me to see.
“Whenever I’m feeling lost, I use its light as a beacon for guiding my way back.” Despite my earlier thought, the personal nature of her admission is still surprising. She seems like a woman who often has to hold it together and is used to handling things on her own. Admitting a vulnerability is a rarity at best. We’ve only shared a short conversation, and this is third-date material.
“Are you often lost, Firefly?” I stare at her intently, searching for a subtle clue as to what she’s feeling. It’s not as if I know her typical expressions, but I’d like to think I’m a semi-expert after observing her for so long.
“More than I should be.” She flashes a wry smile.
“Mel!” The shout from her coworker brings us back to the present. “Hurry up.”
“You have to go.” I point out the obvious as she pulls her hand out of my grasp.
“Listen, I’m on break in a couple of hours. Come find me if you’re still around.” Her hopeful expression guts me a little.
“I’ll be here,” I lie, knowing for certain I won’t. A woman who holds so much depth and passion in one gaze deserves more than one night. She deserves a lifetime. She nods her approval and saunters off, her feminine swagger nearly bringing me to my knees.
“So, I take it that went well?” Rye reappears arm in arm with the redhead.
“Yup.”
“Are you going to elaborate?”
“Nope.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I return to watching her from a distance, inwardly pissed at the missed opportunity.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Rye inquires, twirling a lock of the woman’s hair.
“I am.” I sigh, taking one last look before shrugging my coat on.
“I swear, you Vermont people are weird. If I had someone like that interested in a quick fuck from me, I’d be in there.”
“Rye,” his date scolds, elbowing him in the gut. “You’d hook up with her too, baby.”
“And on that note, I’ll see you later. Thanks for lending me your apartment.” I shake his hand.
“You’re welcome. If you ever need to escape your town and say, visit a certain bartender, you have a place to stay.”
“Appreciate it, man.” I wave at him and exit the bar, the chilly January air smacking me in the face. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be back home spending the rest of the winter, and possibly longer, forcing myself to forget about my Firefly.