Flash Fire Ch. 01

Ok here's the new and improved version of Mattie's story. It's completely different from the original. I won't go into detail as to why I did this. All I'm asking is that you forget the other story line ever existed and I hopefully will never see the need to do something drastic like this again.

There is no sex in this Chapter. It's slow to build so you have been warned. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome and please remember to vote! Thank you for reading me!

--~~--

I screamed; a chilling sound that echoed throughout my tiny house. A sound no one would hear – thank god. It was a horror many women never wished to wake up to. I looked at the offending grey hair in the mirror, my horror morphing into outrage.

Roughly I pulled open my medicine cabinet nearly ripping the door off. I grabbed my tweezers and plucked the grey hair from my hairline. 'It can't be a grey hair,' I though to myself. Maybe it's a really light brown hair. I sometimes got them. Upon closer inspection I decided it was, indeed, a grey hair.

I threw the tweezers down with disgust and looked at myself in the mirror. A sleepy spinster resembling a woman named Elaine Mason looked back at me. My long dark brown hair was mussed from sleep, my light brown eyes could barely stay open, and the rest of me looked like death warmed over. I sighed, walked over to the tub, and turned on the shower. There was no use dwelling on the cruelties of life. I had to get ready for work.

At the age of thirty-one, I was still single. I've only dated a few times and many of those were the fickle dealings of adolescences. When I entered into high school, I was deemed too geeky to date. In college, I was too focused on my work, leaving all thoughts of boys to other female college students. By the time I finished my Masters degree, I had missed the ideal window of opportunity to bag a man.

I wasn't exactly ugly. If I tried hard enough, I would have been able to find Mr. Right. I was tall – five foot eleven inches – and within the ideal weight for my body stature. My complexion was blessedly clear and I had a beautiful luster to my hair.

Oddly enough, my single life didn't bother me. I pictured myself as a modern day Jane Austin who didn't bow to the pressures of society and marry, but made her own way in the world. After college, I lucked into a job at the library, which I loved and dedicated my life too. I had my friends to keep me company and I was co-owner of the town's most successful restaurant. While I could have played the matchmaking game after obtaining my financial success, I decided against it. The dating scene was complex and I didn't want to dedicate my precious time in solving the mystery.

I took a shower and readied myself for work. Within an hour I was dressed with a packed lunch and a change of clothes neatly pressed on a hanger. I leisurely walked out the door and drove to work. It was a routine I had six days a week, rarely was I spontaneous.

I walked into the town library and was greeted with glares from my staff and the sound of whispered gossip. This was routine as well. I had been appointed Director of the Library with the Mayor's personal recommendation. Before I showed up, the library had been ripe with nepotism – relatives hiring relatives. My status as a complete stranger was enough to cause resentment. My plan to bring the library into the twenty-first century elicited pure hatred. Not surprising, my staff hated change.

Tension was always high between the staff and me. I was often surprised they did their job without a fuss. Still, there were a few things they refused to do, and I would often stay after to complete the jobs left undone. Which is why I always brought a change of clothes with me. Unfortunately their Union kept me from firing the whole staff.

Despite the silent war my staff waged against me, I loved my job because of the books. Each book was a treasure trove of knowledge and I personally cared for all of them. The library was my life. My passion blinded me to what was missing most in my life: to love and be loved. Books couldn't love me back nor could they dispel the loneliness I felt.

I became aware of that little truth the day Matt walked through the doors of my library. He was six feet of lean muscle. His lavender eyes scanned the room around him. He ran his hand through short dark brown hair as confusion marred his classic good looks and his kissable lips frowned.

My nervousness overrode my duty to help him and I stayed in place, hidden away by the shelves of books. Marylyn eagerly went to his aid in that strange walk/run she had. She looked mousy with her drab blond hair, plain brown eyes, and pencil thin stature. She constantly wore dreary, unassuming colors like grey, beige, and olive green.

Marylyn and Matt spoke in low tones as he asked her questions. A few times he made her laugh. All of that I didn't mind. I encouraged my workers to be friendly to the patrons. It was the light touching I couldn't stand.

Every time they laughed, she put her hand on his arm. A few times she lightly ran an index finger down the front of his shirt. For a quiet woman ruled by her dominating mother – supervisor of the fiction wing – she was amazingly forthright. I looked around the room as far as my hiding spot would let me. It didn't seem like her mother was around. They finally walked off, and I growled a little. I snapped out of my strange emotions and realized I was biting a book. He came in twice a week after that, plenty of time to discover his name. A sense of familiarity would settle over me sometimes when I spied on him, a surety that I had met him before. I could never remember and I hoped it would come to me someday.

I put my lunch in the refrigerator with a little smile on my face. Today Matt would be visiting and picking up more books. The man was a voracious reader and he seemed to have no preference in genre judging by his unpredictable reading pattern.

To prepare for his arrival, I took a shelving cart beside the checkout counter. It was stacked high with books and I sorted them into alphabetical order. Some librarians disliked the task of shelving books because they found it monotonous. That's why it the task for me to do. I didn't mind, I found the job calming. It allowed my mind to wander.

I thought about the plans I made with my best friend to go shopping after work, the groceries I needed to pick up before going home, and the story line to my next novel. My alternate ego, R. K. Bishop, was a romance writer. It started out as a hobby in college and turned into another job. Much to the dismay of my fans, I only published one book a year because of my job and my business.

A hushed squeal caught my attention. I looked over in time to see Marylyn hurriedly fixing her hair and checking her make-up in a hand mirror. Rolling my eyes, I pushed over a few books on the shelf to create a peephole.

Matt stopped by the checkout desk giving Marylyn a charming smile as he talked with her. My eyes roved over his sculpted body. The tight fitting t-shirt left nothing to the imagination while the jeans were slightly baggy. How can a man look so good in casual clothes while I looked frumpy in my over sized t-shirt and jeans?

My knuckles turned white as they held onto the bookshelf because I was imagining his tight butt and wondering at the length and girth of his penis. While I had experienced these thoughts with other men, my imagination wasn't quite so active or so graphic as it was with Matt. Heat radiated from within my body, I could feel my natural juices flowing, and my breathing was becoming erratic.

He turned from the checkout counter and headed my way. That had never happened before; I didn't know what to do. I shoved the books over, effectively closing the makeshift peephole and picked up a few books on the cart.

My hands shook as I started putting them away and I tried desperately to fight the blush staining my cheeks. He walked down my isle paying attention to the call numbers on the side of the books. I'd never had a close-up view of him before. He passed me by easily sidestepping me in an absent minded fashion. Then he stopped and stared at a specific section.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, still putting away books. Questions and anxieties bounced around in my mind. This was not the way I wanted our first meeting to go – assuming we have a first meeting. I wasn't prepared with witty sayings or plans for intelligent topics of conversation. My life lacked spontaneity because I was never good at it. Striking up a conversation with a stranger was definitely spontaneous no matter if I thought I knew him from my past.

He came up to me looking a little lost.

"Pardon me," he said.

I turned to him with – what I hoped – an expectant look on my face. I felt like a deer in the headlights.

"Yes?" My question was barely a whisper, but he still heard me.

He didn't say anything, just kept looking at me. The silence stretched between us. I was growing more nervous almost to the point of panic.

"Could you help me find this book?" he asked.

Matt showed me the scrap paper with the title of the book, the author, and the call number. I was impressed that he would read such a book. It was a popular mystery, highly controversial.

"The computer said it was checked in," he continued as he fidgeted with the piece of paper.

My mouth wouldn't work. Instead, I nodded my head and picked up the book from the cart. He smiled as I handed it to him.

"Thank you. I'm trying to read all the books on the Best Seller's List. I've never been into reading before, but I have time to kill lately. It's amazing I actually liked many of the books I've already read..." he trailed off realizing he was babbling.

"What type of books did you like?" My mumbled question seemed to relieve him. Was he nervous talking to me?

"Mystery mostly, the detective novels particularly. It's amazing what these authors come up with. Can you believe they actually do research to write their stories?"

I was a little offended by that. How else did he expect authors to come up with lifelike novels? "What did you think they did?"

He shrugged his shoulders and his brow furrowed as he thought. "I don't know actually," he chuckled. "Makes sense though. Think all this reading will make me smarter?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe they will. I believe they'll make you question the world around you; make you think about things that used to seem ordinary. I guess it depends on if you have an open mind or not."

"Good point," he smiled again as his cell phone went off. He checked the caller ID and frowned. "I won't keep you. Thanks for the talk," he said absently.

Matt walked away, leaving me with shaking knees, a fast heartbeat, and unfamiliar lust coursing through my veins.

--~~--

"You finally talked to him!" my best friend, Vicky, squealed.

I winced at the high pitch and looked angrily at her. "Say it a little louder, Vick, I don't think the next town heard you."

She snorted and waved away my testy reply. "Who cares? You should be celebrating not hiding your triumph. I was beginning to worry about you."

I looked at the dark, cloudy sky above us as we strolled down Main Street. The historic brick buildings were overflowing with charming specialty stores and restaurants. When she was in town, Vicky and I had a standing appointment once a week to shop the street and have dinner at Joe's Restaurant.

She frequently went out of the country on business due to her job. Vicky was the smartest, shrewdest person I knew. She was also the prettiest. Sometimes I felt ugly walking next to her and I tried not to let it bother me, but there were times when I spotted a man looking through me to her and envy would get the best of me.

Her flowing red hair and sharp green eyes made my looks plain in comparison. She had a petit curvaceous figure all men craved. The only thing I had going for me were my huge breasts.

I sighed as we neared Joe's. It was always a welcome sight because I looked forward to settling down in their comfy chairs cradling a soothing cup of green tea. A drop of rain landed on my nose before I entered the restaurant. Vicky glanced outside as the door closed behind us.

"We have good timing. It's pouring out there," Vicky mumbled absently.

"'Pleasantly warm and clear night' my butt," I wiped the drop from my nose and looked around the restaurant. "The TV stations should replace the weathermen."

Other people came in behind us, trying to get out of the down pour. There were a few couples sitting on benches waiting to be seated. Every night Joe's had a nice size crowd. It was a favorite spot for people to relax and eat after work. They could sit back in cushy wing-backed chairs sipping flavored coffee or a hot cup of tea while they waited for their food. In the center was a fireplace, which was usually lit on cool nights. If they felt like watching sports and drinking alcohol, they could relax in the bar section located in the front left corner of the restaurant. The java bar was there too.

The hostess approached us with a welcoming smile.

"Two tonight?" she asked as her pen hovered above a clipboard with a waiting list.

"We have reservations," I said.

"Name?"

"Bishop."

The hostess's eyes widened. "Oh! Please come this way."

She showed us to our usual table and placed menus in front of us when we were seated. "Anything to drink?" The hostess rang her hands nervously.

Vicky smirked. "Relax, dear. We don't bite. Tell the Java Wizard we'll have our usual."

The hostess rushed off to get our drinks ordered.

I sighed, my tired body practically melting into the chair. "New hostess," I commented to no one in particular.

Vicky chuckled behind her menu. "Joe must have made us sound like monsters."

The waitress came with our drinks and pulled out a pad from her apron. "Are you ready to order?" she asked.

We ordered our food, gave the menus to the waitress, and then stared at the fire while waiting. It was good being silent partners in the restaurant business. You never had to wait for a table, but we go through the act of having reservations under my pseudonym so the customers wouldn't get insulted.

Our mutual friend, Joe, actually ran the restaurant. Vicky and I were the money. If Joe wanted to expand or improve anything and we agreed, then either Vicky or I would go to the bank and get a loan.

"Joe wants to hire a pastry chef," I said. It was out of the blue, but, as long as I was thinking about improvements, I decided to discuss the new development with Vicky.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she could smell freshly baked goods. "It sounds heavenly. We could have croissants for breakfast."

Personally I was thinking of pecan braids and strawberry danishes, but croissants were nice. I smiled at her and took a drink. The waitress came with our food and I had something else to enjoy other than the relaxing atmosphere and the good tea.

--~~--

He was soaked to the bone, tired as hell, and his so-called friends sent him out to get everyone coffee. Matthew "Mattie" Danvers stomped through the puddles accumulating on the sidewalk in a fit of anger. Not only had they sent him out in the pouring rain, they didn't even bother to lend him an umbrella. Why couldn't the men call someone else to pick up coffee for them? It would be understandable since they had recently come back from fighting a fire.

The rain began to pour harder mirroring Matt's growing anger. He grabbed the handle of the door to Joe's Restaurant and jerked it open. Stepping inside, he flattened his hair with his hands to get some of the extra water out and shook his body like a wet dog. He heard gasps and grunts from the people seated on benches next to the door, obviously waiting for a table. Matt didn't care that he splashed some of them. They had nothing to complain about, dry as they were, while he looked like a drowned rat.

The hostess inched up to him, a strained smile plastered on her face. Matt snorted thinking his furious demeanor made her cautious. He tried to lighten his expression, but wet boxers, socks, and shoes made it nearly impossible.

"C...can I help you, sir?" she asked.

"No thanks," Matt grumbled. It was the nicest tone he could muster. "I'm ordering straight from the java bar."

He walked toward the bar area rudely dismissing the hostess. Matt saw the Java Wizard busy making another caffeine rich concoction while his apprentice wiped down the work area.

His mood lifted slightly as he watched the Java Wizard work his usual magic. It didn't matter how bad Matt's mood was; the Java Wizard could always make him feel better. Java was a small man in his seventies. His hair was bright white and as messy as Albert Einstein's. Bushy eyebrows hid little brown beady eyes and years of smoking made his voice sound like sandpaper.

His grumpy personality seemed almost comical and he constantly went into fits. If it wasn't for his mission to show the world what coffee and tea should taste like, he would be a happy recluse. He didn't make friends, preferring not to, and he told no one his name. People still loved him. His gift with hot beverages and his quirky nature was charming to all but his assistants.

"Hey, Java, how's the coffee making business?" Matt asked.

Java slammed down the cup he was preparing, liquid sloshed over the side and onto his hand. "This isn't business," he fairly yelled while waving his free hand indicating his section of the bar, "this is Art!" With that, he grabbed another cup and started over.

"Junior!" he barked. "Get the blasphemer's order!"

Java's assistant looked at the mess his boss made and grumbled, "For the millionth time, my name's not Junior." Java didn't hear him.

Throwing down the cleaning rag and said to Matt, "You reek of smoke, which means you'll be grabbing the usual for the fire troops."

Matt sighed. "Yep. They want black except for me. I'll take chai tea. It was a brutal fire."

"We need a Firefighter's Favorite minus a Coffee Impostor, Java."

"Wouldn't it be easy just to say....?"

"DON'T," the assistant cut him off, "say it. He doesn't need to go into another fit tonight."

Matt shrugged his shoulders as the assistant rang up the order. He looked around the room and took note of a group of women nursing their alcoholic drinks. Some were sending looks his way, but none warranted a closer inspection. Two guys were sitting at a table in front of a big-screen TV. They were watching the news, drinking tea, and reading the newspaper at the same time. Matt shook his head in disbelief. What some people wouldn't do to save a little time.

A newcomer entering the bar from the dining area captured his gaze. He froze, eyes widening as he recognized Elaine. It was obvious she didn't remember him judging from the talk they had that morning. How could she forget him, or his twin brother, Allen? They were practically inseparable from first grade through eighth.

He let out a slow breath in frustration. Should he remind her, or would it be best to leave her alone? She looked untouchable with her head held high, her walk determined, and looking authoritative in her three-piece pantsuit. It was a look he had never seen on her before. In the library, Elaine was always wearing a t-shirt and jeans and her manner was usually shy.

As she came closer, Matt turned around to face Java's assistant, still undecided if he should try and engage her in a conversation again.

"Nine coffees and one tea, that's $28.90," the assistant said.

Matt automatically went for his wallet when a hand snaked from his side and lightly touched the assistant on the arm. Turning around, Matt came face to face with Elaine. She wasn't looking at him, but had a patient smile as she looked intently at the young man.