The Proposal
Book 1 - NYC
Lisa Shea
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lisa Shea. / Book design by Lisa Shea
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
- v3 -
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Ruth fidgeted nervously with the small fabric pouch in her jeans pocket, the heavy crowds on 42nd street flowing around her beneath the mid-September sunset. It was silly for her great-grandmother to have given her the Mohican love charm. Love charm, indeed! She’d known Hank since high school and had started dating him right out of SUNY. They’d been together three years now and they fit together like the eight-ball neatly nestling in a corner pocket. But for whatever reason her beloved Aponi had carefully sewn two tiny dolls, one male, the other female, and bundled them closely together. The token was supposed to ensure a long, happy marriage.
Ruth blushed at the thought, pushing her thick, dark hair back from her face. Hank was busy enough settling in at the fire station as it was, and she was run ragged with the daycare’s room of joyfully hyperactive toddlers. To even think about planning a wedding ...
That familiar smell of leather musk, and Hank’s arms came up around her in a warm embrace. “Sorry I’m late, hun,” he murmured in her ear. “Garage over on 8th had a smoking oil barrel. Had to play it safe.”
“Of course,” she smiled up at him. “Come on, let’s go in. I’ve been smelling that pizza for a half hour and I’m starving.”
Heads turned as the Italian waiter guided them through to the back table, and she blushed. There was just something about Hank. Sure, he was six-foot-two and built like a tank - but it was more than that. It was those blue eyes of his, as bright as sapphires - and that smile. When he was happy he glowed as if a magical power had set him alight. And tonight he was glowing with a passion.
She chuckled as they took their seats. “You have a good day at work? Did that boss of yours finally say you could go up on the ladder truck?”
His eyes twinkled. “Maybe. But I’ll tell you about that later. First, how did your day go?”
They talked, they ordered, and the food was delicious, as always. Ruth’s cares eased away when she was around Hank. He had that way about him. She would be perfectly content if they simply went on together just the way they were, in their cozy third-floor apartment with the massive jade plant sprawling in its sunny front window.
The dark-haired waiter came by to remove their plates. “Healthy appetites – that’s good. Always appreciated. Did you leave room for dessert?”
Hank glanced at Ruth with a smile. “Two tiramisu as usual?”
She nodded with a grin. “Excuse me, just need to run to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
The mouth-watering desserts were just arriving when she returned and their napkins had been replaced by fresh ones, arranged into elegant doves. That’s why she loved this place so much. It was the little touches which brought it to life.
Hank’s gaze held her as she sat. “You really are beautiful, you know.”
She blushed. “All I did was touch up my lipstick. And you’ll smear that all off again when we get home.”
His eyes shone. “That’s because you are so wonderfully kissable.”
She laughed and leaned forward -
His phone rang. He frowned and for a moment she thought he might not answer it. But he let out a breath and drew it from his pocket. “Hi, it’s Hank, and I’m afraid -”
A flurry of urgent conversation tumbled from the phone, and he launched to his feet. “Yes. Got it. Be right there.”
Ruth’s blood ran cold. “Hank, what is it?”
His gaze was a turmoil of emotion. “I’m sorry, I wish –” He glanced down at the desserts, then at the door, clearly distracted. “I have to go. Wait for me.” He spun and half-ran from the restaurant.
All eyes turned to watch him go, then swiveled back to stare at her in curiosity. She blushed and shrugged, saying to the room at large, “He’s a firefighter.”
A murmur of gentle laughter along with nods of appreciation swept the room. The restaurant burbled back up into its normal life.
She stared down at the tiramisu, then took a half-hearted forkful of it. It just wasn’t the same eating it alone. Not when Hank was out on what might be a dangerous job. She knew it was silly to worry, but she did anyway. Her dad had died of a heart attack two years ago, and her mom was off in California with her new boyfriend. So it was just her and Hank here in the City. He was her rock. Her foundation.
The waiter came by with an understanding nod. “You want me to pack those up?”
She nodded. “If you would. I’ll probably just sit at the bar until he gets back. It could be a while.”
He returned with a single elegant box and neatly nestled the two pieces side by side. Just like her love charm dolls. Two separate items merging into one, joining together -
Her phone chirped, and she drew it up in relief. That would be Hank. He’d be telling her that it was all a mistake and that he’d be back any second.
It was from her co-worker, Diane. The caption read OMG. And the image showed -
The blood drained from her face.
She knew that building. It was an apartment complex just down the block from Hank’s fire station. Tangerine flames licked out of every open window and smoke black as pitch boiled high into the evening sky. Several trucks were pressed up hard against it, their ladders piercing into the inferno.
The waiter’s voice was low. “Miss, are you all right?”
She fumbled with her purse, digging for her wallet. “I have to - I need to -”
“Go,” he said. “Come back later for the bill. I’ll put the cakes in the fridge.”
Stored away. Like the love charm, put on ice, put into cold storage -
She pushed up to her feet, and her hand knocked over the napkin dove which sat at Hank’s side of the table.
Beneath it was an elegant diamond ring.
She couldn’t breathe. She stared at the ring as if it were an indecipherable message from a distant civilization.
Then she swept it up in her hand, turned, and ran out the front door.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she flew down 42nd Street. She felt the impact of arms as she occasionally dodged left rather than right, but the affronted outcries barely reached her ears. All she could hear was the hammering of her sneakers on the pavement and her blood in her ears. A distant part of her wondered if she should have hailed a taxi but that would have been too slow, too slow, she had to run ... run ... run ...
She could smell the smoke before she rounded the corner, but even so the sight before her shook her to her core. There was no way for the tiny smartphone screen to do the powerful scene any justice. Flames towered to the very vault of the sky. She could feel the heat crackling against her skin. There were hordes of gawkers and excitement junkies, most holding cell-phones high to celebrate this bonfire. She drove through them like a salmon pushing with every inch of her life to get upstream. Nothing else mattered to her but to get to that line - and through it -
She slammed into a big blue wall.
The policeman looked down in weary exasperation. “No one goes
past this line, miss. It’s for your own safety, as well as the safety of the firefighters.”
She could barely breathe. “He’s in there.”
His brow creased. “Who is in there?”
“My Hank. He’s - he’s in there. I know he is.”
He glanced back at the raging fire in concern. “Do you know what floor he was on?”
She was having trouble stringing two logical thoughts together. “He wanted to be on ladder duty tonight.”
A note of respect lit his gaze. “He’s a firefighter.”
She could only nod.
“He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “These are New York’s finest. The world’s finest. Your husband will make it out to you safe and sound.”
Husband. Her throat closed up at the word, and her hand tightened around the diamond ring still clutched tightly there. Tears welled in her eyes and she followed the ladder up, up, to where it vanished in the roiling clouds of ink.
The world groaned.
The front facade of the building curled, bowed, sagged -
Her voice ripped out of her in a scream. “Hank!”
The policeman looked around in concern. “Everyone, step back!”
A firefighter shouted from the right, “Move that ladder truck!”
She drove at the policeman. “No! Hank’s in there!”
“He’ll get out,” assured the policeman, his eyes creased with worry. “But if they don’t move the truck, and they lose that ladder -”
The truck began to roll forward, away from the rippling wall. Three feet ... four feet ...
Ruth craned around the policeman. “Hank! Get to the