Noah and Kate: The Reunion

By Anita Claire

Everyone's surprised at their twenty-year high school reunion when Noah Harris shows up. He still has that same edgy energy that intimidated the boys and made the girls swoon. All the girls except Kate Moore. Kate was kind, a good student, and the school’s top athlete. Kate never liked Noah, he was a mean bully who sold drugs and stole.

When Kate picks her son up from child care, she’s appalled that he’s playing with Noah’s boy. Even worse, Noah’s boy is on her son’s soccer team. How does she nip this friendship in the bud?

Noah can’t get Kate out of his mind. It’s been twenty years but she still has the same warm happy energy he finds madly compelling. Maybe, with a little charm, he can melt this ice queen’s heart. It won't be easy but you can’t fault a man for trying, can you?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita Claire
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781005275198

Anita Claire

Anita Claire is an author of contemporary romance novels. Her books explore women who hold non-traditional jobs and the situations they encounter. She writes about smart, hard-working women and the men they fall in love with.

Book preview

Noah and Kate

The Reunion

By

Anita Claire

Noah and Kate

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

Editing by www.529Books.com

Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

Text copyright © Anita Claire 2020, All rights reserved

Chapter 1

Kate

Captain, looking good, Otis comments as I enter the kitchen.

I reply with a scowl.

Tell me you’re not back with Ben.

Before I say anything, Battalion Chief Thompson enters. Otis, Moore.

Chief. I nod.

Moore, you look…different.

A date? Otis queries.

Chief Thompson raises his eyebrows.

I’m saved from an awkward conversation by the arrival of some more guys from our shift. Today’s the picnic for my twenty-year class reunion. I’m near the end of a 48-hour shift. Since the morning was quiet I took a quick shower and spent some time blowing out and arranging my hair —but that’s none of their business. I haven’t had a date in ages and I’d never get back with my ex, Ben—which is also none of their business.

We head to our rig to go through our list and make sure everything is in its place and stocked before the next shift takes over.

We’ve just finished when a call comes in.

No, Otis complains. Couldn’t they have waited ten more minutes?

The garage door is already going up as I pull the sheet off the printer. I race towards the passenger seat as Otis jumps in the driver’s seat and Thompson straps himself into the jump seat.

Car ran through a stop sign, T-bone at the corner of Franklin and Elmwood, injuries reported, I call out as I pull on my seat belt.

Our siren is on. Otis moves swiftly through the streets. I can feel my adrenaline pumping. We reach the scene in less than three minutes. Where it was dry at our station house, here, it’s pouring. We maneuver around the traffic. I can see smoke rising from the car engines.

Thompson, you take care of putting a fire-retardant on the engines. Otis, check on each car and report back. Shit, where are the cops? Park there. I point to a location that assures there’s access for an ambulance and the police. As soon as the rig stops, I jump out. On scene, I say into my radio as I look at stabilizing the surroundings. There is a small group of looky-loos forming.

Everyone on the curb, I order as I move the few people standing in the now drizzle away from the cars and under the awnings.

I saw the whole thing. I was sitting right there, a bystander says. It went from daylight to pouring, and suddenly there was no visibility.

Two in the front seat, both unconscious, no one in the back seat, Otis’s voice rumbles out over my radio from car one.

Sir, I’m here to stabilize the scene. When the police arrive, please tell them what happened, I reply to the spectator.

Airbags deployed, both wearing seat belts, Otis continues.

I jog past Otis as he takes vitals and move around both cars. My goal is to see if anyone was thrown or if a pedestrian was involved. No injuries in the street, I report over my radio.

Since Otis is still at the first car, I head to the second and look inside. This car was hit on the driver’s side. No seatbelt, airbag deployed, unconscious, head injury, driver only, I say into my radio.

Sirens blare from a couple of blocks away.

I try to open the driver’s door—no luck. I try the door behind the driver’s seat. Nope. As I look through the busted window, I have to take a breath and bury my emotions. There’s a car seat in back. Please, God, let this guy have strapped his kid in. I jog to the right side of the car. No luck opening either of those doors either. We can use the Jaws of Life but it’ll save a lot of time if we can get a door open. I pull a bar from my belt and break the front seat passenger window. I unlock the doors, but they’re still stuck. I use my elbow to move the glass away from the frame and crawl in. There is a baby buckled in with a regulation harness. His hands are curled into fists, and he starts screaming when he sees me. Crying is good.

I open my kit and start taking vital signs of the man in the front seat.

Baby, about one, buckled in, looks good. Driver has head trauma. He’s breathing but blood pressure’s elevated, I say into my radio. Bleeding, but not profusely. Thompson, do you have the engines and gas stabilized?

Just about, Captain, his voice wobbles out over the radio.

Otis, stabilize car one, I’ll take car two. Thompson, when you’re done, back up Otis, I order.

Aye aye captain, he responds.

I try to open the door from the inside. I can hear it unlatch. I roll on my back, move my knees to my chest, and kick the door really hard. It squeaks open. I spot an ambulance EMS.

We’ll need a gurney over here, I call out. Once the man is stabilized I unlatch the baby and pull him into my arms. The baby continues to scream. I do another quick look over; he seems to be fine. He might be bruised, but the docs at the hospital can take care of that.

Call Family Services. We’ll need to have someone take responsibility for the baby until a relative can claim him, I order through my radio.

I search for someone to give the screaming baby to. Of course all the men look away. Without anyone available to hand him off to, I backtrack to the car and peek inside. There’s a diaper bag on the floor. I reach in and pull it out. There’s a bottle and a pacifier. I grab the pacifier and put it in the baby’s mouth. He takes three chugs and calms down. Works every time I smile to myself. Still holding the baby I check on the progress of car one. My battalion chief approaches. Is everything secured?

The adults are all on gurneys and headed to the hospital. I don’t see any arms free for the baby.

I’ll take over the scene, make sure you hand the baby to the right authority. We’re not losing children on my watch, he orders.

Yes, sir.

I’ll ride to the hospital with you, I call after the EMT who has the father. He moves to give me room in the jump seat. Otis, Thompson, we’re going to General. I’m riding in the ambulance with the baby. Meet me there.

Aye, Captain, Otis responds as the two of them head back to our rig.

***

Kate Moore, you’re firefighter? Are you gay? a woman asks at my high school reunion. Isn’t she the girl that flashed our class on the last day of school?

Annoyance flares. It doesn’t help that my hair got trampled by the rain and I got here late since I had to wait forever at General for Child Protective Services.

What? she questions as someone standing behind me chokes out a laugh. I turn. A big, well-built, unkempt man is standing next to me. He’s handsome in the way guys who could use a shave and haircut are handsome. I raise an eyebrow.

You didn’t answer her question, he comments. Are you gay?

I don’t see why it’s anyone’s business, I reply.

Well, I’m going to go get a lemonade, Jill says, ducking away from the awkwardness she created.

You’re not wearing a ring. You’re at our class reunion. You’re basically here to answer personal questions, he retorts.

It’s the twenty-first century. Lesbians can marry these days. And straight women can be firefighters.

He extends his hand. On each finger, there’s a one letter tattoo: N O A H. Of course, there is.

So, you’re straight, just angry, he says.

And you’re Noah…Harris, right? I’m not angry. Just coming down from an intense morning.

Got a cat down from a tree?

More like a baby.

They can climb trees?

Weren’t you in jail? I respond.

It’s offensive to ask you if you’re gay, but cool to presume I went to jail?

You did have a reputation. The rumor at graduation was you were arrested.

That’s a good rumor. The reality was I rode my bike to Alaska.

You came back from Alaska to attend our high school reunion?

Um, no, we live here.

We?

My son, Mason, and me.

Where is ‘here’?

Amherst.

Oh.

Oh?

I live in Amherst.

Oh....

Noah

I bet Perfect Kate Moore’s here to relive her glory days. Me? I’m here making amends. I did some horrible things as a kid. Over the years, I’ve learned that a heartfelt apology goes a long way for both sides to heal.

After making the rounds and giving my apologies, I feel emotionally spent. I walk to the playground to pick up my boy. It’s not too hard to spot him. He has ADHD and is always on the move. I look for the biggest ruckus and there he is, wrestling with another boy.

What’s going on?

Mason looks up with a big smile. This is my new friend, Lucas.

Son, we need to be going now. Say goodbye to your friend.

Nooo, he wails.

Mason.

Dad, no.

Ten minutes. The two of you can play for ten more minutes. Then we need to go.

I look back at the party. There are no more conversations I’m interested in having. What I could use is a beer, but, oh well.

Lucas, Perfect Kate calls out. Lucas, she yells louder.

Hey, Mom! the boy wrestling with Mason replies.

We need to get going.

Looks like they bonded, I comment as she approaches.

Is that…Mason? she questions.

Mason, yes, I reply. He’s not a bully, so rest easy.

That wasn’t what I was thinking.

Oh, yes it was. You think the kid is like his old man.

He could be like your wife…? she says, fishing.

Not married, and Mason’s mother’s not in the picture.

Is he the reason you moved back?

Lots of questions for a woman who wouldn’t admit to a former classmate that she’s straight.

You’re the one giving me grief for not discussing the last twenty years of my life with a stranger, she says.

Then why did you show up? You know everyone wants to know what you’ve been doing.

I thought that’s what Facebook was for.

Not my thing. I don’t need to know where someone I don’t care about went on vacation.

Yeah, I hear you.

I watch Kate and Lucas take off. Why am I attracted to the women who aren’t into me?

Chapter 2

Kate

Captain, Collin, my engineer, says. You’ve got a call.

I look down at my cell phone. No messages. Who’d be calling me on the station phone?

Moore, I answer.

Kate? a deep voice greets me.

Yeah?

This is Noah, Noah Harris…from high school.

Noah…. Hi…ahh, is your house on fire?

Actually, my cat’s up a tree.

What?

…Um, my kid’s been bugging me about a playdate with Lucas. I was wondering if we could schedule something.

I’m on for another twenty-one hours. If you give me your number, I can text you to arrange things when I’m off.

I hang up the phone after getting his information.

Who was that? Collin asks.

A parent trying to set up a playdate with Lucas.

Is this guy giving you a hard time?

What? No, I reply. Why would you even ask that?

Your neck’s all red. It only gets red when someone pisses you off.

You pay attention to my neck?

***

Mom, there’s my friend, Lucas yells as he darts off.

Lucas, soccer practice starts in a few minutes and you still need to warm up! I call after him.

I volunteered to coach his team, but, because of my schedule, I need a dependable assistant. For the last two years it’s been a fellow parent, Tim. I look around the field and spot a big guy setting up field cones. That’s not Tim. As I get closer, I realize the man is Noah Harris.

You never texted me, Noah says as I approach.

Hello to you, too. I’ve been busy.

Yeah, I get it.

Where’s Tim?

Tim crashed his bike—or so I was told—and broke his leg. When I signed Mason up for soccer, they asked if I’d coach. Are you my assistant?

I’m the coach. That would make you my assistant. Anyways, I had no idea you played soccer.

In elementary and middle school.

You set up the course. Do you want to start practice? I ask, curious to see how he does.

Sure. Boys, come on! Noah calls out.

With the boys around him, Noah gets down on one knee to explain a drill. He has great energy and keeps the drill moving fast.

Who would have thought the kid who got kicked off the football team for smoking and spent the rest of high school plotting which car he’d steal next would have the skills to keep fifteen, eight-year-old boys in line?

You get to run Thursday’s practice, then? Noah says as I help the boys kick the balls into the bag at the end of practice.

Thursday…yes, then I’m on for forty-eight.

You’re really a fireman…sliding down the poll and all that?

I’m a firefighter, not a fireman, and polls were taken out of fire halls about a century ago.

Can I ask how you became a firefighter? I never took you for that kind of girl.

What kind of girl is that?

The kind that likes to show up the boys.

Is there any filter between your brain and your mouth?

Are you going to answer the question?

I like sports. I’ve always been strong and coordinated. I also like to help people. I was debating if I wanted to go into medicine or social work, but I couldn’t imagine sitting behind a desk. That’s when I considered firefighting. Only about six percent of the work we do is fighting fires—most of it involves being first responders—that’s what I like, it’s the best job in the world.

You’ll be here Thursday but not Saturday? Noah questions as I kick the last ball into the bag.

I’m on a 48/96.

Is that a number I should know?

Sorry, shop talk. I have two days on, four days off—I’m working from Friday until Sunday morning. I’ll be back for practice next Tuesday.

Who takes care of Lucas when you’re gone?

My parents live around the corner.

Where’s his dad?

Are you going to fill me in on your story?

Answering a question with a question, is that really your go-to?

Is deflecting yours?

Mason’s mom tracked me down when he was three. In the years since, she periodically shows up, but she’s not shown any interest in taking him back.

She abandoned him five years ago?

She didn’t abandon him. Sometimes, she calls.

And I thought my ex was bad.

I take it he’s still in the picture?

Picture? The glass is shattered, the frame is broken, but sure.

Not an easy break-up?

It’s hard being married to a firefighter. I’m gone for forty-eight hours at a time, I have a dangerous job, and I’m a woman living and working with men. It takes a secure person to deal with all that.

Was it you who broke up with him or the other way around?

Not so fast. Back to you. She tracked you down with a three-year-old? How come you weren’t around?

It was a summer fling. I didn’t even know I had a kid until she showed up.

Wow. How do you know he’s—

It’s the twenty-first century, Kate. Seriously? Genetic testing. He pauses. "I’m