Javier Ruiz, 52, spent 18 years as a smokejumper before a torn rotator cuff and a divorce pushed him into the far tamer work of wildfire mitigation consulting. He’s got a scar snaking 7 inches across his left forearm from a 2017 burn outside Glacier, a habit of twisting the silver ring his old crew gave him when he’s nervous, and a self-imposed rule against going to community fundraisers unless the fire department is the beneficiary. He showed up to the beer garden event that July night half out of obligation, half because his fridge was empty and the food truck parked out front served the best onion rings west of the Continental Divide. He grabbed a cold IPA, found a splintered picnic table at the far edge of the crowd, and planned to leave as soon as he finished his food, no small talk required.
The first sign his plan was shot was the sun dress brushing his calf before he saw who it was. Elara Marquez, his late best friend Manny’s younger sister, dropped into the seat across from him without asking, setting her own seltzer down hard enough to slosh over the edge. She’d moved back to Missoula three weeks prior to open a herbal apothecary downtown, and Javier had only waved at her from his truck a handful of times since she arrived, still stuck on the mental label he’d pinned to her 20 years prior: off-limits, out of respect for the guy who’d had his back in more blazes than he could count. She was 38, had a constellation of freckles across her nose, and had spent her teen years tagging along to their crew cookouts, badgering them to let her help carry gear.
Their knees brushed under the table when she shifted to face the bluegrass band playing near the stage, and Javier tensed so hard he spilled a drop of beer on his jeans. He told himself he was being an idiot, that she was just being friendly, that the way she held his gaze when she asked how his work was going was just basic politeness. The air smelled like pine, fried batter, and the lavender she had tucked behind her ear, and he found himself leaning forward when she talked, instead of leaning back like he did with most people. When she reached across the table to grab an onion ring off his plate, her wrist brushed the raised edge of his scar, and she paused, her thumb running light over the faded, pink skin for a beat longer than necessary. “I remember when you got this,” she said, quiet enough that only he could hear over the crowd. “I brought you chicken noodle soup every day for a week when you were recovering. You complained it was too salty, but you ate it anyway.”
Javier’s throat went dry. He’d forgotten that. He’d spent so long convincing himself that any interest he might have in her was wrong, that it was a betrayal of Manny, that he didn’t let himself notice the way her lips curved when she laughed, or the way her bare arm was warm when it brushed his as they passed the plate of rings back and forth. He thought about the rumors people would spread if they saw them sitting this close, the whispers about the old smokejumper and his dead friend’s little sister, and he almost stood up to leave right then. But then she said she’d gotten tired of dating guys her age who thought “commitment” meant remembering to text back twice a week, that she’d always admired how he kept his word, even when it was hard, and the resistance in his chest melted a little.
The fundraiser wrapped up as the sun dipped below the mountains, and a light, warm rain started to fall, sending the crowd scrambling for their cars. Javier pulled his old wool fire crew jacket out of the back of his truck, held it over both of their heads, and offered to walk her home, since her place was only three blocks away, on the same street as his. The rain picked up as they walked, and she pressed close to his side to stay under the jacket, her arm wrapped around his waist, her shoulder pressed firm to his chest. They stopped under the big oak tree on her front lawn when a clap of thunder rumbled overhead, and she tilted her face up to his, her hazel eyes flecked with gold that he’d never noticed before, and kissed him. He didn’t pull away. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulled her closer, the rain soaking through the cuffs of his flannel shirt, the faint taste of cherry seltzer on her lips, and for the first time in 8 years, he didn’t feel guilty for wanting something for himself.
They stumbled up her porch steps a minute later, still laughing when the jacket slipped and rain dripped down the back of her neck. She fumbled with her keys for a few seconds, got the door open, and turned to him, her hair stuck to her forehead, a smile on her face he’d never seen before. “You wanna come in for tea?” she asked. Javier nodded, stepping across the threshold behind her, the screen door slamming shut behind them, cutting off the sound of the rain and the distant hum of the remaining crowd.
