Fan The Flames (Man Of The Month Book 3) by Michele Dunaway

Author:Michele Dunaway [Dunaway, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary, Romance, Fiction, Monthly, Navy, SEAL, Marine, Firefighter, Mission, Best Friend, Forbidden, Widowed, St. Louis, Deceased, High School, Past, Painful, Childhood, Adult, Hero, Charity Calandar, Fireman
ISBN: 9781466883932
Google: ddaxCAAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 25664243
Publisher: St. Martin's Paperbacks
Published: 2015-08-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

During his time with the SEALs, Brad had been all over the world. After drinking his beer and taking a much-needed, hour-long nap, he’d felt better. More in control. Resolved to do the right thing. But as he walked into Singler Hall, otherwise known as the church basement, all that newfound calm and determination vanished. He’d never seen anything quite like a St. Pius fish fry, and he felt like, to excuse the terrible pun, a fish out of water.

Immediately he could tell the event worked like a well-oiled machine. Eight dollars bought you fish, three sides and dessert. Or four dollars bought a smaller size: half a fish portion and two sides. Clearly half the allure of the fish fry was as a social event, the line snaking through the hallway for “eating in” was much longer than those “carrying out.”

For those dining in, dinner was served on china plates. Catholic nuns, not wearing habits, worked the bar, selling soda, and for those twenty-one and older, two-dollar beers. Kids ran around freely—weaving in and out of the long tables and metal folding chairs, all watched by the entire community. He saw Colleen racing around with her cousins.

He gave a second glance to the sign reading, MAY COD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOLE, passed as he walked toward the fry room. He’d been put on fry duty, something he hadn’t done since working at McDonald’s during high school. Into bubbling hot oil went a wire basket full of freshly breaded fish. Out came fish a crisp, golden brown color. In the kitchen, church members removed baked fish from industrial ovens. Used steam tables to keep things hot and fresh. No reheated fish here.

The event ran from four to seven thirty, so it was around seven by the time Scarlett’s dad told Brad he could go. “We’re done cooking,” he said. “You did good. Go get yourself a plate.”

“Thanks,” Brad said. He took off his white apron, put it in the laundry bin. Headed out to the line. He’d learned any extra food was donated to a local soup kitchen, who would use it to feed the homeless. He went through the line, choosing baked fish, green beans, potato salad, applesauce, and a dinner roll. He stopped by the dessert table.

“Hey.” Scarlett gave him a megawatt smile that heated him more than standing over the hot fryer had. She’d tamed her hair into a tight knot at the base of her neck. The standard white apron covered jeans and a long-sleeve, scooped-cut T-shirt.

“How’s it going?” he asked, wincing because he sounded so lame. After his nap, he’d seen things clearer. Realized that maybe he was expecting too much from himself, that it was okay not to have all the answers. After all, for a man who could snap his fingers and have women fall at his feet, what he knew about serious relationships wouldn’t fill a teacup.

She appeared happy to see him, and he relaxed somewhat. She gestured to the once-full table.

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