Shared by the Firemen: A Reverse

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 Contents
Title
Copyright
Books by Cassie Cole
1 - Alyssa
2 - Alyssa
3 - Alyssa
4 - Jack
5 - Alyssa
6 - Alyssa
7 - Liam
8 - Alyssa
9 - Alyssa
10 - Alyssa
11 - Jack
12 - Alyssa
13 - Alyssa
14 - Mateo
15 - Alyssa
16 - Alyssa
17 - Alyssa
18 - Alyssa
19 - Alyssa
20 - Alyssa
21 - Alyssa
22 - Jack
23 - Liam
24 - Mateo
25 - Alyssa
26 - Alyssa
27 - Alyssa
28 - Alyssa
29 - Alyssa
30 - Alyssa
31 - Liam
32 - Jack
33 - Jack
34 - Alyssa
35 - Alyssa
36 - Alyssa
37 - Alyssa
38 - Jack
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
Sneak Peek - Nanny for the Athletes
About the Author
Shared by the Firemen
 Copyright © 2024 Juicy Gems Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior
consent of the author.
Edited by Gail Gentry

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www.cassiecoleromance.com
Books by Cassie Cole
Standalone Novels
Shared by the Firemen
Nanny for the Athletes
Shared by the Pilots
Match Point
Roommates With Benefits
The Inheritance
Bosses With Benefits
Nanny for the Mercenaries
Shared by the Billionaires
Nanny for the Santas
Nanny for the Firemen
Nanny for the SEALs
Shared by the Cowboys
Nanny for the Billionaire
Her Lucky Charm
Naughty Resolution
Unwrapped
Frostbitten
Snowbound
Hail Mary
Extra Credit
Nanny With Benefits
Triple Play
Tiger Queen
The Study Group
Undercover Action
Trained At The Gym
Christmas Package
The Naughty List
Smolder
Sealed With A Kiss
Full Contact
The Proposition
Saved by the SEALs
Shared by her Bodyguards
Triple Team
All In
Five Alarm Christmas
Drilled
Broken In
Pyromancer’s Path
Warrior’s Wrath
Mage’s Mercy
Tinker’s Trial
Ranger’s Risk
Shadow’s Savior
 1

Alyssa

“God, I hate this town.”

I was driving west, away from Tampa International Airport, over the Courtney Campbell Causeway and into Clearwater. I
didn’t hate Clearwater, Florida, because it was objectively bad. All of my reasons were as subjective as they got. Growing up
here, there were nothing but bad memories waiting for me. I hadn’t been back here in eight years, not since I left for college.
Eight years felt like an eternity, but somehow not long enough.
When I turned into the quiet neighborhood that was less than a mile from the water, all those bad memories came flooding
back to me. The palm trees and perfectly-manicured grass felt every bit as fake as the flamingo lawn ornaments. The brightly-
colored single-story houses might hold a beachy charm for any other visitor, but for me they were merely coats of paint over
rotting interiors. My anxiety had been rising every mile the closer I got to this place, and now I was practically buzzing with
nerves.
Why had I decided to do this? Why didn’t I let Brandi take care of it all on her own?
In the blink of an eye, I was on our street. The same one I had grown up on, riding bikes up and down the sidewalk under the
Florida sun, racing home from school to avoid the daily afternoon showers. The hair on the back of my neck went stiff as I
passed an electric blue house, the same color it had been when I was a girl.
Jack’s house…
But I had forgotten all about that, because my house—my mother’s house—was two doors down from it. Strangely, I felt a
sense of calm wash over me as it came into view, a one-story rancher with pretty good white paint. There was no car in the
driveway, but I parked on the street out of habit, taking care not to block the mailbox. Our mother had never allowed us to park
in the driveway. Strange how hard it was for old habits to die, little practices in life that are written in our minds so many times
they leave an afterimage, like an old television set paused for too long.
I turned the car off, but couldn’t make myself open the door.
I still felt calm. Most of the anxiety of the flight, and then drive, was gone. But I didn’t want to get out of the car. Getting out
of the car meant going up to the front door, which meant going inside the house, which meant starting a monumental new task
that would take weeks. Once all of that began, the peace I felt would be gone. The longer I sat in my car, the longer that peace
remained.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was my sister.
“Hi, Brandi.”
“Alyssa! I saw your flight landed on time. Everything good? You get to your hotel yet?”
“I decided to come straight to the house. I’ve been sitting outside a little while.”
There was a pause. “You didn’t want to wait?”
I took a deep breath, then let it out. “I know that if I delay, it’s just going to extend my anxiety. I want to get it over with.”
“But you’ve been sitting outside a while?”
“Ten minutes. I think I’m afraid to go inside.”
My twin sister chuckled. “I know the feeling. When the police called me last week, I drove straight down and did the same
thing. I parked on the curb and stayed in my car for an hour before giving up and going home.”
“You didn’t park in the driveway either?”
“And piss off the ghost of our mother? Hell no. I’ve only parked in the driveway once, and she grounded me for a week.”
“You missed the Jonas Brothers concert. I remember.”
“Listen,” Brandi said. “I wish I could have come down today, but I can’t get out of this leadership training meeting. How
about you go to your hotel, get wine-drunk in the lobby, and then we can go inside the house tomorrow. Together.”
It was tempting. It was the easy thing, to wait for my twin and lean on her for emotional support. But I hadn’t come down here
to do the easy thing.
“I’ll be all right,” I said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything. Love you lots.”
“Love you more,” she replied. “I’ll text you when I’m on the road tomorrow.”
Despite not wanting to rely on my twin for emotional support, talking to her had filled my tank with enough courage for one
brave act. I walked up to the cement porch and found the key under one of the painted rocks, where it had always been. Before
I could over-think things, I unlocked the deadbolt, swung the door open, and stepped inside.
The scent of cigarettes and pine-scented cleaner immediately transported me a decade backwards in time. It was strange how
houses never lost their distinctive smell—it remained constant across the years, like a fingerprint. Aside from the scent, the
house felt different than I remembered. Smaller, and with a different feel to it.
It’s because our mother isn’t here.
Mother had died nine days ago. I wasn’t sad about it because she was a terrible person, and an even worse mother. Ever
since we were old enough to form memories, she had made it abundantly clear that we weren’t her children—we were chains
in her life, holding her back. We were the reason her business wasn’t successful, the reason she couldn’t find a good husband,
the reason Newt Gingrich lost the 2012 Republican Primary. She had never outright blamed us for that last one, but when
Romney won the nomination over Gingrich, she sure acted like it was our fault.
I started walking around the house, because walking made me feel like I was doing something. The garage was the first room
on the right. Mom’s white Cadillac DeVille was parked inside, just as it was when I left eight years ago. The smell of wood
was strong; the workbench that occupied the other half of the garage was covered with scrap, sawdust, and wood shavings,
with a few newer-looking cardboard boxes arranged underneath. I guess our mother had still been working right up until the
end.
As I turned away, I caught sight of the circuit breaker. The door was gone, and extra wires snaked out of the grey framing like
locks of frizzy hair. I snorted at the sight. Yet another one of her destructive behaviors that hadn’t changed since I had left.
Past the garage, in a small hallway all by itself, were the two smaller bedrooms. One was our mother’s office, which was so
filled with fabric and half-upholstered furniture that I could barely walk around inside. The other was the bedroom she made
Brandi and I share. That room was empty except for our twin beds, positioned on opposite ends of the room, one under each
window. There were no sheets, just the old mattresses sitting naked on the frames. The room had been repainted from pink to a
harsh shade of white. It didn’t surprise me that she had gotten rid of everything Brandi and I had left here, but I was shocked
she didn’t do something else with the space. She didn’t move half her fabric in here, or turn it into a cliché exercise room. She
left it empty, with the door closed, like she wanted to pretend the room—and all memories of us—no longer existed.
The primary bedroom was attached to the living room. I only glanced inside before moving through the rest of the house:
living room, dining room, kitchen. Everything was sterile and cold, just like it had been when we lived here. Just like our
mother herself had been.
I felt better after walking through the house. It felt like confirmation that she was really gone. Part of my brain was nodding
along, accepting this new world. I could feel it stretching its arms and realizing just how much bigger my reality now was.
I’m glad I came. This is therapeutic.
With renewed courage, I called the hotel and canceled my reservation. Brandi was going to be staying here, so I could do the
same. And like a good sister, I could prepare the place for her. Without our mother here, this was just a house made of wood
and brick and plaster. It wasn’t anything to be afraid of. I was twenty-six, damnit, not a little girl anymore.
The pantry was bare, and the fridge held only a few condiments and half a loaf of bread, so I drove to the store to get some
supplies. I got all the basics, including new condiments and bread. Even though the few items in the fridge weren’t expired, I
wanted to toss everything. If nothing remained, we would have a fresh start. Brandi, especially. I was only staying here a
couple of weeks, but she was going to drive down and stay here for however long it took to settle all of our mother’s affairs.
We were fraternal twins, and she had gotten all of the logical genes that helped with science and math, while I was blessed—or
cursed—with the artistic streak. She worked for an insurance company, doing something math-related.
Brandi texted while I was checking out:

Brandi: You okay? I gave you exactly 30 minutes and I haven’t heard anything, so
either you’re still sitting in your car, or you’re already getting wine drunk at the hotel.
Me: I’m doing surprisingly good! Walking through the house actually made me feel a
lot better.
Me: Seriously, I’m great. Better than I expected, honestly.
Brandi: That’s great! I know exactly what you mean.
Brandi: Or at least, I hope I’ll feel the same way tomorrow when I walk around
inside. I’m hoping to get there by lunch. I’ll take you to that sandwich shop after :-)
Me: I’d like that!
When I drove home, I eyed the electric-blue house two doors down from ours again. That house stirred just as many emotions
as our mother’s home, although in a totally different way. I gave a start when I saw two boys, both with sandy-blond hair, go
running across the front yard. A pretty woman with flowing blonde hair rose from the garden she was tending to say something
to them.
It was like a vice had gripped my heart. Did Jack still live there? Was that his wife, and his kids?
I let out a sigh of relief when I noticed the father standing on a ladder, cleaning out the gutters. A man that was definitely not
Jack Franco, the boy I had grown up with. If Jack still lived there, that would have made this trip a lot tougher.
He had probably moved out of town like the rest of us. He always liked to say that he was going to stay in Clearwater his
entire life, but people said a lot of things when they were teenagers. Brandi had promised me, on more than one occasion, that
she would marry Leonardo DiCaprio. “Fat chance, now that we’re twenty-six!” I said out loud, laughing at my own stupid joke.
I would need to repeat it to Brandi when I saw her tomorrow.
As I approached our house, I thought about how good I felt. Our mother had been an emotional burden, and now that she was
gone, that burden was lifted. It was awful to feel that way, of course, but that’s just how it was.
Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all. I’ll be here two weeks. Maybe three. Brandi and I will spend a lot of time
together settling our mother’s affairs at home, and at her upholstery shop downtown, and then I can go back to my own life.
I parked in the driveway this time, an act of defiance. I played music in the kitchen while cooking dinner; our mother hated
music, and had always insisted that we use headphones so that she wouldn’t be distracted from her work. For the first time
since we moved in back in 2009, the house actually felt alive. A place where a loving family full of loving people belonged.
I unwrapped the new bedsheets I had bought and made both twin beds. I hoped Brandi wouldn’t mind sharing a room again; I
thought it would feel like we were having an adult sleepover. And if not, we could clean all the fabric and junk out of our
mother’s office and move a bed in there.
We could do whatever we wanted.
That night, for the first time, I fell asleep in that house without any trouble.
I woke to a chaotic inferno.
 2

Alyssa
2009

“I love this town!” Brandi said in the seat next to me.

I had my own face pressed against the glass, gazing out at all the houses passing by as we drove through the neighborhood. I
didn’t have much worldly experience at age ten, but so far it was obvious that Florida was a massive improvement over
Georgia. At least, Clearwater was.
“Look at that one!” Brandi exclaimed. “It’s three stories!”
“Wooow.”
“Pipe down back there,” my mom snapped, pausing to take a drag from her cigarette. “I can’t concentrate on the road while
you’re both yapping away. I don’t know why you insist on sitting in the back, either. I’m not your chauffeur. Next time we move,
I’m making one of you sit in the front.”
Brandi and I glanced at each other, then rolled our eyes, which set us into a fit of giggles. Mom had complained about being
our chauffeur at least a dozen times during the drive down from Atlanta, and we had discreetly rolled our eyes each time. We
weren’t the ones who chose the back—she had put the dog bed in the front seat so Duchess, our Golden Doodle, could sit
there.
But we were used to her blaming everything on us. It might have been tougher if we were alone, but Brandi and I had each
other, which helped us get through it.
“Is that it?” Brandi suddenly asked. “Is that our house?”
“There’s a moving truck in front of it, isn’t there?” Mom muttered.
My jaw dropped when Mom pulled the car into the driveway. It was a simple one-story house, with a garage and clean white
paint. But to our eyes, it was a mansion. Especially compared to the apartment complex we had come from.
We ignored Mom’s complaints, jumping out of the car and rushing inside, dodging the two moving men who were already at
work. We had spent much of the car ride discussing our new room and how we were going to decorate it, which was an
extremely serious topic, but it was mostly hypothetical since we didn’t know what our room looked like. The first two
bedrooms were small, although one had a bathroom. When we discovered the primary bedroom in the back of the house with
Mom’s four-post bed already moved inside, we rushed back to the first two rooms.
“Why are they moving our boxes into that room?” I asked. “This is the one with the bathroom.”
“Mom!” Brandi whined. “Which bedroom is ours?”
She stepped through the front door, removed her sunglasses, and sighed happily. “The one with your stuff in it, silly.”
“What about the other room?” I asked. “With the bathroom?”
“That’s my office. I need the room for all my fabrics and work. Your bedroom faces the front, so you’ll get to look outside
more. And before I hear any more complaints about the bathroom, there’s one in the hall. You don’t want to hear your sister
peeing five feet away, do you?”
Even at eleven years old, Brandi and I were already used to Mom being a pain. We knew that arguing with her would be
pointless. But more importantly, we weren’t going to let this ruin our excitement for a new house. This was our fresh start.
“I love it!” I said as we took in our room. “There are two windows, one for each bed. Then we’ll each have our own.”
“Good idea!” Brandi replied.
“Excuse me, little ma’am,” one of the movers said. “We’re bringing your beds in now.”
Mom’s sigh could be heard from the other room. “You two are always in the way. Why don’t you go play outside so you’re
not bothering these nice men. Go make some friends in the neighborhood. We’re close to your school, so there should be lots of
kids around.”
 Our bikes weren’t easily accessible in the moving truck, but the movers were nice enough to unload a few items onto the
lawn so they could get the bikes. The tires were still full, so we hopped on and began riding. This neighborhood had a nice
paved walking path, so we didn’t even need to ride in the street!
The two of us were happier than we had ever been in our lives. We had a new house in a new state, the sun was shining, and
the future looked bright. We rode up and down every street in the neighborhood, pointing out the houses where it looked like
kids might live.
Brandi and I had always done everything together. Being twins meant we were never alone. That was a good thing, but it
meant we didn’t always try hard to make friends. Brandi and I had agreed that we would do our best to make new friends in
Florida, and we weren’t going to waste any time.
After riding for a while, we came upon a house three streets over with several kids playing on the front lawn. Brandi and I
exchanged grins and pedaled faster. There were three boys throwing a baseball around, and two younger girls who were sitting
in the grass rolling a soccer ball back and forth.
Brandi was the more outgoing one, so she immediately waved and said, “Hi!”
A lanky boy with sandy-blond hair made a face at us. He was closest to our age, while the other two boys were younger. “Hi
rhymes with bye. As in, get lost.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, so I hopped off my bike and approached. “Hello! I’m Alyssa, and this is my sister,
Brandi.”
“Hello rhymes with yellow,” the boy said, “which is the color of pee.” The boys all laughed like it was the funniest joke in
the world.
They have a dumb sense of humor in Florida.
“You root for the Braves?” one of the younger boys asked, noticing Brandi’s red shirt.
“Duh! They’re the best,” Brandi said.
The three boys laughed again. “The Braves stink. Everyone here roots for the Rays. They went to the World Series.”
“Yeah, but they lost to the Phillies!” I pointed out.
One of the boys whistled. “Did you hear that, Jack?”
“Sure did,” the boy with the sandy-blond hair said while glaring at me. “Let me explain it to you, Alyssa. The Rays won the
American League Pennant. The Braves didn’t even make it to the playoffs.”
“At least the Braves have won before!” Brandi shot back at him. “They won it all in 1995. The Devil Rays have never won.
Which means the Braves are better.”
I nodded along. Everyone knew the Braves were the best.
Jack barked a laugh. “Shows how much you know. They’re not the Devil Rays anymore—they’re just the Rays. And who
cares what the Braves did all the way back in 1995? That was probably before you were born. How old are you, any way?”
“We’re both eleven,” I said, sticking out my chin.
Jack looked at each of us. “How can you be the same age if you’re sisters?”
“We’re twins,” I explained. “We’re the exact same age, although I’m ten minutes older.”
One of the younger boys frowned. “You’re not twins. You don’t even look alike.”
“You have different hair,” Jack added. “Nice try.”
“We’re fraternal twins,” I explained. “That’s different than identical twins.”
“That’s only if one is a boy and one is a girl,” the younger kid insisted. “We have fraternal twins in my class.”
“You can have two girls, too!” Brandi argued.
“Nuh uh,” the younger boy replied.
“Yes you can!” I insisted. “We’re proof.”
“You’re a liar. Both of you.”
I took a step forward and shoved the boy in the chest. He stumbled a few steps, but didn’t fall.
“Don’t touch my brother,” Jack said, shoving me back. I fell on my butt in the grass.
“Hey! You can’t push a girl!” Brandi said, helping me up.
For a moment, Jack looked reluctant about what he had done. Then his blue eyes hardened and said, “You started it. Besides,
if you’re fraternal twins, one of you is a boy. Too bad I can’t tell which—because you both look like boys!”
 They laughed, so Brandi and I got on our bikes and rode away. I had tears in my eyes, but she was still smiling.
“Forget about those jerks. There are probably a million other kids around here. We’ll make plenty of friends.”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping my tears. “You’re right.”
When we got home, the moving truck was gone and Mom was sitting in a chair on the lawn smoking a cigarette. “What’s the
plan, Stan?” she asked.
“Huh?” Brandi asked.
Mom shrugged. “How was your bike ride? Did you explore the neighborhood?”
“We got picked on!” I complained. “Some boys made fun of us for being Braves fans.”
“That’s your problem.” Mom flicked the ash off her cigarette. “You rely on each other too much. Maybe if you tried harder,
you’d be able to make new friends.”
“We did try!” Brandi insisted. “They were mean.”
“If you walk around smelling poop everywhere, you should probably check your own shoe.” She got up from the chair and
walked to the front door. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. And because I’m such a great mother, I’ll get a cheese pizza just for
you two.”
Brandi and I grinned at each other. Mom usually ordered pepperoni, which meant we had to peel the toppings off. This was a
special treat indeed.
Brandi’s smile quickly faded. “Look.”
I turned to see what she was pointing at. Jack and the other two boys were riding up on their bikes. They skidded to a stop in
the driveway of the blue house, and one of them pointed at us. We couldn’t hear what they said, but they abruptly started
laughing.
Great. They’re our neighbors. I felt my heart sink.
“I have an idea,” Brandi said. “Let’s collect some of Duchess’s poop and put it in a bag. Then we’ll put it on their door.”
“Or in their mailbox!” I suggested.
The two of us giggled until we had tears in our eyes.
 3

Alyssa
Present Day

Tears welled in my eyes as I sat up in bed, looking around my room. It was still dark, but there was a glow around the frame
of the door like an orange rectangle, which gave enough light to see the smoke creeping through the cracks. It was oppressively
hot inside the room, and the smoke was acrid and stung my lungs and eyes.
My brain finally caught up to the situation. I was in Clearwater, in the room Brandi and I grew up in. There was a fire in the
house. I was in trouble.
This has to be a nightmare… right?
The sound of something crashing deeper in the house banished all illusions that this was just a dream. I needed to get out. I
approached the door, but the smoke was stronger there, so I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and breathed through it. I tapped
the handle—it was scalding hot. And judging by the glow under the door and around the frame, there was a fire in the hallway
right outside.
If I don’t get out, I’m going to die. The thought was like a shot of adrenaline.
I whirled to the window. The storm shutters on the outside were still closed, blocking any light from outside. I grabbed the
window pane and pulled, but it didn’t budge. I yanked two more times before disengaging the twist-lock on the top. But even
with it unlocked, the window refused to move. A quick glance showed that when the room had been painted, even the window
was painted over, sealing the glass to the frame. I let out a cry of distress and banged on the window.
Windows. Glass. Smashing. My thoughts were becoming sluggish as I coughed, but that was enough to help me form a plan.
The room was empty aside from my bed and suitcase, so I grabbed the latter and hurled it at the window. It bounced off on the
first try. I was beginning to grow tired, so tired, and it was more difficult to raise it the second time. I needed to smash through
the glass or I was going to suffocate in here, and die.
I heaved the suitcase at the window. My throw was weaker than the first, and didn’t come close to breaking through the
reinforced hurricane glass. Smoke was filling the room from the ceiling down, so I dropped to my knees, then down onto my
belly.
I knew I needed to move, to do something, but it was hard to find the strength or motivation. The air was clean down here,
and I was so, so tired. If I allowed myself to relax for a few moments, I would regain enough energy to do something. All I
needed to do was close my eyes for a moment or two.
Without warning, the door smashed open in a spray of wood splinters. The silhouette of a fireman stood in the doorway,
outlined by a flare of flames behind him. He held an ax across his chest, helmeted head swiveling to examine the room. When
he saw me, he put the ax away—I couldn’t see where—and quickly bent down to me.
“I got you,” I heard him say, muffled behind his oxygen mask. “Let’s go.”
He raised me off the ground like I weighed nothing, and then I was floating. Flames licked up the hallway walls and across
the ceiling like the tide caressing a beach. The heat was powerful, and painful, so I buried my face in his uniform and closed
my eyes shut.
Everything was a blur for several minutes. The heat disappeared, and then I was cold. I was laying in the grass. Someone
pressed a mask to my mouth, and the air was cool and sweet. People spoke all around me, but I barely heard them.
“Glad you heard her pounding against the window.”
“Point of origin is the garage.”
“Mateo’s out. Says the rest of the house is clear.”
“I’ll be damned… she almost looks like…”
“It’s her. Almost did a double-take when I saw her. Didn’t realize she was back in town.”
 The mask was removed from my mouth. When I opened my eyes, I saw a fireman crouched over me.
“Nobody else inside, right?” the man asked. He had an interesting accent, almost British. “No dogs or cats or other pets?”
My throat burned from the smoke, so all I did was shake my head.
There was a crashing noise which made everyone jolt. The roof of the garage was collapsing in on itself, sending up a blast
of flames that scalded my cheeks even from a hundred feet away. Now that I was seeing it, I couldn’t look away. Flames shone
in every window and danced above the roof, bright orange against the black sky while sick shadows danced across the lawn. A
trio of other firemen were maneuvering a hose, but the water didn’t seem to be doing much. The neighbors on the next three
houses I could see were all standing in their lawns, watching with shock and despair.
I hadn’t wept when our mother died, but now my tears flowed freely. Then the mask was placed back over my face, and I was
lifted up into an ambulance and taken away from all the horror.
 4

Jack

Alyssa fucking Ford.

None of it sunk in until I was back at the firehouse, letting the water from the shower wash away all trace of what had
happened on this night. Alyssa fucking Ford, the neighbor from my childhood. A woman who was difficult to describe—part
foe, part friend, part obstacle. A beacon in my life, both good and bad, like a lighthouse that occasionally went dark for no
goddamn reason.
I couldn’t believe she was back.
As the scalding water gave me new life, I thought about how long it had been since I had seen her. It was eight years ago,
before we both left for college. A backyard pool party with all the recent graduates. A private moment shared in my brother’s
room upstairs, unseen by anyone else. At the time, I was certain I would never see her again. Hell, I had hoped I would never
see her again. Eight years of avoiding social media had further confirmed my suspicion.
And then there she was, prone on the floor of the house she grew up in, barely conscious from smoke inhalation. I was more
shaken from seeing her than I was from the destructive fire.
The emotions rushed over me, and I had to grip the shower door to steady myself. A few quick heartbeats later, it was gone.
“You all right, bud?” Liam asked in his chipper New Zealand accent. He was toweling off in front of the mirror, his yellow
hair matted flat against his head. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost. Though I guess you have! Heh.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You avoided the question. You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“Breakfast, then? Sun’ll be up soon. Could use some pancakes from Diane’s Diner.”
“Not today,” I said.
That made Liam flinch, his eyes regarding me in the mirror with concern. Diane’s was a tradition after a bad fire. “Shit,
you’re really shaken, aren’t ya?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Know what ya said. More worried about what ya are. ‘Cause it ain’t fine, bud.”
I dressed quickly and headed home. The sun was coming up over the palm trees in my yard as I pulled into the driveway,
brilliant orange beams that scattered through the early clouds like frozen motes of flame. Across the road, the tide was washing
up on the shore—good conditions for a swim. But I wasn’t in the mood for much except my bed.
Smoke, my shaggy grey German Shepherd, was sitting on his haunches when I walked through the door. I opened the back
door to let him out, but he stayed close to me, licking at my hand with concern. He was always clingy when I came back from a
fire. Like all animals, dogs knew that smell deep in their DNA.
“You’re a good boy,” I said, crouching down to hug him. “Come on. Do your business so I can feed you and get some sleep.”
I knew that I should eat too. I had been up all night at the station before we got the call, and I needed food. But my stomach
was too tight to eat. I went right upstairs and crawled under my covers. Next to the bed were a pair of perky ears, so I patted
the covers once and Smoke jumped up with me, curling into a large ball and resting his snout on my calf.
I was bone tired, weary in a way that only a night of fire and smoke and trauma could cause. But my mind was racing too
much for sleep. I usually liked to lose myself in the throes of physical passion after a bad fire, reminding myself that I was well
and truly alive, but I didn’t feel like texting my girlfriend. I told myself it was because she was probably on her way to work,
and not because there was another woman occupying my mind.
Alyssa fucking Ford.
Why was she back in town? The car in the driveway had Tennessee plates, and was probably a rental. Was her twin back in
town, too? Where was her mom? I had so many questions, and precious few answers.
I gave up on sleep after two hours of tossing and turning. The tide was going out, so I took Smoke on a run instead. But I quit
after a mile because my lungs felt scratchy and thick. Our respirators were state-of-the-art, but smoke inevitably got in while
working around a fire.
After making a few calls, I drove to Morton Plant Hospital. My girlfriend texted while I was walking inside from the parking
garage.

Jen: You know you’re supposed to call whenever there’s a fire. How else am I
supposed to know you’re okay? :-)
Me: Sorry. Hectic morning. The fire was bad, but nobody was hurt.
Jen: I know you probably already ate at Diane’s this morning, but I’ve got an hour for
lunch if you want to meet up. I’m buying!
Me: Today doesn’t work—I’m following up on something. Rain check?
Jen: It’s a date :-) We have lots to talk about! I’m thinking of renting out the room
above my garage, and want to pick your brain.
The person I was looking for had been moved from the ER to the non-critical wing of the hospital, according to the helpful
admin at the front desk. When I neared the hospital room in question, I slowed down. The curtain was drawn across the room,
but a sliver between the curtain and the wall was wide enough to see the bed inside. As I walked slowly, my view changed:
bare feet, then a hospital gown covering legs, then bare arms and tubes connected to an oxygen machine. I stopped before the
face and respirator mask came into view.
“Excuse me,” I asked a passing nurse. “The patient in that room. Alyssa Ford. Can you tell me her status?”
The nurse looked me up and down suspiciously.
“I work at Fire Station Seven,” I said, flashing my credentials. “I pulled her out of the fire. Not trying to pry, I just… I just
want to make sure she’s all right.”
Her entire demeanor changed, and she grabbed the clipboard off the door and flipped through the pages. “The patient looks
like she’s doing great. Her oxygen numbers are good, and she didn’t suffer any burns. Worst thing we saw on her was a bruise
on her knee. We have her on oxygen as a precaution, but she should be released in a few hours. She’s awake if you want to talk
to—”
“Thanks,” I said. “Have a great day.” I retreated from the hospital before I could change my mind.
Most firefighters, including our station, worked a 24-48 schedule. That meant 24 straight hours on the job, followed by 48
hours off. Then that three-day cycle started all over again. But Liam, Mateo, and I had volunteered for an extra shift to cover
some of the boys who were going out of town for a wedding. That was the shift when Alyssa’s house had burned down. I tried
not to see that coincidence as a sign.
I usually savored my time between shifts at the station, but today I was antsy to get back to it. I knew sitting around at home
wouldn’t do me any good.
“There he is,” Liam said when I showed up at the station that afternoon. He and a few other firemen were sitting around the
living room, watching baseball highlights on TV. “We were just talking about you.”
“That’s the last thing a guy likes to hear when he shows up to work,” I said, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Nothing bad,” Mateo said in Cuban-accented English. “Liam was telling me about Alyssa.”
“She is bad news,” I said. “Stay away from her. Both of you.”
“Actually,” Liam replied, “we were talking about you and her.”
“That’s even worse news. I want nothing to do with her.”
Liam gave Mateo a look that said: I told you so.
“What?” I demanded.
“You two have a history,” Liam said.
“Not really.”
 Liam gave me one of his disarming half-grins, but said nothing. The man was so damn easygoing. Like there was nothing in
the world to worry about, least of all an old almost-fling from high school.
“I forgot!” Mateo jumped up and ran to the fridge. He returned with a slice of key lime pie. “From Diane’s.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
Mateo scowled. “Bad luck.”
“Don’t believe in luck.”
“We do.” Liam pushed the plate closer to me. “Come on, bud. It’s tradition. Hasn’t steered us wrong yet. But if you tempt the
Key Lime Pie gods, and something happens on our next call… I’d hate to have that hanging over me.”
Mateo gave a single, emphatic nod.
I sighed and took a bite. It was tradition. And the pie was damn good, too.
“Alyssa,” Mateo said once he was satisfied with my pie consumption. “Tell me about her.”
“I thought Liam already told you everything.”
“He told me little,” Mateo replied.
“With Alyssa Ford, a little goes a long way.”
“I told him what I remembered from my single year here as a foreign exchange student. You knew her much longer than that,”
Liam said.
I took another bite of pie to give myself a few moments to think. How could I explain my history with this girl in a succinct
way? It would be like boiling down all the works of Shakespeare into a single sentence.
“First we hated each other,” I finally said. “Then we kind of liked each other. Then we hated each other again.”
“This explains very little,” Mateo noted.
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“You don’t want to delve into your complicated history with this woman?” Liam prodded. “Bare your soul to your besties
while we wait for the next call?”
“Nope,” I replied. “It’s all in the past.”
Liam narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You don’t still have feelings for her? Unresolved emotions that have been reignited like
the fire that brought you two together again?”
“Nope, nope, and nope.”
“I only asked two questions.”
“I’m preemptively saying nope to whatever you were going to ask next,” I said.
“Don’t believe you,” Liam said.
“I also do not believe you,” Mateo added.
“Believe whatever you want. It’s the truth.”
“I know you, bud,” Liam insisted. “And I want you to swear, right here before Mateo and this sacred key lime pie, that you
haven’t spent the past day thinking only about Alyssa Ford.”
Does my best friend really know me that well, or am I that obvious? But I was stubborn, so I held my hand over the pie like
it was a bible, then raised my other palm. “I swear to the Key Lime Pie god that I haven’t been thinking about Alyssa Ford, nor
do I have any unresolved feelings for her. If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to see or think about that woman again.”
Ellen, a Probationary firefighter—basically a new recruit—poked her head in the room. “Franco, Campbell, Vega. You were
on that house fire call last night, right? Someone’s hear to see you.”
Mateo and Liam both turned to look at me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered.
“Should I send her in?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes!” Mateo and Liam said at the same time.
Ellen held up a cookie in her hand. “She brought snickerdoodles!”
“Two votes against one!” Liam said cheerfully. “I love democracy. Send her and those cookies back to us.”
 I groaned and got up from the table. “I’m going to see if the Lieutenant wants me to roll out the hoses…”
Before I could leave, she walked in.
Alyssa fucking Ford.
She looked healthier than when I had last seen her face in the back of the ambulance leaving the fire. Everything about her
was exactly as I remembered: the petite body with the right amount of curve in her hips. The golden blonde curls that always
caught the Florida sunshine. Her heart-shaped face, pouty lips, and eyes that held the liveliness of a hundred perfect souls.
Those eyes gazed around the room, then widened with shock when they settled on me. “Jack…?”
Was she not expecting to see me?
“Alyssa.”
A pregnant pause filled the room.
“Alyssa!” Liam said, hopping up from his chair and wrapping her in a hug. “You look great. Better than you did the other
night, heh! Are those cookies?”
She handed him the box, but spoke while keeping her eyes on me. “I wanted to bake them fresh, but…”
“But your house burned down!” Liam finished for her with his disarming cheer. “We were there. It’s a good excuse. Any
cookies are better than no cookies.” He dropped back into his chair and handed a cookie to Mateo, who grinned while
watching me squirm.
“How…” Alyssa said to me. Her eyes sparkled. What was going through her head right now?
“Point of origin was in the garage,” I said, seizing on a different topic. “Whole house went up from there. Tough to tell since
there was so much damage, but it looked like your bedroom window was painted shut.”
“That’s a fire hazard,” Liam said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Mateo nodded along.
“The garage…” Alyssa shook her head, breaking eye contact with me since she first appeared. “My mother had… issues. She
was always tinkering with the fuse box, trying to pull more power to her woodworking tools. There were a bunch of wood
shavings on the workbench nearby. I saw them the day of the fire.”
“That’ll do it!” Liam said.
Her mother had issues. That’s an understatement. “You saw wood shavings around a faulty fuse box and didn’t do anything
about it?” I demanded. “What were you thinking?”
“She’s probably thinking she survived a house fire, and doesn’t appreciate having blame thrown around,” Liam scolded me.
Mateo’s dark eyebrows furrowed in a frown at my tone.
“I just wanted to stop by and thank you for saving me,” Alyssa said. “I know there were a lot of you there, but the firefighter
who let me in said you three were the ones who went into the house.” Her eyes returned to me, bright and curious. “It’s funny,
but when you knocked down the door I had a strange feeling that I knew you…”
“It was Liam who carried you out,” I quickly said. “Not me. I was in the back room, by the kitchen.”
“Oh.” She looked like she didn’t believe me, but didn’t want to argue. “Well, I guess I recognized you from the year you were
here, Liam.”
“I’m an unforgettable guy!” he said with a chipper tone, glancing at me.
“Cookies don’t feel like enough. If there’s any other way I can repay you, I’ll do it. I’m a photographer. Wedding or
engagement photos, travel photos, headshots…”
“No wedding or engagement for me,” Liam said, giving me a healthy amount of side-eye. “But I’d love to take you to dinner.”
I felt my stomach tighten. What was he doing?
Alyssa gave a start. “Dinner?”
Mateo’s dark eyes widened as he watched the scene.
“Only if you want,” Liam said casually. “Not trying to guilt you into a date just because I saved your life.”
Alyssa blushed. She probably didn’t come here expecting to get asked out, and Liam was a good-looking, charismatic guy. He
glanced at me with an unmistakable expression: say the word and I’ll back off.
I shot back a stubborn look. Liam shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to get dinner with you. We can catch up.”
The two of them exchanged numbers while I sat very still.
“Anyway, thanks again. I owe you my life. All three of you. Enjoy the cookies.”
 Liam hugged her, then Mateo did the same. She lingered a moment, waiting to see if I would move in for a hug. My body
ached to embrace her, to fold her into my arms and hold her tight like that day at the pool party eight years ago when we were
all alone. But I couldn’t make my feet move.
Alyssa gave an awkward little smile, then left.
“She is very pretty,” Mateo said.
“That’s what hooks you,” I muttered. “But like I said: she’s bad news.”
“I don’t actually want to go out with her,” Liam explained. “I only did that to prove a point. I didn’t realize you were too
stubborn to flinch first.”
Mateo chuckled. “I have known this since the first day I met him.”
“Okay,” Liam admitted. “I knew he was stubborn, but not that stubborn. I don’t want to cross any lines, bud. Say the word
and I’ll back out.”
“Go ahead and take her to dinner. I don’t even care,” I replied. “I’m going to go see about those hoses now.”
But as I left, I knew nobody in that room believed my lie.
Alyssa fucking Ford.
 5

Alyssa

Jack freaking Franco.

Never in a billion years did I expect to see him standing there in that fire station. Yet the longer I looked at him, the more it
felt right. Growing up, he always said he wanted to help people for a living. It made sense that he would become a fireman.
And it did feel like he was the man who knocked my door down and carried me out of the house, even though I was wrong
about that.
I was already in a strange mood after getting out of the hospital. I had experienced a traumatic event, and my childhood house
had burned down. Who wouldn’t feel weird after that? But seeing Jack out of the blue made me feel even stranger. Like I had
been transported back in time, with all the same emotions and baggage from high school, yet with all the adult knowledge I had
accrued in the eight years since.
Why did he have to see me like this? I thought, looking down at myself. The hospital had given me a baggy sun dress and a
pair of sandals to wear, since my pajamas were more smoke than fabric. It wasn’t even close to flattering.
I called another Uber back to the house to meet Brandi. The sight waiting there made me go numb. The right side of the house
where the garage had been was now a pile of rubble, while the left side of the house was like a skeleton. The front-facing wall
of my bedroom still stood, but looked like it might collapse from the first strong breeze that blew in off the ocean. My suitcase
full of belongings was almost certainly destroyed. My rental car was still parked in the driveway, but the front half of it was
burned black, and the tires were melted flat. The back of the car looked intact though, including the trunk…
I must have stood there for a while, because suddenly my sister’s car was skidding to a stop in front of the house. She came
running around to the driveway, wrapping me in a tight hug while sobbing.
“Alyssa, oh my God Alyssa, I can’t believe it. You almost died!”
“I’m okay. Just a little smoke in my lungs.”
Rather than calm her down, she sobbed even harder. “If anything had happened to you, my sister, my twin… I can’t lose you.
Not a week after losing our mother.”
I smiled. “Are you saying those are equivalent losses?”
Brandi gave me a sisterly shove. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Mother’s death is an inconvenience, but I would be
devastated if I lost you.”
“I’m fine. Just a little shaken up. Honestly, I’m more sad about your situation. I was only going to stay here for a few weeks,
but you had this whole big plan to fix up the house and rent it out.”
Brandi waved a hand. “I don’t care about that, Alyssa. None of that matters. I’m just happy you’re okay. Why didn’t you tell
me you were staying here instead of a hotel!”
“I was trying to fix the place up for you. I stocked the fridge and pantry, put sheets on the bed… three hundred bucks down the
drain.” I turned to the house. “My suitcase was inside, too.”
“Oh no. I have plenty of clothes you can use. Was that your car?”
“It’s a rental.”
She laughed through her tears. “And you parked in the driveway?”
“It felt like an act of defiance at the time!” I said with a laugh of my own. “The bitch of it is that if I had parked on the street,
it would probably be fine. I still have some stuff in the trunk, but I don’t have the keys.”
Brandi walked over to the car and tested the handle. It was locked. She looked around, found a brick at the edge of the house
rubble, and smashed it through the window. Then she unlocked the door and pulled the latch to pop the trunk.
“What?” she asked. “It’s already totaled!”
I opened the trunk, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. “All my camera equipment is okay.” I began removing bags of gear,
quickly checking them first. “Losing my suitcase isn’t a big deal, but there’s five grand worth of cameras and lenses here.”
“Five grand! And here I thought photography was cheap to get into. My iPhone camera is pretty good.”
I smiled. “There’s a big difference between pretty good and professional. My clients pay me for that difference.”
Brandi helped me carry the bags into her car. “Let’s get dinner. We have so much to talk about.”
While eating fried fish at one of our favorite old restaurants, I caught my sister up on everything going on in my life. My
photography business in New York, the last two boyfriends that had come and gone without much fanfare. Eventually, I brought
up the subject I had been avoiding.
“Remember Jack?” I said once we were several glasses of wine deep. “Jack Franco?”
Brandi snorted. “Are you seriously suggesting I might have forgotten the hottest, hunkiest asshole on our street? Wait, not
asshole. Jackass.” She giggled at her own joke.
“Well, he doesn’t live on our street anymore. But he’s still in Clearwater.”
She frowned at me. “How do you know? Did you run into him?”
“More like he ran into me. He was one of the firemen who rescued me from the house fire.”
Brandi stared at me for three long seconds. Then she busted out laughing.
“What?” I asked.
“Jack Franco carried you out of our burning house?”
“It was one of his teammates, actually. Liam, that foreign exchange student from New Zealand.”
“Who?”
“You really don’t remember him? He lived with Jack. It was the junior year of high school. Thick blond hair, yellower than
Jack’s. It’s impossible to forget that accent.”
“I didn’t ogle every boy in our grade,” she shot back. “Why are you so insistent that I remember him?”
“Well… he sort of asked me out.”
“What!”
“I went to the fire station to thank the men who rescued me. Turns out two of them were Jack and Liam. And Liam asked me
out, right there in front of Jack.”
Brandi raised her hand to get the waiter’s attention. “Hi, yes, we’re going to need another round of drinks because my twin
sister just told me the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you going to be okay to drive?”
She waved a hand. “Shut up. We’ll get an Uber. Now un-shut up and tell me every detail that happened.”
I spent a few minutes filling her in on the entire visit to the station.
“Well? Is he cute?” she finally asked.
“He’s really cute!” I replied. “But I think I gave him my number just to be polite.” And to make Jack jealous. “I don’t expect
Liam to actually text me, especially once he and Jack talk about it. Guys are weirdly territorial about that stuff.”
Brandi rolled her eyes. “You’ve been in town a day and have managed to have more excitement than I’ve had in the past
year.”
“I have not!”
Brandi began counting items on her fingers. “You were inside our childhood home when it caught fire and burned down. Jack
Franco, the boy you’ve been pining over for more than a decade, was one of the guys to save you.”
“Nuh uh!” I argued.
She ticked the third finger. “And then you gave your number to his friend and coworker.”
I accepted my new glass of wine from the waiter and took a long sip. “Okay, when you put it like that, I see what you mean.
But enough about me. How’s Kyle? Things are boring?”
“Oh, things are exciting with Kyle,” she replied. “But it’s marriage excitement, not single girl excitement.”
The subject was successfully changed, and we talked about Brandi’s life for the remainder of dinner. Then we got a hotel
room at the hotel I was originally supposed to stay at.
“Here’s the plan,” Brandi told me. “I found an Airbnb a few miles down the road. It’s right on the water, and it’s far enough
from our old neighborhood that we don’t have to think about it at all. We’ll stay there for a week and see how much of our
mother’s affairs we can settle, and renew the Airbnb until it’s all finished. In the meantime, I’ll have Kyle drive down here and
bring a bunch of extra clothes. You can borrow some of the clothes I brought with me, and we can go shopping for anything else
tomorrow. We have plenty of time since we can’t check-in until the afternoon.”
“Are you sure Kyle doesn’t mind?”
Brandi shrugged. “You’re my sister. He understands.”
I hugged her, and realized there were tears in my eyes. I wiped them away and got ready for bed.
We picked up breakfast tacos the next day and then went shopping. I bought a few necessities: jeans, tops, an extra pair of
sneakers. Brandi convinced me to buy a bathing suit. Might as well soak up some sun while I was down here.
I was a little worried about money; my savings were already low before going shopping. But Brandi had a way of making all
my concerns melt away. I could always pick up some extra photography work while I was down here, I told myself.
By the time we were done shopping and had gotten lunch, it was time to check-in to our Airbnb. It was the guest house in the
backyard of another house, which was right across the street from the Saint Joseph Sound, a narrow strip of water between
Clearwater and Clearwater Beach that led into the Gulf of Mexico.
“Right?” Brandi said when she saw my surprise. “I did well, didn’t I?”
“This place is great,” I said. “How much did it cost?”
“It costs none-of-your-business per day,” she replied. “Stop worrying and relax. Kyle and I make good money. Let me spoil
my sister while I can. Once we have kids, I won’t be able to throw money around like this.”
Per the Airbnb instructions, we pulled into the driveway, which led all the way into the backyard next to the guest house.
Unlike when I arrived at our mother’s house, I didn’t feel any sense of dread here. It actually felt like a new beginning.
“We can turn this tragedy into something good,” Brandi said while we got out, echoing my own thoughts. “We’ll get wine
drunk tonight, watch the sunset right over there, and celebrate the death of that awful house. Like one of those ceremonies
where they burn all the ex-boyfriends clothes, except with an entire house.”
A dog was barking inside the main house as we approached the guest building. Brandi entered the code on the keypad. It
flashed red. She tried it a second time with no luck.
Sighing, she pulled out her phone. “I’ll call the owner and see what’s up.”
I turned to the main house where the dog was barking. “I see lights on. Let’s just knock.”
“I’ll get our stuff out of the car while you do that,” Brandi said, popping the trunk. “And if he’s hot, flirt a little bit! Maybe we
can get a discount if we need to extend our stay.”
I laughed it off while rounding the building and approaching the front door. This place was nice, and it was right on the water.
The owners were probably a nice retired couple.
I rang the doorbell, which made the dog bark even louder. He appeared in the side window, a grey German Shepherd with
hazel eyes. When he saw me, he immediately sat on his haunches and waited patiently.
“Aren’t you a good boy?” I whispered, bent down to peer through the glass. I put my hand on the deck railing to steady
myself, and noticed a lush white towel hanging over the edge. I wonder what that’s for.
Nobody came to the door, so I knocked. After a few more seconds, I cupped my hands to the window. Just our luck—the
owner wasn’t here.
“Can I help you?” a man behind me asked.
I turned to face the man who had spoken, and did a double-take.
Jack freaking Franco.
 6

Alyssa

Jack Franco stood by the mailbox of the house, wearing only a pair of skin-tight black swim trunks that went halfway down to
his knees. Beads of moisture covered his body. His sandy-blond hair was so wet it looked dark, and a narrow stream of water
was running down his neck and across his chest. The moisture accentuated his sun-kissed skin and muscles, and there was a lot
to accentuate. Veins bulged out of his thick forearms and hands like they were trying to escape. The corded lines of muscle in
his shoulders hinted, nay shouted, about functional strength. He was panting with effort, which made every one of the
abdominal muscles in his six-pack ripple in the afternoon light.
Oh my God, I couldn’t help but think. He didn’t look like this at the fire station yesterday.
He stopped short when he recognized me. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
I shook off my daze and pointed around the corner. “We…”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Jack’s face twisted in a snarl, and his piercing blue eyes were full of fire. “If you’ve
come to thank me again for the fire, or to apologize for what you did the last time we saw each other eight years ago, I don’t
care. I don’t want to hear it. It’s too late, Alyssa.”
The ferocity of his speech took me aback, and I stood there on his porch like an idiot.
Brandi came around the corner and immediately began laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this your place?”
Although Jack reacted with anger at seeing me, Brandi caught him off guard. His eyes widened and he looked back and forth
between us.
“We’re renting your guest house,” I explained.
His shoulders slumped like he had just finished a long sprint. Or maybe a long swim, based on what he was wearing. “God
damnit.”
“I always knew this was a small town,” Brandi said, still laughing. “But I never realized it was this small!”
“This is all a big misunderstanding,” I said, exiting his porch. “We’ll cancel our booking and find another place.”
“We will?” Brandi asked.
“Come on. The sooner we’re gone, the better.”
Brandi followed me back to the car while scrolling on her phone. “If we cancel the booking now, they’ll take the deposit.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s eight hundred dollars, Alyssa.”
I froze with my hand on the car door. “What!”
“The guest house costs two hundred bucks a night, give or take. I booked it for a week. If you really want to cancel, that’s
fine, but…”
I hesitated. I couldn’t afford that right now. I had expected to pay for a single night in a hotel and spend the rest of the time
staying at our mother’s house. I was lucky that Brandi was offering to pay for everything so far.
“Did you search me out?” Jack suddenly asked. He had followed us down the driveway, and was standing ten feet behind us
with the towel draped over his shoulders. Somehow, that only accentuated the parts of his body that I could still see. “Did you
plan all of this, or is it all just a crazy coincidence?”
“Why would I plan this?” I replied.
“Answer the question,” Jack growled, fingers gripping the towel tightly.
Brandi muttered, “For fuck’s sake…”
“No, we didn’t plan this,” I said bitterly. “I wouldn’t intentionally run into you even if someone paid me. This is all just an
extremely unfortunate coincidence. Come on, Brandi. Let’s go.”
 “Wait,” Jack said.
I turned. His eyes began to soften.
“If you cancel at the last minute, it’ll count against your account. And you’ll be charged a cancellation fee by Airbnb.” His
bare chest swelled with a deep breath, then he let it out. “It’s fine.”
“What is?”
He gestured. “The guest house has been unoccupied most of the summer, to the point that I had to lower the price. You can
stay. We’ll never have to see each other.”
I glanced at Brandi. She looked like she wanted to leave, but was giving me the final say. Which sucked, because I wanted
her to decide for me. To say the words out loud.
I forced myself to speak. “Okay. We’ll stay. It’s only for a week.”
Jack walked past us and entered a code into the keypad. “The code is zero-six-four-six. The last four digits of the booking
party’s phone number.”
Brandi sniffed. “The last four digits of my phone are zero-six-four-seven.”
Jack didn’t reply. He only pulled out his phone, scanned a few pages, then held it out for us to see. It was the Airbnb Host
Page, which showed all the information on the person who had booked his guest house. The number listed on the information
ended in zero-six-four-six.
“Oh.” Brandi’s face turned red. “I must have entered my information wrong.”
Jack opened the door and led us inside. It wasn’t a large space—there was a kitchen and living room in the main area, with
two doors leading into other rooms. “Coffee machine works. There’s fresh grounds in the cupboard. Bathroom is that door. The
other one is the bedroom, with twin beds.” He smiled at that.
“We saw the listing, thanks,” I said. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
He walked past me, smelling like salt water, sunscreen, and a hint of musk. Those scents immediately brought back memories
from high school, and all the other interactions I’d had with Jack. A jumble of emotions filled me, powerful and confusing at
the same time.
The door closed, and Brandi and I were alone.
She immediately sighed and sank into the couch. “Well that was awkward. You could cut the sexual tension with a butter
knife and spread it on toast.”
“Sexual—what! No, Brandi!” I argued. “Jack and I hate each other. That was just regular old tension. Nothing sexual about
it.”
“Whatever you say.”
I unpacked and changed into new clothes, while Brandi went out to get us food for tonight. She returned with an oven pizza,
two bags of chips, and two bottles of wine.
I love my sister, I thought. She always knew exactly what I needed.
“Here’s the plan,” she said. “We don’t meet with the lawyer guy until Friday, so we have two days to get some other stuff
done. I think we should go to our mother’s store tomorrow and take stock of everything. I have no idea what we need to do
there, so that may take a day or two. Then we meet with the lawyer, and we’ll have a better idea of everything else after that.
The hardest part, dealing with the house, is no longer an issue for us. Silver lining, huh?”
“It’s nice knowing that we don’t have to deal with that,” I admitted.
“With all of that handled, we should be out of here in a week. No need to extend our stay at Jack’s guest house.” Brandi
sighed. “Am I missing anything?”
“I think you covered all of it.” My phone vibrated with a text message, so I checked it.

Liam: Hi! This is Liam Campbell.

Liam: More specifically: the Liam Campbell from the fire station. And from high
school eight years ago. Kiwi Liam.
Liam: Kiwi is a nickname for New Zealanders. You probably know that, but just
trying to be clear!
 “It’s Liam,” I said, turning my phone off and placing it on the coffee table.
Brandi squealed excitedly and grabbed my phone. “What’d he say! What’d he say! I want to see. Ohh, he texted you already.
How long has it been?”
“A day,” I answered.
“Aren’t you going to respond to him?”
“After we finished talking, maybe.”
“We did finish talking,” Brandi insisted. “Go on, answer him! He’s probably going to ask you out.

Me: Hey there Liam, I remember you. How’s it going?

Liam: It’s going great! Just got off a shift at the station and thought I’d text you. I
know you’re supposed to wait a few days before contacting someone, but I don’t know
how long you’re in town, so I didn’t want to play any of those dumb games. You want to
get dinner with me tonight?
Me: Ah, sorry, but I’ve got plans with my sister tonight. We’re eating pizza and getting
wine drunk.
“Don’t use me as an excuse!” Brandi said. “Go out with him.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere tonight. I just want to relax.” Before I could argue more, Liam had responded.

Liam: Ah, no worries, I like that vibe. Don’t blame you after all the excitement you’ve
had in the past day. How about tomorrow night? There’s a chill bar right on the beach that
opened up last year. It’s kind of my favorite place. Fresh fish and cheap drinks.
After Brandi read the text, I closed my phone and put it in my pocket where she couldn’t steal it.
“What?” Brandi asked. “You don’t want to go out with him?”
“I’m flattered to be asked, but no, I don’t really want to go out. We’ve got too much going on with all of our mother’s affairs
to handle. And before you tell me that I’ll have plenty of free time at night, I was thinking of trying to book a few photography
sessions. I need the money.”
“I think,” Brandi said while popping open a bag of chips, “that you’re still crushing on Jack.”
I blinked. “Jack? Jack Franco?”
“What other Jack would I be talking about? Yes, Jack Franco. Stop stalling. Admit it: you still have a thing for him. And that
thing is in your pants.”
I laughed and took the bag of chips from her. “I really don’t want to talk about Jack.”
“Because you’re suppressing your latent feelings for him.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “You’re wrong.”
“I saw the way you looked at him earlier.”
“Because he was shirtless!” I bit into a chip. “I may hate the man, but I’m not blind. He’s ripped.”
“Come on,” Brandi insisted, leaning forward. “You always had a crush on him.”
“I did not!”
She gave me a look that said I know you. “Alyssa. It’s me. You can’t lie to me.”
“My feelings for Jack were… complicated,” I admitted. “But that was almost a decade ago.”
“Eight years.”
“Which is almost a decade.”
“Eight is not almost ten,” she countered.
“We’re splitting hairs. I don’t have feelings for him.”
 “Not even after seeing him?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Brandi’s lips curled in a half-smile. “Prove it.”
“You want me to swear on a bible or something?”
“Go on that date with Liam.”
I groaned. “He’s not my type.”
“You’re making excuses. When we had lunch yesterday, you told me he was cute. You were shocked I didn’t remember him
from junior year because of how cute he was.”
“Because of his accent. Not just because he’s cute.” I chewed on a chip, then spoke with my mouth full. “Florida isn’t my
home anymore, Brandi. I live in New York. I’m here to help you settle all of our mother’s affairs, not find love.”
“Who said anything about love? In the immortal words of Tina Turner…” Brandi jumped up and grabbed a bottle of wine,
pretending it was a microphone as she began to sing. “Oh-oh-oh, what’s love got to do, got to do with it?”
“If I agree to go on a date with him, will you stop singing?”
“What’s love, but a second-hand emotion?”
“Brandi…”
“What’s love got to do, got to do with it? Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?”
I was laughing by the time she dropped back down onto the couch. “Does Kyle put up with your horrible impromptu karaoke
the way I used to?”
“He suffers in silence.” She pointed the bottle of wine at me. “Seriously, though. You’re overthinking this. We’re talking
about a single date. Maybe getting your freak on. You’re clearly in need of getting laid. And who knows? Maybe this will make
Jack jealous. Which will serve him right, even if you don’t have feelings for him.”
I pulled out my phone and texted Liam back, agreeing to the date tomorrow night. And it has nothing to do with Jack, I told
myself. I don’t care if he’s jealous. I don’t care about him at all.
 7

Liam

“Say the word, bud,” I said, “and I’ll back out.”

We were sitting at an outdoor table at Zeke’s, our favorite sandwich joint. Jack was my best pal, so I was giving him an out.
But I was also pushing him a little bit, because as his best pal, I knew he needed a little pushing.
“You don’t have to back out,” Jack replied while picking at a few remaining fries. “Go out with her.”
“Are you sure?”
“For the tenth time, yes. I’m sure. If I’d known you were going to only talk about this, I wouldn’t have agreed to lunch.”
I took a pull from my seltzer. It was crisp and refreshing in the Florida heat.
“I do not understand,” Mateo said next to us. “You have asked this girl out. Jack has said he is fine. Why do you still discuss
it?”
In truth, I had only asked Alyssa out to goad Jack into doing something about it. Because ever since we realized who that girl
in the burning building was, Jack had been in a weird mood. He moped around the station on our last shift. He was slow to
answer his text messages. I found out from a friend of a friend of a friend that he’d visited Alyssa in the hospital without telling
anyone.
Asking Alyssa out was supposed to be the kick to the buttocks that set Jack’s mind straight. But instead, he was digging in,
stubborn bastard that he was.
“Mateo brings up a good point,” Jack said. “Why are we still discussing this?”
“The answer, Mateo, is simple,” I said slowly. “Because I think our good friend Jack is lying.”
Mateo nodded. “Ah, yes.”
Jack clenched his jaw. “I’m not lying.”
“Sure you’re not.”
Jack angrily crumpled up his sandwich wrapper into a ball and squeezed it like a stress toy. “Go out with her. Have a great
time. Sleep with her if you want. I don’t care. I don’t want to think about her or see her at all.”
“That’s curious,” I said, winking at Mateo, “considering Alyssa and her sister are staying in your guest house.”
Jack froze. “How’d you know that?”
“Alyssa doesn’t have a car. Hers was the one that burned up in the driveway. And when I offered to pick her up, she told me
where she was staying.”
I put my hands on the back of my head and leaned back in my chair, smiling.
“It was a stupid coincidence.”
Mateo and I exchanged a look. “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“I was going to cancel their reservation, but it’ll count against my Airbnb Host account.”
“I’m sure that’s a truthful answer, and definitely not an excuse.”
Mateo covered his mouth to suppress a chuckle.
Jack’s chair screeched as he stood up. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t care.” He walked away, slamming his trash into a
nearby trashcan.
Mateo turned his hazel eyes to me. “I have never seen him this upset before.”
“I have,” I replied, watching Jack walk out to the parking lot. “He was this angry one other time, eight years ago. At a pool
party.”
“What caused it?” Mateo asked.
 I grimaced. “Alyssa Ford.”
“You are going through with it?” he asked. “The date? Even though he is this mad?”
“Jack’ll be even more mad if I cancel on account of him. Besides, I don’t want to bail on the girl a few hours before our date.
Real dick move. I’ll take her out, show her a good, innocent time, and drop her off at the end of the night with a kiss on the
cheek. That’s it.”
I intended to do just that. I really did. As much as I wanted to push Jack to acknowledge and deal with his feelings, I didn’t
want to get involved with Alyssa Ford. There was way too much baggage there between her and my best pal.
But the night had other plans for us.
I pulled into Jack’s driveway and found Alyssa sitting on a chair by the guest house. She was wearing a red sundress with
yellow flower designs, one leg crossed over the other. She had a great set of legs. Not that I was looking. My intentions were
innocent tonight, after all. But I couldn’t help but notice.
“You look like you belong in the Florida sun,” I said while holding the passenger door open for her.
“I did grow up here!” she replied, giving a wave back toward the guest house. Her sister—her twin, I had to remind myself—
gave a little wave from inside the door. Even though I lived in Clearwater for a full year, I didn’t remember much about
Brandi. Alyssa was the one that stuck out in my memory.
“Kinda nice, picking up a date,” I said while pulling out of the driveway. “Reminds me of high school dates. More chivalrous
times. Small talk with the parents. Glad I don’t have to do that.”
“You dated Lindsey Chatwell in high school, right?”
I glanced over at her. “You remember that?”
“Sure. She’s married now. Has five kids.”
“Six,” I corrected. “Just had a newborn. Photos were on Facebook a week or two ago.”
Alyssa shook her head. “Six kids by age twenty-six. I can’t imagine being pregnant pretty much non-stop for six years.”
“Me neither. Although, I can’t imagine being pregnant at all!”
She laughed richly, which was music to my ears. I liked making women laugh. If you could make a woman laugh, my dad had
always said, you could get far with them.
Not that I had such intentions with Alyssa. It was going to be an innocent night, after all.
“Did you work today?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope! Had the day off.”
“Do anything fun?”
“Oh yeah, lots of fun. Slept in ‘til almost noon. Had lunch with the boys. Organized my dresser.”
“Organized your dresser? Woah now, don’t get too crazy!”
“What about you? What’d your day entail?” I asked.
She groaned. “My day was the opposite of fun. Brandi and I went to our mother’s upholstery shop, but found out it was
closed. The employees were all gone. We spent two hours making calls to try to find someone with the key, but none of them
were available. So we’re meeting with them tomorrow.”
I pulled into the parking lot of the beach restaurant, and put my car into park. “I feel like I’m missing something. Why not get
the key from your mum?”
Alyssa snorted. “It would probably help if I give you all the context, huh? Our mother died last week.”
As I got out of the car, it felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Her mum had died? Last week? It was a wonder she was able to
stand.
When I came around the side of the car, I instinctively wrapped my arms around Alyssa and gave her a hug. A full-body hug,
like we were close friends. The only kind of hug I knew how to give. “I’m so sorry, Alyssa. I didn’t know. If you’re not in the
right mindset, I can take you home…”
Alyssa surprised me by laughing. “Oh no, I’m fine. Seriously. Except for annoyances stemming from her poorly-run
business.”
She seemed like she was telling the truth, so I led her into the restaurant. It was right on the beach, completely open to the
fresh gulf air. The bar at the center of the space was shaped like an oval, facing all 360 degrees, with maybe a dozen tables
scattered around it. I picked a two-person table farthest from the bar, overlooking the sand and surf. She ordered a Miami Vice,
which was essentially a frozen strawberry daiquiri and a piña colada layered on top of each other. “That sounds good. Make it
two,” I said with a smile.
Our drinks arrived, and we toasted. Then there was an awkward silence as she surveyed the menu. The dress showed off a
lot of beautiful cleavage, especially while she leaned forward to look at the menu, but I didn’t look. I was too much of a
gentleman for that.
“You already know what you’re getting?” she asked.
Alyssa had nice eyelashes, too. Especially when she gazed up at me through them. “Same thing I always get. The fried
grouper. It’s always fresh caught, right over there.” I nodded out to the gulf.
“You always get the same thing? Kind of boring,” she gently teased.
I spread my hands. “I’m a man who knows what he wants, and is easy to please. Also, the fried grouper is outstanding.”
She smiled. “I like your confidence.” The waiter appeared, and Alyssa handed him both our menus. “We’ll both have fried
grouper.”
“Ordering for your date,” I said. “That shows confidence.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not emasculated, are you?”
“Not even close,” I replied honestly. If anything, her confidence turned me on, although I wouldn’t tell her that.
Alyssa sipped her drink and sighed happily. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Always.”
“I only gave you my number,” she revealed, “to make Jack jealous. Is that shitty of me?” She punctuated the admission with
the cutest little wince.
I leaned back in my chair and laughed. “I only asked you out to make Jack jealous! He was being all silly about you, so I
called his bluff. But it didn’t work.”
She raised her drink toward me. “Then that makes this date awfully simple, doesn’t it?”
“No rules or expectations,” I agreed. “We can have a nice evening together, then go our separate ways.”
“I’ll pay for my half of the dinner,” she added.
I immediately shook my head. “Absolutely not. This is still a date, and I’m still a gentleman. Besides, your house just burned
down. You’ve had a rough go. Maybe dinner will ease things a bit, yeah?”
“You already carried me out of the burning building,” Alyssa pointed out. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Not even close.” I considered revealing that Jack had been the one to carry her out, but that would only start a fight
whenever she confronted Jack about it. It was stupid of my best pal to lie about that, but that was his decision to make.
Alyssa leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, causing her dress to slide up another inch. Not that I looked or
anything. “This takes the pressure off of the night. I was trying to figure out how to reject you at the end of the night without
hurting your feelings.”
“I had a plan,” I said. “I was going to walk you to your door, kiss you on the cheek, and say goodnight.”
She gasped and touched her face. “How scandalous.”
“But I agree. I feel a lot more relaxed now. We don’t even have to do any of that small talk to try to get to know each other.”
“Oh! I still want to do that!” she insisted. “That’s the best part of a first date: all the small talk. Go ahead. What were you
going to ask?”
“Are you certain?” I asked. “These are pretty saucy questions. You might rethink how you want the night to go.”
She leaned forward. “Give me your worst.”
“You were warned.” I cleared my throat. “If you could have dinner with anyone in history, dead or alive, who would it be?”
Alyssa raised an eyebrow. “That’s your question?”
“I warned you it would be saucy.”
“Annie Leibovitz,” she replied without hesitation. “The photographer.”
“Explain.”
Alyssa’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “She’s one of the most famous photographers in history. She specialized in major
figures in pop-culture. If you think of a famous photograph from 1970 to 2000, it was probably taken by Annie. She
photographed Queen Elizabeth, Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, Demi Moore, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Gisele Bundchen,
LeBron James.” She snapped her fingers. “Here’s one you probably know. The famous photograph of John Lennon and Yoko
Ono. John is nude, curling his body in the fetal position around Yoko.”
“I do know that photo,” I said, picturing it in my head. “Wasn’t it taken a few days before he was murdered?”
“A few hours,” she replied. “It’s a perfect example of how context changes a photo. When it was taken, it was full of love
and energy. But a few hours later, after John was dead, the photo told a completely different story. It was their last kiss. It’s like
they were saying goodbye.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s powerful.”
She nodded. “Annie is definitely my answer. I’d love to have dinner with her, picking her brain about her life. I bet she has
some amazing stories to tell.” Her blonde curls swayed as she shook her head. “Okay, your turn.”
I smiled sadly. “My answer is going to bring down the mood.”
“Aw, come on! That’s a cop-out.”
“All right, but I warned you.” I took a long sip from my drink. “If I could have dinner with anyone in history, I’d pick my
mum.”
Alyssa’s face twisted from curiosity, to surprise, to understanding. “Oh.”
“No, it’s all right. She died when I was thirteen. Time’s healed that wound.”
“You two were close?”
I nodded. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It was just us. And dad, but he was gone for work a lot. I wish I could have
dinner with her one last time, to let her know I turned out all right.” I smiled. “She’s the one who told me to see the world as
much as I could. That’s why I signed up to be a foreign exchange student. I wouldn’t have ended up here if not for her.” I
gestured with my drink.
Alyssa cocked her head. “That’s sweet. I wish I’d had that kind of relationship with my mother. Okay, no more sad topics.
What’s the next small talk question you were going to ask?”
“Favorite band or musician, of course.”
“A classic question. You’re going to roll your eyes at me, but Taylor Swift.”
I maintained eye contact and pointed at myself. “See this? No eye rolling here. I respect your artistic opinion, Alyssa Ford.”
“You’re truly a gentleman, Liam Campbell,” she giggled. “What’s your answer?”
“Flight of the Conchords.”
“Never heard of them.”
“They’re a two-man band from Wellington,” I explained. “They do sort of joke comedy songs. Had a show on HBO for a
little bit.”
“Comedy songs? Eye roll.” She dramatically rolled her eyes. “You don’t have an answer that plays real music?”
I gasped. “Real music? Surely you’re not besmirching my artistic tastes, especially after I was so magnanimous about your
answer.”
She held out her hands. “Sorry, sorry. I respect your answer.”
“One more strike and I will make you pay for your half of dinner!”
The two of us laughed it off.
“Next question!” she said eagerly.
“Favorite movie.”
She winced. “Just one?”
“Just one,” I replied.
“What about favorite comedy, and favorite drama?”
“That’s not the question. You have to pick one.”
She sighed. “Fine. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.”
I felt something twist inside my chest. “What?”
Alyssa gazed out at the beach while speaking. “It’s this cheesy movie from ten or so years ago. Based off a comic book. You
have my permission to roll your eyes as much as you want.”
I just stared at her. Was she being genuine? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know her well enough.
She finally glanced at me. “What?”
 “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is my favorite movie too,” I breathed.
She made a face. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you. Prove it.”
“I had a crush on Mary Elizabeth Winstead because of it. And a thing for girls with purple hair.”
She leaned across the table. “I was into Todd the Vegan!”
“Brie Larson.”
“Chris Evans,” she countered.
I leaned closer to her, just inches from her face. Close enough for her perfume to fill my nostrils. “Anna Kendrick is in it,
back before she was really famous.”
“And Kieran Culkin,” Alyssa replied.
Then, at the same time, we both said, “Aubrey Plaza!”
We leaned back in our chairs, laughing incredulously. She was looking at me with fresh eyes, and I was thinking the same
thing about her.
“Did Jack put you up to this?” I asked.
“I haven’t talked to Jack about anything meaningful in almost a decade. I swear.”
“It’s my comfort movie,” I admitted. “My sick-with-the-flu movie. My lazy Sunday afternoon movie.”
“My sister hated it, so I always watched it alone,” Alyssa said.
I chuckled with wonder. “I watched it every week while I was living two houses down from you. It helped me whenever I
was homesick.”
“I wish I had known! I would’ve come over to watch it with you.” She blinked. “Well. Maybe not, because of Jack. But you
could’ve come and watched it at my place.”
“If only we had known.”
“Too bad this is just a courtesy date,” Alyssa mused. “If there was a second date, I know what I would want to do.”
The waiter was approaching with our plates of food. An idea came to me, and I seized on it.
“Here we are, two fried groupers. Is there anything else I can—”
“Can we get this food to go?” I asked.
The waiter blinked. “To go?”
“To go?” Alyssa echoed.
“We’ve just learned of a cinematic emergency that needs our immediate attention,” I said.
The waiter looked annoyed, but went to grab two take-out boxes.
“Let’s pivot this date back to my place,” I said. “We can put on the movie, eat our food, and see which of us has memorized
the movie the best.”
“The answer is clearly me,” Alyssa said. “But going back to your place…”
I realized what she was hinting at. “My intentions are pure.” I raised my palm like I was swearing an oath. “I promise to end
the date with a kiss on your cheek, as promised.”
She grinned eagerly. “Let’s do it. But only if we can get more fruity drinks on the way.”
I smiled back at her. “You’ve got a deal.”
 8

Alyssa

I was surprised by how much fun I was having. Admitting that we had both agreed to the date in order to make Jack jealous
had taken all of the pressure away, allowing us to be ourselves. Liam was charming, and handsome, and his accent was totally
disarming. Sexy like an Australian accent, but even friendlier.
And that was before learning that we had the same favorite movie.
On the way back to Liam’s place, we stopped at a place called Muy Frio Margaritas. They sold all sorts of frozen alcoholic
drinks to go. We purchased a big container of strawberry daiquiri, and one of piña colada, so we could replicate the same
Miami Vice drink from the bar.
“I don’t know how strong these are,” Liam said. “But if I can’t drive in one hour and fifty-two minutes, I’ll call you an Uber.”
I frowned at him. “An hour and fifty-two minutes?”
“The length of the movie.” He made a disapproving click with his tongue. “Looks like someone is already winning the
competition to see who’s the bigger fan.”
“I didn’t realize it’s a competition. But if it is, then I would point out that the extended cut is an hour fifty-seven, with five
extra minutes of music during the battle of the bands.”
Liam sucked in his breath. “Looks like I’ve underestimated you.”
“Much like Scott underestimated the power of Ramona’s seven evil exes.”
“Indeed.”
Walking back to the car, I texted Brandi to keep her updated.

Me: Change of plans. Liam and I are going home to watch a movie.
Brandi: ALYSSA
Brandi: YOU ARE NOT
Me: It’s not what you think. It’s totally innocent. His favorite movie is Scott Pilgrim,
so we’re taking our food back to his place to watch it.
Brandi: I bet you’re not going to be watching much of the movie.
Me: It’s my favorite movie. I’m watching every minute of it.
Brandi: I was trying to imply that you’ll be too busy SUCKING FACE.
Me: Sucking face? Who says that?
Brandi: You’re going to be saying that when you fill me in on how the date goes
tomorrow.
Brandi: Which will be after Liam fills YOU in.
Brandi: With his penis.
Me: Joke all you want. This is totally innocent. Liam actually admitted that he only
asked me out to make Jack jealous.
 Brandi: Right, because men have never lied to get into a girl’s pants before.
Me: Shut up. I’ll text you when I’m leaving his place.
Brandi: I will anxiously await that text message while drinking my coffee tomorrow
morning.
“What’s so funny?” Liam asked.
“My sister. I was just letting her know about the change of plans.”
He glanced over at me. “And she’s insinuating that I have less than innocent intentions?”
“No.” I paused. “Okay, yes.”
Liam laughed. “You aren’t going to be in the mood for anything saucy after I prove that I’m a bigger fan than you.”
“Bold talk from someone who doesn’t watch the extended version.”
“Jack’s family had the shorter version on DVD! It’s not my fault.”
As he opened the car door, I found myself appreciating his body more than when he’d picked me up. He was tall and lean,
with jeans that showed off a tight little butt. His chiseled jawline looked confident, each contour casting shadows in the light of
a nearby street lamp. There was a striking contrast between his yellow hair, pearly-white teeth, and suntanned skin that stirred
something inside me.
He gave me a playful smile. “Coming?” I realized he was still holding open the car door for me.
“Sorry.” I stepped inside and wondered if Brandi knew me better than I knew myself.
Liam lived in a fifth-floor studio apartment ten minutes from Jack’s place. It was sparse, but smartly decorated: kitchen to the
left, living room next to it, and a bedroom area to our right. Tall windows faced the west, with the Gulf of Mexico barely
visible in the distance.
“I like it,” I replied. “Minimalist, but not too much so.”
“The Buddha said that suffering in life is optional,” Liam said while carrying the food and drinks over to the kitchen area.
“Pain is inevitable, but suffering is caused by craving. Whether you’re craving material possessions, or a better position in
life, or anything else. By overcoming these desires that can never be satisfied, we can accept our position and therefore avoid
suffering.”
“I didn’t know you were Buddhist.”
“I’m not,” he replied cheerfully. “But I think that’s a good way of looking at life. I’ve learned to be happy with what I have.
Everything got easier when I stopped comparing myself to others.”
I walked around the big open room, admiring the furniture and photographs that were on the wall. A young Liam and an older
woman, probably his mother, standing at the airport. Probably before he was leaving for America as a teenager. Next to it was
a selfie of him and Jack together at school. The same high school I attended, judging by the painted lockers in the background.
Then there was a photo of him and another man standing on the beach holding surfboards. The other man had bronze skin and
dark hair.
“That’s when Mateo taught me how to surf,” Liam explained from the kitchen. “The surf’s usually not great here, but two
years ago it was wild. He insisted on teaching me while the conditions were good. Food’s ready, by the way. I’m just getting us
some drinks.”
“I always wanted to learn how to surf. Never had the courage to try.” Following the photographs, I ended up next to his
dresser in the bedroom area. Remembering the conversation I had earlier, I asked, “Is this the dresser you spent the day
organizing?”
“The very same!” He walked over with two glasses filled high with frozen drink, the bottom half red and the top white. He
handed one to me and then opened the middle drawer, then gestured dramatically. “Feast your eyes upon this.”
There were about twenty shirts inside, folded and stacked sideways in a row. They were ordered by color: black, then red
shades, then orange, yellow, green, blue.
“Such order,” he said with awe in his voice. “Such tidiness. Have you ever seen such a harmonious display in all your life?”
“It’s breathtaking,” I replied. “Truly. My closet back home is a mess by comparison.”
“You’ve been living in New York, right?” he asked while grabbing our plates of food.
“For three years, since graduating college.”
 He sank into the couch. “You went to Florida State, right?”
I sat next to him, leaving a healthy amount of space between us. “That was Brandi. I went to Clemson. Bachelor of Arts, with
a focus in photography.”
Liam turned the movie on. “Funny, I always assumed you two went to the same place, being twins and all. Probably not fair,
is it?”
I shrugged. “I love my sister, but it was nice going out on my own. It helped me figure out who I was, rather than who we
were.”
“Makes sense. Your degree makes sense too, considering the answer you gave about Annie Leibovitz. You do that for a
living?”
“Yup. Weddings, graduations, baby showers. Lately I’ve been making most of my money doing a thing called Flytography.” I
took a bite of food. “This is really good.”
“Flytography? Like, you take photographs of airplanes?”
I laughed. “Not quite. It’s an app for people looking to get photos taken while they’re on vacation. There are photographers in
every major city. When customers visit New York, they pick a photographer from the app and book a session with them. I show
up, take photos, then send them the results a few days later.”
“You should do that down here. Lots of people come here for vacation. Especially Clearwater Beach, or St. Pete Beach.”
“I was actually looking at the app today,” I admitted while biting into a French fry. “There’s a solid amount of demand, and I
could use the extra cash. I’m still paying rent back home while I’m down here.”
The first scene of the movie began, and we grew quiet while watching and eating dinner. The grouper was delicious, and I
found myself wishing I had more to eat. Instead, I drank my Miami Vice faster. After all, I wasn’t driving.
As the movie went on, we both tried to quote it before the other person. We quickly realized we were evenly matched, so we
called a truce and watched it in peace. When our drinks were finished, Liam got up and refilled them.
“That’s why you came back to Clearwater, right?” he asked. “For your mom’s funeral, and to settle her estate?”
“You’re half right,” I said, cringing. “I skipped the funeral.”
That surprised Liam. “Seriously?”
“Brandi and I didn’t have a good relationship with our mother,” I explained.
“Clearly.”
“She got pregnant in high school. She didn’t want us.”
“Aw, come on,” Liam said. “You don’t know that.”
“She told us. Often.”
“Oh.”
“She decided to keep the baby, but then we turned out to be twins. Twice as many diapers to change. Twice as many mouths to
feed. Twice as many clothes to buy. She blamed us for all the problems in her life. We were the reason she couldn’t get a good
job for a long time. We were the reason she couldn’t find a husband. We were the reason she…” I trailed off. He didn’t need to
know everything, and I didn’t want to bring the mood down by explaining how she had died.
Liam was looking at me with concern in his eyes. “That must’ve been hard for you. Both of you.”
I shrugged. “It was. But at least we had each other to lean on. I don’t know what I would’ve done without Brandi. She always
had my back.” I pointed at the TV to change the subject. “Did you know Brie Larson is actually singing in this? It’s not a
different voice actress.”
“Because she got her career started as a pop star before switching to acting,” he said. “You aren’t going to beat me on movie
trivia tonight, Aly.”
I turned toward him. “Aly?”
“Took a chance. Didn’t sound right to me, either.”
“Yeah, let’s stick with Alyssa. I don’t like nicknames.”
Suddenly, he sounded like a politician giving a press conference about a scandal, although his New Zealand accent gave it a
humorous contrast. “I apologize to everyone involved. This does not reflect my values. I’m a family man. I promise to do
better.”
I giggled and sipped my drink. “Speaking of values. What made you choose firefighting?”
 “I dunno.” He put his feet up on the coffee table. “Always liked helping people. Makes me feel… useful. Valuable as a
person. Even when I was a little kid, I felt happiest when I was helping someone.”
“How often did you help people as a kid?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “Don’t really like bragging.”
“It’s not bragging if someone asks you.”
“Well, if you insist.” He took a sip of his drink and spoke while watching the movie. “I was eleven or twelve. Had just had a
growth spurt, so I was as tall as my dad. Me and my pals liked swimming in a river on the way home from school. Doing flips
and jumping in to impress the girls. I can tell you’re impressed just imagining it.”
“Oh yes, I’m very impressed.”
“One day, I see this boy over by a deep part of the river with a nasty undercurrent. Suddenly, he goes under without a peep.
Naturally, I jumped in and pulled the boy to safety. Big hero, right? Wrong. When we get to the riverbank, he’s cursing at me.
Says he was fine, not struggling at all. Turns out he was on the school swim team. Strongest swimmer around for miles. He
dove under to see if he could touch the bottom.
“My pals had a good time making fun of me about it. Didn’t let me forget it for months. I laughed it off, but it annoyed me. I
was just trying to help. But they didn’t care about that, because I looked the fool. I told them I would let them all drown next
time. And I thought I meant it, too. But the next spring, we’re swimming in the river again. Similar spot. Same thing happens. A
boy I barely know went under without a sound. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. Jumped in again, pulled him to the
riverbank. My pals are laughing and taking the piss out of me. Until we realized the boy was pale as snow, and wasn’t
breathing. I started pumping his chest with my palms like I’d seen in the movies. I had no idea what I was doing. Gave him
chest compressions for thirty seconds—thirty long seconds—before he suddenly coughed up all the water and started breathing
again. By then, everyone was crying. We were just kids. We didn’t know what death was like, but we knew we’d come close to
it.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Liam glanced at me and nodded. “They never made fun of me again. That boy thanked me later, and so did his mum and dad.
I’ll never forget the way I felt afterwards. Like death was right there, just a few feet away, and I pushed it back. The sting of
getting made fun of lasted a few months, but that feeling? Knowing someone was alive because of me? That feeling never goes
away.”
“So you decided to become a fireman,” I said.
He grinned. “So I decided to become a fireman. And I decided to do it here, because I love the States so much.”
“I never would’ve guessed that back in high school,” I admitted.
Liam shrugged. “We weren’t good pals back then. You knew nothing about me.”
“I knew a little bit. You told me about your dream of being a Formula One driver one night.”
Liam gave a start. “I did?”
“At prom. Do you not remember?”
“Afraid not.”
“Do you remember asking me to dance?”
Now his face really twisted in confusion. “At prom? No. We danced?”
I gave him a playful shove. “I can’t believe you don’t remember! Junior prom. Brandi and I were sitting together until she
went off to dance with her date. Then I was all alone. Jack was with his girlfriend, and you came over and took pity on me.”
“I remember dancing with someone other than my date. That was you?”
“It was me. That’s how I remembered you were dating Lindsey Chatwell: she glared at me the entire time. I think she later
spread a rumor about me being a slut because of it.”
“Ouch.” Liam popped up from the couch and went to the kitchen to refill his drink. “Was I a good dancer, at least?”
“I don’t remember,” I admitted. “But I remember being really grateful that you asked me to dance. Nobody else did.”
“Don’t know why,” he said. “You were a pretty girl back then. Still are, of course.” He gave me a little wink.
The compliment made me feel all warm inside. Somehow, it meant more coming from Liam since I knew this wasn’t really a
date. Like he had no reason to flatter me.
“Thanks, is what I’m trying to say. That one dance did more for my self-esteem than three years of therapy after college.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I like lifting people up, whether it’s someone trapped in a burning building, or a lovely girl sitting
all alone at a dance.” He raised the two jugs of frozen drinks up to the light. “Uh oh. Only enough for about half a drink. Dibs!”
“What! Why do you automatically get the last bit?”
“Because,” he replied simply, “I called dibs. I’ll give you a sip if you admit I’m a bigger Scott Pilgrim fan.”
“Never!” I hurried over to the kitchen. “How about we split it?”
Liam smiled sweetly. “Nope!”
I made my eyes as large and pathetic as I could. “But… my mother died. I’m really sad.”
He glared at me. “You didn’t even go to the funeral!”
I dropped the act. “Come on. Let me have some. I’m only tipsy, and want to get properly drunk.”
“There’s beer in the fridge.”
I reached for the jug. Liam held it away from me like a basketball player protecting the ball. I tried to squeeze past him, but
he used his body and free hand to block me. Finally, I leaped onto his back like a monkey, wrapping my legs around his torso
and my arms around his neck.
“Get off!” he laughed.
“Give me the drink!”
“You’re an alcohol thief. I’m going to call the police and have you sent to alcohol jail.”
“I thought the police and fire departments hated each other.”
“We do. That shows how serious this situation is.”
I reached over his shoulder toward the jug, brushing my fingers against it. Liam responded by spinning and dumping me onto
the kitchen counter. Then, while pressing his palm into my face, he chugged the remaining strawberry daiquiri in four long
gulps.
“Ahh,” he said with satisfaction. “That’s good. You should try some. Oh wait, it’s all gone.”
“No fair!”
He put down that jug and picked up the remaining piña colada. “Now to finish this off.” He started to raise it to his lips, then
paused. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
“Brain freeze.” He groaned. “Give me a second.”
Seizing on his weakness, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward me. My fingers tightened around the jug, and I pulled it
from his hand.
But before I could do anything with it, Liam kissed me.
 9

Alyssa

Liam is kissing me.

I hadn’t expected it. My defenses were down. This was supposed to be a not-date, an evening designed to piss off Jack.
But this feels right, I thought. It feels more right than anything has in a long time.
Liam’s lips were chilled and tasted like strawberry. I churned against them hungrily, surrendering to these new, exciting
feelings. He pressed in against me, pushing between my legs as I sat on the edge of the counter. My fingers were in his yellow
hair, tightening on the silky-smooth strands. It felt like there was an electric current passing between us everywhere we
touched: lips, thighs, fingertips.
Yeah. This feels really, really good.
And then, just as I was parting my lips to taste him with my tongue, he pulled away.
“That was…” he said, eyes locked onto mine. I felt cold now that he wasn’t pressed against me. “It was…”
“Good?” I offered. “Great?”
“Great,” he agreed, surprised. “Definitely great. Wow.”
I sat on the counter, waiting. He put down the piña colada jug. “We probably should call it a night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We probably should.”
Neither of us moved.
“You and Jack are best friends,” I said. “I don’t want to do anything that would harm that.”
Liam glanced at me. “Jack has a girlfriend. Jen. They’ve been dating six months. And you two were never really…”
“We weren’t!” I agreed. “It would be silly to let him get in the way of this.”
Liam turned back to me, kissing me more passionately than before. His lips were warm now, but still faintly tasted of
strawberry. I pulled him close, feeling the weight of his body pressing against the thin dress fabric between my legs.
“I thought you said you had innocent intentions,” I said between kisses.
“I did at the time,” he admitted, eyes bright and eager. “Conditions have changed.”
“I don’t want the night to end.”
“Then let’s not let it,” he said fiercely.
The last of my protests died on my lips as he kissed me deeper. It was a kiss of release, of two people who had been thinking
about it in the backs of their heads all night without really realizing it. His hands slid over my back, his body hard and warm as
he pulled me closer. I melted into him, inhaling his scent while running my hands over his body. What I felt totally surprised
me. Liam’s clothes were all slim-fitted, but there was strong muscle underneath. He may have been lean, but he was anything
but weak.
Liam’s hand slid to my hip. Lingering. I parted my legs even more, inviting, and he took the signal. His fingers slid up my
dress and along the edge of my panties, tenderly exploring what I was wearing. Tracing the elastic around the front while his
tongue danced in my mouth.
“I really wasn’t trying to guilt you into this when I… pulled you from the building,” he said.
“I know... ohhh.” I moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid into my panties and across my clit. He plunged them deeper,
rubbing around my drenched slit while his tongue undulated against my own. I pulled his shirt over his head, getting a
tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled chest before he was diving into my neck, kissing a trail down to my collarbone. I tilted my
head back and moaned to the ceiling.
Liam’s second hand slid up my dress, and he backed away to pull my panties off. His body pressed into my wet sex again,
now with less fabric between us, and I ached for what I felt bulging against the interior of his jeans. I sighed deeply. Then he
was moving lower, lifting the dress so he could kiss along my belly and navel, pausing just above my drenched pussy. The
pause lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. The tension drove me wild.
His tongue lashed out, flicking across my clit. I sucked in my breath and clenched my muscles as lightning bolts of pleasure
surged through my body. Liam wrapped his lips around my clit and sucked on it gently. Meanwhile his hand was sliding along
the inside of my thigh, across my pussy lips to rub the soft flesh just inside.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the pleasure as he ate me out. His fingers only teased inside my lips, never penetrating
me deeply the way I wanted, but the way his mouth and tongue worked on my clit was enough by itself.
“You taste exactly how I thought you would,” he rumbled against my skin.
“How’s that?” I gasped.
“Delicious. I could remain down here all night. I never want to leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” I said, running my fingers through his blond hair and holding him against me. His tongue swirled
and his fingers pushed deeper, first one and then two, corkscrewing inside of me with a steady pulse.
I hadn’t expected the night to go this way. I hadn’t even entertained the idea that this might happen—and I believed Liam
when he said the same. Somehow, that made it so much hotter.
I sighed and savored the way Liam ate me out on the kitchen counter. The deft swirls of his tongue made me clench my eyes
shut. Then, suddenly, I felt a cool sensation on my belly.
Liam had popped the top off the other jug and was pouring a tiny trickle of piña colada into my belly button.
“You know what’s not sexy?” I purred. “A pussy that has sticky sugar all over it.”
He grinned up at me. “Just a little bit. I won’t go crazy.” He poured a little more into my navel, which caused a bit to run
down my belly and toward my pubic hair. Before it could, his tongue ran up my skin, licking it all up. Then he returned to my
clit. He alternated like that, swirling around my clit and then sucking up more piña colada juice, flicking the light switch of
erotic pleasure pulsing through my body.
And then, with surprising abruptness, I felt the pleasured pressure build inside of me. I gasped and groaned with ecstasy, my
chest heaving with quick breaths. Liam picked up on all my signals, fingering me faster and faster and focusing on my clit with
his mouth as my orgasm arrived, causing my entire body to go tight like a wire. Liam’s free hand gripped my thigh firmly as I
convulsed against him, tightening my grip in his hair until the waves of intense pleasure finally ended.
I felt Liam smiling against my inner thigh while I panted, catching my breath. “Oh my God.”
“You clamped down on me so hard,” he purred, “I thought you were going to snap my fingers off.”
I pulled him up into a standing position and kissed him, tasting myself and the pineapple on his lips. “I guess we split the piña
colada after all.”
“There’s a little bit left, too.” He took a sip, then handed the rest to me. I downed it in one long gulp.
After what he had done to me, I wanted to do the same. To make him feel every bit of ecstasy that had just scoured my body. I
slid off the counter and put a hand on his bare chest, pushing him back toward the couch. I made him sit on the edge, then went
to my knees and unzipped his jeans.
“You don’t have to,” he said, eyes sparkling.
I grinned up at him. “We don’t have to do any of this. But it’s awfully fun, isn’t it?”
Liam smiled back at me. “Well when you say it like that…”
I slid his pants off, revealing navy boxers with an enormous bulge in the front. And when I pulled those off too and saw what
was inside…
“What the hell?” I said.
He frowned. “What?”
“You’re funny, and charming, and incredibly sexy… and you have a big dick?”
Liam laughed with his entire body. “It’s all right, I guess.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
I kissed the tip of his cock. The skin was smooth and hot like a fire, and a tendril of pre-come connected to my lips when I
pulled away. I gazed up at the beautiful New Zealander through my eyelashes, teasing out the moment and enhancing his
anticipation. His entire body, painted with muscle, was tense as he waited.
Never taking my eyes off him, I pressed my lips together against his crown. I had great lips, and I knew they must look
amazing wrapped tightly around his cock. Liam’s thighs tensed as I sucked on the tip, then little by little his shaft too, until I had
taken almost all of him deep into my mouth. I curled my toes and held my breath to suppress my gag reflex as his cock pushed
into my throat. Liam gasped with shock, then pleasure. The exact sound I wanted to hear.
I held him there, his entire cock in my mouth and my lips wrapped around his base, eyes gazing up to drink the pleasure on his
face. With my lips still attached tightly to him I pulled back, gasping when I could finally breathe again.
“I have to be inside of you,” Liam said, voice full of desperation and desire.
“You don’t want me to suck you off a little longer?”
He shook his head. “I can’t wait.”
I gave his tip another playful lick. “Then don’t.”
Liam lifted me up onto the couch and kicked away the pants that were around his ankles. A flick of his wrists and my dress
was off and tossed aside. Then he went down to his knees again and licked my pussy, up and down between the lips. Just
enough to make sure I was properly ready, even though I was wetter than I had ever been in my life. He climbed forward,
covering me with his warm body and kissing me again, filling my mouth with the taste of cool pineapple.
Liam’s cock brushed against me, teasing. I ached desperately for it. Kissing wasn’t enough anymore. Touching and licking and
sucking was inadequate. No, there now was a fire between my legs, a raging inferno like the one that consumed my childhood
home, and Liam was the only thing that could quench it.
He guided himself into my drenched pussy. I could tell he intended to go slow, but I was soaked and ready for him, so he
never really stopped pushing once he started. Inch after inch filled me until I cried out with pleasure when he had no more to
give me, our bodies perfectly connected. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close.
“Please,” I begged while driving my hips up into him. “I need you.”
Instead of obeying, he remained deep inside of me and moved around in a circle. His cock pushed against my inner walls—
left, then bottom, then right, then top. I moaned louder.
“I can’t believe I thought I could let you go with just a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night,” he rumbled into my neck.
I squeezed my legs around him tighter. “I can’t believe I never looked twice at you when you were a student here.”
He pulled his cock back slowly. Inch by inch. “Then we’d better make up for lost time.”
Liam pulled back until the tip was barely inside, just on the edge of falling out of me, and then buried his cock deep inside
again. My entire body shuddered with a wave of ecstasy. He raised up on his arms to gaze down at me, a mischievous smile on
his face as he did it again, pulling his cock back like an archer nocking an arrow and drawing the bow. Then the archer
released, and the steel-hard cock slammed into me once more. I craned my head back into the couch cushions as pleasure
coursed through my body, over and over as he began fucking me.
When his lips found mine, he jammed his tongue into my mouth, and I could taste myself as he swirled his tongue against mine
like he had just done to my pussy. I wrapped my arms around him and he slid a hand underneath my ass, cupping a cheek for
leverage while he fucked me. We clung to each other as our bodies rolled and moved against each other, beads of sweat
forming on his temple as he gazed deeply into my eyes.
For the first time in a long while, I felt like myself. Like I was safe in someone’s arms. I couldn’t believe we had such a
powerful connection after only a few hours on a first date.
But I tossed the thought aside and savored what was happening now. Because right now Liam felt perfect. As he fucked me
harder I tilted my hips back, allowing his cock to hit a new angle. Immediately it was like everything was turned up to eleven
—the intensity, the pleasure, the desire to open my mouth wide and fill his apartment with the sound of my bliss. I moaned
louder as his hard length crashed against my inner wall, ravaging me again and again, and his tongue returned to my mouth to
drink my cries of pleasure and add his own, a deep rumbling from his throat that matched his frantic thrusts. Those pulses grew
urgent with every passing moment until he pushed as deep as he could, filling my pussy with every drop of his come as he held
me tightly, the movie still running on the television long forgotten.
 10

Alyssa
2010

The movie ran on the television that the substitute teacher had wheeled into the room. This was science class, so it was a
movie about rockets or something. But I was doodling in my notebook, writing the names of all the Jonas Brothers over and
over.
Joe Jonas.
Nick Jonas.
Kevin Jonas.
Alyssa Jonas.
I didn’t know which one I was going to marry. Maybe all three of them at the same time, letting them share me depending on
which day of the week it was. But it didn’t matter, because whoever I chose, my name would be Alyssa Jonas. I would
definitely take their last name, even though Brandi said girls didn’t have to do that anymore.
“Psst,” someone whispered.
I ignored it and kept writing Alyssa Jonas.
“Psst,” they said, more urgently. “Hey. Alyssa.”
I glanced over. Jack Franco was flipping me off, holding open his science textbook to keep the substitute teacher from seeing.
He grinned at my reaction, showing a mouth full of braces.
I rolled my eyes and went back to doodling. He had been a thorn in my side since we moved here last year. Somehow, I
always got stuck in the same class as him, even though there were four different teachers for our grade.
Just my luck, I thought.
The bell out in the hall rang, indicating it was time to change periods. “Okay, everyone! Time for recess. Line up by the door,
alphabetical order.”
I tucked my notebook under my arm and got in line with all the other students. Brandi was in another class, and I couldn’t
wait to see her at recess. I didn’t have many other friends in this school.
I felt a finger poke me in the back. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Jack asked behind me. He poked me again.
“I said stop!” I said louder.
“Use our indoor voices while we’re still in class,” the substitute scolded.
“He’s poking me!”
“She’s making it up to get me in trouble,” Jack said innocently.
I turned around and glared at him. He gave me another metallic grin. He would have been cute if he wasn’t such a jerk.
When everyone was in line and counted, the teacher led us into the hall. On the way to recess, we passed by the gymnasium.
A table was set up selling single roses, chocolates, and cards for Valentine’s Day. I ignored it; I wasn’t interested in any of the
boys here. Not when I had all three Jonas Brothers waiting for me when I turned eighteen in six short years.
Other classes were already playing outside when the teacher turned us loose. I immediately spotted Brandi sitting cross-
legged in the grass.
“Did he ask you?” I said when I joined her. “Huh? Did he?”
“No,” Brandi said. Her eyes were red; she looked like she’d been crying. “He asked Marta Lopez to be his valentine
instead.”
 She buried her head in her arms and shook with sobs. I rubbed her back. “Jason is an idiot. You can do better than him.”
“No I can’t!” she wailed.
“He only asked her because she has boobs.”
“Duh!”
“But that’s all she has,” I said soothingly. “She has no personality, and she’s as dumb as a bag of soccer balls. You’re smart,
and funny.”
“I don’t want to be smart or funny! I want boobs!”
“Will a bag of Skittles from the vending machine make you feel any better?”
“I can’t buy that,” she said. “Mom took my dog walking money again. She said she would pay me back, but she never does.”
I felt my jaw tighten. That was the third time this month that had happened.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. “Here. I saved this for you.”
Brandi wiped her eyes and stared at it. “I don’t want to take your money. You earned that.”
“I don’t need it. Our teacher gave out candy to everyone already, so I’m full. Go on. Take it.”
She hesitated, then accepted the dollar bill. “Do you want anything?”
“I’ll share a Skittle or two,” I replied, smiling. “Go on, hurry up and get it. Then we can talk about all the other boys who are
better than Jason.”
Brandi threw her arms around me, then got up and went running off toward the school. I smiled after her. She was always
taking care of me, so it felt good to return the favor for once.
A shadow darkened the ground in front of me. “What’s up her butt?”
I turned to see Jack Franco standing there. Great. The last person I want to see.
“If you poke me again,” I warned, “I’m going to scream to the teacher. Mrs. Wallace is right over there, and she’ll believe
me.”
Jack sat on the ground next to me. “She doesn’t have a valentine, does she?” he sneered.
“Mind your own business.”
“You don’t have one either.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I don’t need one,” I said curtly. “There’s nobody at this school good enough for me.”
Jack snorted. “It’s embarrassing not having a valentine. Everyone who’s cool has one. It’s a big deal.”
“If you say so.”
Jack brushed his mop of sandy blond hair away from his face. The sun was at just the right angle to make his blue eyes really
shine. He definitely would have been cute if he wasn’t such a jerk.
“What if we made a truce,” he said slowly.
I frowned. “What kind of truce?”
“We’ll stop picking on each other,” he explained. “No more throwing your dog’s poop at my window, and I’ll stop poking
you and flipping you off during class.”
“I’ll stop whenever you stop,” I shot back at him. Wherever Jack was going with this, I didn’t trust him.
“Like I said, it’s embarrassing to not have a valentine. It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s a big deal.” For a moment, his sneering
expression disappeared, and I saw a different side of him. “I was thinking we could pretend to be valentines. Not for real, just
pretend. So neither of us get made fun of.”
I blinked at him. This boy had made my life miserable for the last year. After I had left a bag of dog poop in his mailbox, he’d
told everyone in school that I used to be a boy named Allen, and we moved down here so I could start a new life. He had
constantly teased me in class, getting me in trouble with the teacher even when I ignored him.
Yet his offer was tempting. We could pretend to be valentines, which would keep us from looking like losers. Maybe people
would even think we were popular. Nobody cared about Stacy Hendricks until she started dating Braden Smith, and then she
had lots of boys whispering about her.
I looked at Jack with new eyes. He was smiling hopefully. And he was more popular than I was, so being his valentine would
raise my own popularity at school.
But then I remembered Brandi, and how heartbroken she was over Jason Yannis. It would crush her to learn I had a valentine,
even if it was Jack Franco, and even if it was just pretend. I couldn’t do that to her.
“I would never be your valentine,” I said, barking a laugh. “People would know we can’t kiss because of your braces.”
His eyes flared with surprise, then anger. “I can kiss with these!”
“I doubt it! And even if you could, I don’t want people thinking I kiss you, metal-mouth!”
Jack stood up angrily, then snatched my notebook out of my hand. “Joe Jonas, Nick Jonas… You like the Jonas Brothers?”
“Give that back!” I said, reaching for the notebook.
“Alyssa Jonas?” He started laughing. “Hey, Shawn! Get a load of this! Alyssa wants to marry the Jonas Brothers! All three of
them at the same time!”
I screamed and chased him across the soccer field. “I hate you, Jack Franco! I hate you!”
 11

Jack
Present Day

“I hate you, Alyssa Ford.”

I was wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Smoke was curled up at the foot of the bed, resting his long snout on my
ankle. I had turned out the lights two hours ago, but sleep eluded me. I kept waiting for the sound of Liam’s car pulling up my
driveway to drop Alyssa off. They should have been home by now.
It shouldn’t have bothered me. I had no reason to be annoyed.
And yet…
It was my own damn fault. Liam had given me an out. He’d admitted that he only asked her out to force me to confront my
feelings, and I’d stubbornly pretended like everything was okay. I had made my bed, and now I was lying in it—literally.
I didn’t want to confront my own feelings about her. But the longer I sat up in bed, the more I began to analyze the way I felt—
that I’d been feeling for all these years. Alyssa had always been an enigma to me, but I knew there was something there. A
spark. I had always claimed that I hated her, but that wasn’t really true. And even if it were true, hate and love were shockingly
similar emotions. They were adjacent, like two different cars parked next to each other at a coffee shop.
My mind raced. How long was she in town? Why had she come home in the first place? Was she actually interested in Liam?
Had I made a mistake with Jen yesterday?
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about this girl from my past?
Eventually, the conclusion I came to was that Alyssa had only agreed to the date with Liam to get under my skin. And it was
working. She wasn’t actually interested in him in any meaningful way. Maybe they were even working together to try to teach
me a lesson. I imagined him picking her up for their “date,” dropping her off at the movies, and then going home.
I fell asleep telling myself that story.
When my alarm went off, Smoke moved from his spot down by my feet up the bed until he was resting half his body on my
chest. “Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”
He lolled his tongue happily.
I changed into my swim trunks, grabbed my goggles and a towel, and headed across the street to the water. Exercise woke me
up better than coffee ever could, I had learned. The narrow channel between Clearwater and St. Pete Beach was devoid of
boats this early, allowing me a peaceful hour swimming south and then back north to my starting point. The current was
working against me for the second half, so I was panting as I climbed out of the water. I savored the tightness in my chest,
exhilarating in the way it made me feel alive. My mood was much improved from last night, so much so that I wondered why I
had let Alyssa bother me at all.
Until I crossed the street and saw Liam’s car in my driveway.
It was down at the end, next to my guest house in the backyard. I darted through the front door before they could see me, then
peered through my kitchen window like a creeper.
Alyssa and Liam were standing next to his car, talking quietly. She was smiling a lot, and touching her hair. What was he
doing here this early? Were they going to get breakfast?
She’s wearing the same dress from last night, I realized.
I felt my chest go cold and turned away from the window. It had to be a trick. They had arranged this to get under my skin, just
like their “date” last night. That was the only thing that made sense.
There’s a simpler explanation, whispered a voice in my head.
I fed Smoke and went upstairs to take a shower. The scalding water washed away the salt water, but did little to remove the
jealousy that now filled me. Logically, I knew I had no reason to be upset. Alyssa and I weren’t together. We never had been
together. Hell, I hadn’t seen her in eight years.
But logic meant little in the face of emotion.
I went about my day. Grocery shopping, then dropping off some clothes at Goodwill. I bought stamps at the post office
because I needed to roll over my IRA into the new firefighter pension plan, and they only accepted snail mail.
That night, I picked up Mateo and drove him to the station for our next shift.
“What is bothering you?” he asked halfway through the drive.
“Why do you think something’s bothering me?”
He gave me a small smile. “Because something is.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “And I’m getting sick of everyone assuming otherwise.”
Mateo wasn’t a confrontational person. Whatever stereotypes existed about fiery Latin tempers, they didn’t apply to the cool-
headed Cuban-American. He was quiet for a few stop lights, allowing the silence to stretch.
“Liam went on a date last night,” he finally said. “A date with a woman you have a history with. No, please do not insult me
by disagreeing. You are my good friend, and I know you well, just as you know every facet of my own soul. And I can see that
your soul is tortured.”
I breathed slowly. Yeah, I guess I was that obvious.
“I do not need a response,” he said calmly. “You need not acknowledge it to me, my friend. But I want you to know that I see
you, and I feel what you are feeling as if it were my own pain, and I hope you find a healthy way to handle these emotions
soon.”
He reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. I smiled at him, and said nothing.
Liam was already at the station, sitting on the couch with his legs up on the table, sipping coffee from a comically-large mug.
He smiled when he saw me, but it wasn’t his normal jovial expression. It was forced.
“Need to talk to you, pal. When you’ve settled in.”
“I’m all settled already.” I dropped my bag on the ground and sat in the chair across from him. “What’s on your mind?”
Mateo seemed to sense the mood, and went off to busy himself in the engine room.
“It’s about last night,” he began.
I raised a hand. “Whatever happened, Liam, it’s okay. Really. I’m fine.”
Liam stared at me for several heartbeats. “She slept over, Jack.”
They slept together.
Strangely, the confirmation didn’t bother me. If anything, I felt relieved. I didn’t have to speculate anymore. The unknown was
a vast, terrifying possibility, but hard facts were finite.
“Jack?” Liam said. “Did ya hear me?”
“I heard you,” I replied. “I’m glad you two had a good time.”
Liam scowled. “No you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” I meant it, too. They had slept together, which in effect slammed the door on any feelings I had for her. She had
moved on, which meant I could do the same. It was freeing, in a paradoxical way. The realization made me feel light-headed.
“This is a trick,” Liam said suspiciously. “You’re going to act like everything’s fine, then smother me in my bunk while I
sleep. Aren’t ya?”
I chuckled. “You’re my best friend, Liam. I would never do that.”
He pointed at me. “That’s precisely what someone would say right before smothering their best friend with a pillow.”
“My feelings about Alyssa are… complicated,” I admitted. “I’ve spent the last few days figuring them out. And I think I’m in
a good place. Seriously, I am. You going out with her helped me understand some things. Besides, I have no idea who she is,
now. I’m a completely different person than I was eight years ago, and she’s probably the same. She might as well be a stranger
to me. I’m glad you two hit it off last night.”
Liam stared at me suspiciously, then slowly nodded. “Shit. You’re telling the truth, aren’t ya?”
“I really am.”
“I’m glad to hear it, bud. I didn’t like seeing you in a bad place, mentally.”
I shrugged. “Just needed to figure some stuff out.”
 I got up, and Liam stood and gave me a hug. He had always been a hugger, and I appreciated the long embrace. It went on a
little longer than normal, conveying more than words could have.
Mateo returned to the room, looking awkward. “It’s all good, Mateo,” I said. “You don’t have to hide behind the fire
engines.”
He cleared his throat. “There is someone here. To see you.”
“Alyssa?” I asked.
His face darkened. “A different woman. Jen. She’s…” He trailed off.
Shit. It was stupid of me to think yesterday would be our last conversation.
Liam looked confused as I walked out to the front of the station. One of the fire engines was parked out front, being washed
down by some of the Probationary firefighters. Jen was standing a short distance away, arms crossed over her chest, hunched
forward in a defensive position.
I glanced at the rookies, and they put down their sponges and went inside.
Up close, it was obvious why Mateo was unnerved. Jen’s eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was red and swollen from
crying. Fresh tears shimmered when she saw me.
“Hi, Jen.”
“I know… you said… a lot yesterday,” she stammered. This was hard for her. “But I just… I just need to hear it again. I need
to understand.”
I let out a long sigh. Which was kinder: a long drawn-out explanation, or a simple break? “I care about you a lot, Jen. The last
six months have been great. But…” I hesitated. “We want different things. You want children, and I don’t. It’s better to end
things now than continue on and fight about it later.”
She let out a sniffle. “But… you always said… I thought you…”
“I was wrong. I thought I wanted children, but I don’t. It took me a while to realize that.”
Jen’s gaze bore into me like a jackhammer. “I don’t… I could change my mind…”
I shook my head. “You want to be a mother. It’s who you are. I could never ask you to sacrifice that. This is a fundamental
incompatibility between us. I know it hurts, but it’s easier now than it will be later. Deep down, I think you know this.”
Slowly, she nodded. Then she turned away and walked back to her car, got inside, and drove away.
I sighed. That was harder than I expected it to be.
Mateo and Liam were chatting when I went back inside. They grew quiet as I approached. “You broke up with Jen?”
“We broke up yesterday,” I said.
“Why did you not tell me this?” Mateo asked.
“Didn’t feel like talking about it,” I replied.
Liam tossed his head and groaned. “This is because of Alyssa.”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“You expect me to believe,” Liam said slowly, “that you broke up with your girlfriend the same week Alyssa shows back up
in your life, and that’s just some coincidence?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything. Jen and I had been coasting for a while. If we hadn’t broken up this week, it
would’ve been a week from now, or the week after that.”
“Now I feel like a real shit for sleeping with Alyssa,” he muttered. “Didn’t feel bad when I knew you and Jen had a good
thing going. But now…”
I braced my friend by the shoulders. “This has nothing to do with her. I’m glad Jen and I are done, and I’m glad you and
Alyssa hooked up. Now can we get to work? The Lieutenant wants us to fill all the reserve oxygen tanks, and I want to get it
done before any calls come in.”
I walked away, hoping they had bought the lie. Because the truth was Alyssa had everything to do with my breaking up with
Jen yesterday. Jen and I were happy and comfortable, and I cared about her. I maybe even loved her, to some small degree.
But those emotions paled in comparison to the way Alyssa made me feel, for better or for worse. Jen was a candle compared
to the raging inferno that was Alyssa Ford. She was a reminder that I had the capacity for tremendous, earth-shattering love.
With that realization, I couldn’t settle for something that was just good.
Whether it was Alyssa or some other woman, I had to search for more.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Abb. 22.
Grundriß des
Amphiprostylos.
Ein edles Beispiel seiner Art birgt die Burg von Athen, den
Tempel der Nike Apteros, der Athena als Siegesgöttin (Abb. 21).
Gleich der Grundriß ist lockerer geworden. An Stelle des
Doppelantentempels tritt der Doppelhallentempel, der
Amphiprostylos für die Antenvorhallen, die durch die
vorgeschobenen Seitenwände der Cella in die Architektur
einbezogen waren, sind lose davorgestellte Hallen, von vier Säulen
gestützt, eingetreten (Abb. 22). Und diese Säulen und das Gebälk,
das auf ihnen ruht, sind von ganz neuer Art (Abb. 21). Man sehe, mit
dem Empfinden des dorischen Stiles noch im Auge, wie schlank sie
sich in die Luft strecken, wie leicht sie das schmale Gebälk tragen,
wie die Funktionen des Tragens und Getragenseins aufgehoben
scheinen. An Stelle des architektonischen Gleichmaßes ist die
Absicht getreten, dem Ganzen etwas von lässiger Eleganz zu
geben, an Stelle der Unterordnung der Einzelform die möglichste
Ausbildung ihrer besonderen Schönheit. Die Gliederung geht darauf
aus, für das Auge an die Stelle der funktionellen Wirkung der
Bauglieder eine ästhetische, nur schöne zu setzen. Tragen die
ionischen Säulen überhaupt ein Giebelfeld — was nicht Stilgesetz
gewesen zu sein scheint —, so war es flach und leicht. Unbelastet
fast strebten die Säulen in die Höhe. Es ist wichtig, daß sie hier in
kürzeren Intervallen nebeneinander stehen als bei den dorischen
Tempeln, — der untere Abschluß, die horizontale Linie des
Postaments wurde so durch das Emporstreben der Säulen
energischer aufgelöst. Fast ausgeschaltet aber wurde er durch die
Basis. Starr und stark stieg die dorische Säule über den Stufen des
Tempels empor, deren horizontale Linie Abschluß des Sockelbaues
war. Nun schiebt sich die Basis mit ihren weichen Profilierungen
hinein, als vermittelndes Glied zwischen ihnen und der Säule. Diese
selbst ist schlanker geworden und steigt schon deshalb leichter
empor. Überdies aber unterstützen bei ihr die Kannelüren diese
Bewegung weitaus stärker als beim Schaft der dorischen Säule. Es
ist wesentlich, daß bei dieser die Rillen in scharfen Graten
aufeinanderstoßen; bei der ionischen Säule sind die Rillen tief, die
Grate abgestumpft. Kannelüren aber erhalten ihren Ausdruck durch
die Wirkung von Licht und Schatten in ihnen; bei der dorischen
Säule waren die Übergänge von Rille zu Rille zart, bei der ionischen
dagegen tritt die Grenze zwischen ihren tiefbeschatteten Rillen
scharf hervor durch den hellen Streifen, den der stumpfe Steg
zwischen sie fügt. Es kommt hinzu, daß der Schaft der dorischen
Säule in etwa 16–20 Kannelüren, der der ionischen aber in 24
zerlegt ist, so daß bei der ionischen die Zusammendrängung der
Lichtkontraste die Richtung viel intensiver ausprägt. So spricht die
Aufwärtsbewegung bei der ionischen Säule viel stärker, und zugleich
entsteht eine in Licht und Schatten ausgesprochen malerische
Auflösung der Form. Es folgt als Übergang, schon im Kapitell selbst,
ein verkümmertes dorisches Kapitell und darauf eine Doppelvolute,
der die Lilienform der ägyptischen oder mykenischen Kunst
zugrunde liegt. Sie wendet herabhängend die Säule vom Gebälk
nach unten und grenzt beide Bauteile so vollkommen gegeneinander
ab, daß hier nicht mehr das Verhältnis von Kraft und Last empfunden
wird. Das Auge fühlt nicht mehr die Arbeit in der tragenden Säule,
sondern diese Arbeit wird als selbstverständlich fast lässig geleistet,
und nur die Formbewegung des Baugliedes kommt voll zum
Bewußtsein. Sie ist auch die Tendenz der Gebälkgliederung. Über
den Säulen setzt die Bewegung mit den drei Stufen des
abgetreppten Architravs neu an, darüber läuft ein reliefgeschmückter
Fries; ein kontrastierendes Ornament, der sog. Zahnschnitt, gibt den
oberen Abschluß. Der strenge Wechsel von Triglyphen und Metopen
erhielt dem dorischen Fries die Schwere des Architektonischen; der
fortlaufende Fries des ionischen Baues ist leicht und macht das
Gebälk zum nur schmückenden Gliede. Wir sahen eben, daß das
Giebelfeld jetzt keine Rolle mehr zu spielen scheint. Der Fries tritt
geradezu an seine Stelle. Das ist die letzte Folge aus der
Entwicklung der Plastik, die bereits im Giebelfeld zuletzt zu einer
friesähnlichen Komposition geführt hatte und nun die Randlinien als
letzte tektonische Schranke zerstört.
So ist der Unterschied der Stile in allen Bauteilen derselbe. Der
dorische Stil gliederte energisch, den Baufunktionen gemäß, der
ionische sucht die weichen Vermittlungen, die Bewegungen, die
Eleganz. Trotzdem die Säulen des Parthenon, des Spätlings
dorischen Stiles, sich der schlanken Proportion des ionischen Stiles
nähern, ist der Unterschied zwischen den beiden Stilen fundamental,
wie der Unterschied zwischen Energie und Zierlichkeit, zwischen
sicherer Ruhe und leichter Bewegung. Es ist unmöglich, die ionische
Volute oder den Fries in strenger architektonischer Logik aus der
Gliederung des Baues zu begründen. Nur als ornamentale Glieder
darf man sie auffassen. Der ionische Stil ist eben wegen der allzu
differenzierten Durchbildung seiner Formen tektonisch weniger
vollkommen als der dorische.
Damit bekommen wir die Erklärung für eines des seltsamsten
Gebilde hellenischer Baukunst, für die Korenhalle am Erechtheion in
Athen. Der Tempel selbst ist ein Bau ionischen Stiles, und man hat
kein Recht, wie es so oft geschieht, davon zu sprechen, daß hier die
Karyatiden an Stelle gerader ionischer Säulen getreten wären, daß
die fließenden Gewandfalten an Stelle der Kannelüren ständen, und
ein fast dorisches Kapitell auf dem Kopf der Mädchen liege. Gehören
doch gerade Karyatiden bereits zu den Bestandteilen des ältesten
ionischen Stiles am Schatzhaus der Siphnier. Man mußte diese
Figuren vielmehr so gehalten wie möglich meißeln, sollte der
Eindruck der tragenden Frauen nicht unerträglich sein. Peinlich ist er
immer, trotz ihrer ruhigen Schönheit. Sie läßt uns glauben, daß die
Last leicht sei; die Mädchen tragen ohne Anstrengung, wie die
ionische Säule ohne Anstrengung trug. Aber man hat vor
menschlichen Gestalten nie das Gefühl des ewig Dauernden, das
seine Stellung nicht ändert, wie bei leblosen, festen Baugliedern, die
tragen, ohne den Nebenzweck, etwas darzustellen. Wir aber
verlangen von keiner Kunst ein so starkes Gefühl ewiger Sicherheit
wie von der Architektur. Schon bei der Analyse des Löwentors von
Mykenai ergab sich, daß dekorative Verarbeitung eigentlich nur bei
Baugliedern möglich ist, die nicht unmittelbare tektonische
Funktionen haben, daß sie bei diesen den Zusammenhang des
Ganzen zerreißen und ihnen etwas nur Momentanes geben würde,
das dem Wesen dauernder Glieder widerspricht. Bei der Halle des
Erechtheion tritt nun zum ersten Male in Griechenland Dekoration an
einer Stelle auf, wo das Auge ein in allen Linien unbewegtes Glied
verlangt, beim tragenden Glied, dem empfindlichsten Teil des Baues.
Man kann nach den Erörterungen über den ionischen Stil verstehen,
wie es kam, daß man bei den Versuchen, die Säule immer eleganter
zu machen, die Säule selbst aufgab und das bewegungsfähigste
Element, den menschlichen Körper, als Träger an ihre Stelle setzte.
Es gibt keinen charakteristischeren Beleg für die Tendenzen des
ionischen Stils.
Der Augenblick, in dem er Griechenland erobert, bedeutet einen
Wendepunkt in hellenischer Kunst und Geschichte. Von den
dorischen Spartanern war die Hegemonie in Hellas auf die ionischen
Athener übergegangen. Zwei Rassen von vollkommener
Gegensätzlichkeit: der Spartaner Aristokrat und von strengster
Disziplin, der Athener Demokrat mit starkem Hang zur Freiheit,
selbst zur Leichtfertigkeit; Sparta, die amusische, die einen
Rhapsoden bestraft, der eine Saite mehr, als traditionell, auf seine
Leier zieht, Athen voll künstlerischer Phantasie und jeder neuen
Kunstform froh zugänglich; Sparta, die Stadt ohne Mauern, in der
allein die Tapferkeit der Bürger Wehr und Waffe sein sollte, Athen,
die Stadt der hochragenden Akropolis, die die Zeit des Perikles
allmählich in einen Festplatz umwandelte. Nichts ist belehrender als
die Stellung der Frau in den beiden Ländern. Die Spartanerinnen,
hochgeachtet von den Männern, im Staatswesen durchaus nicht
ohne Stimme, haben ihren Körper geformt in gymnastischen
Kämpfen, und die Sittlichkeit des Staates steht so hoch, daß sie
ihren Körper in der geringen Bekleidung zeigen dürfen, die ihnen
jede schnelle und gewandte Bewegung gestattet. Die Athenerin, auf
das Haus verwiesen, hüllt sich von der Schulter bis zur Fußsohle in
schweren Stoff. In Sparta, wo die Frau dem Manne gleich stand, gab
es keine Hetären, während sie in Athen nicht nur geduldet wurden,
sondern infolge der häuslichen Beschränkung der Bürgerin die
einzigen gebildeten Frauen waren. So erklärt sich der Anstoß, den
die Athenerin an der Nacktheit der Spartanerin nahm, als ein
moralisches Vorurteil, gegründet auf die eigene Schwäche.
Es ist sicher kein Zufall, daß die spartanische Stärke der
attischen Gewandtheit zur selben Zeit weichen muß, wie der kräftige
dorische Stil dem eleganten ionischen. Wir sahen diese
Umgestaltung nacheinander in der Keramik, in der Plastik und der
Architektur sich vollziehen, aber diese Entwicklung schafft damals
die ganze hellenische Kultur vollkommen um. In der Kleidung tritt an
Stelle des Linnens die weiche Wolle, im Kampf an Stelle des
schwerbewaffneten Hopliten der leichtbewaffnete, bewegliche
Peltast. In den Wettkämpfen besitzen nicht mehr die gymnischen
Agone das Hauptinteresse, die persönliche Kraft verlangen, sondern
die hippischen Agone, die Pferd- und Wagenrennen, die für das
Auge reichere Schaustellungen sind. Im Dithyrambus war bisher das
Wort der Träger der Empfindung und die Musik melodramatische
Begleitung. Jetzt wird das Wort nebensächlich und die Musik
führende Kunst. Derselbe Weg führt im Drama von Aischylus zu
Euripides.
War also der dorische Stil, stark wie die Tragödien des Aischylus,
das Geschöpf der kraftvollsten Epoche des hellenischen Volkes, der
Zeit der Perserkriege, war der euripideisch-schönredende ionische
Stil Geburt seiner vornehmsten Kultur zur Zeit des Perikles, so hat
die Zeit der Entartung, die Zeit, als Hellas den Heeren des Barbaren
Alexander unterlag, im korinthischen Stile eine Kunsttendenz
gezeugt, in der jedes tektonische Empfinden erstickt wurde unter
dem wuchernden Glanz der Dekoration.
Wir haben nur wenige Dokumente dieses Stiles auf hellenischem
Boden, und vieles ist erst in römischer Zeit entstanden.
Verhältnismäßig früh, kurz vor Alexander dem Großen, und fest
datiert ist das kleine Denkmal des Lysikrates in Athen (Abb. 23).
Lysikrates hatte mit einem Knabenchor im Gesangswettkampf 335 v.
Chr. gesiegt und weihte den gewonnenen Siegespreis, den Dreifuß,
der Gottheit. Die Ausführung des Denkmals gibt eine seltsame
Umkehrung der Absichten, die ein Monument haben soll. Der
Dreifuß, der oben auf das Kapitell gestellt ist, spielt im Monument
nur die Rolle des oberen Abschlusses, der Sockel hat entschieden
das Übergewicht. So untektonisch empfand man jetzt, daß das
Bauwerk nur auf den Eindruck berechnet wurde und seine
Zweckabsicht Nebensache war. Genau so ist der Wert der
Bauglieder ein rein dekorativer. Nicht die Säule trägt hier, sondern
der Mauerkern; sie tritt nur vor ihn, um das Tragen äußerlich
anzudeuten, die Fläche zu gliedern und mit ihren weich abgestuften
Profilen aufwärts zu leiten. Auch die Form des Monumentes selbst
ist untektonisch. Eine frühere Zeit hatte dem Dreifuß in einem
einfachen eckigen Sockel die energischste Unterstützung gegeben;
denn jede durch Kanten deutlich begrenzte Form gibt dem Auge die
ruhenden Linien, von denen aus es das Bauwerk gliedert. Hier
dagegen gewährt die runde, gleitende Fläche dem Auge nirgends
einen Ruhepunkt, macht es unmöglich, das Bauwerk von
irgendwoher scharf zu begreifen. Man wird empfinden, wie
untektonisch das ist. Daß auf so reiche Formen erst ein
mißbrauchtes Kapitell als weiches Vermittlungsglied zum krönenden
Dreifuß folgen mußte, ist verständlich. Jeder scharfe Abschluß ist
einer untektonisch empfindenden Zeit stets unerträglich gewesen.
Ganz gleich, ob in horizontaler Richtung, wie an Kanten, oder in
vertikaler, wie hier bei der Krönung — weiche Übergänge sind dem
unenergischen Auge solcher Epochen Notwendigkeit.
 Abb. 23. Athen. Denkmal des
Lysikrates. (Rekonstruiert.)
Es handelt sich dabei nicht um die vereinzelte Lösung einer
besonderen Aufgabe, sondern um den Charakter des Stiles. Man
vergleiche die korinthische Säule (Abb. 23) mit der ionischen (Abb.
21). Das Bauglied selbst ist durch Dekoration aufgelöst. Die Basis
der korinthischen Säule, weicher abgestuft als die der ionischen,
führt zu einem schlanken Schaft, dessen Kannelüren noch enger
nebeneinanderstehen. Im Kapitell sind an die Stelle der
beherrschenden Doppelschnecke vier Voluten in den Ecken
getreten, die es nach vier Richtungen auseinanderreißen und
richtungslos in die Decke gleiten lassen. Sein Leib ist formlos
geworden, überwuchert durch die krautige Fülle der Akanthusblätter.
Denn lineare Ornamentformen sind dem neuen Stilwollen zu leblos.
Stets tritt in diesem Stadium der Umbildung tektonischer Stile das
vegetabilische Ornament ein. Bei den Laubkapitellen der deutschen
Spätgotik, die die gleiche Tendenz hat, ist es das in spitzige Zacken
auslaufende Epheu- oder Weinblatt, beim korinthischen Kapitell der
ebenso scharf gerippte, ebenso spitz endigende Akanthus, die das
Kapitell überkleiden und seine Form vollkommen verwischen.
Dieselbe Tendenz, die diese zierlichen, spitzen Formen sucht,
bedingt es, daß sie scharf vom Grunde losgelöst werden, nicht nur
als Form, sondern um die Fläche reich in Licht und Schatten zu
zerlegen. Auch das in den Hauptzügen ionische Gebälk ist reicher,
bewegter in den Formen, eleganter in der Aufeinanderfolge der
Gliederprofile. Das schwere Giebelfeld fehlt zumeist, wird nur in
später Zeit ganz dekorativ verwandt.
Damit haben wir die Haupttendenz der späthellenischen Kunst in
allen ihren Richtungen. Denn es ist dieselbe unarchitektonische
Auflösung in Licht und Schatten, zu der wir Baukunst, Malerei und
Plastik der hellenistischen Kunst entwickelt finden werden. Aber man
wird verstehen, daß nur ein ornamentaler Stil der Universalstil der
späten Antike in fast allen Ländern des Mittelmeerbeckens werden
konnte, daß seine äußerliche, dekorative Art das autochthone
Kunstempfinden überwucherte und erstickte. Ähnliches haben wir
auch im 19. Jahrhundert erlebt. Das zierliche, einschmeichelnde
Ornament stiehlt sich leicht in eine fremde Kunst hinein.
Künstlerische Energie ist bodenständig, und ihre Herbheit wehrt
jedem das Verständnis des künstlerischen Nachschaffens. Sie
gehört dem Stamm und dem Land, die sie geboren haben.
 Viertes Kapitel.
Die hellenistische und die
römische Kunst.
Das 4. Jahrhundert, das im korinthischen Baustil bereits die
Dekoration über die Tektonik stellt, bezeichnet auch in den anderen
Künsten den Punkt, an dem das Malerisch-Bewegte über die
ruhigen, klaren Formen die Oberhand gewinnt. Unmerkbar freilich
vollzieht sich der Übergang. Skopas und Praxiteles, die Meister der
Zeit, ziehen eigentlich nur die Folgerungen aus den Resultaten der
vorhergehenden Epoche. Sie führen die beiden Möglichkeiten des
Affektes weiter, Skopas die leidenschaftliche Bewegung, Praxiteles
die Ruhe. Aber ihr Künstlertum ist bewußter, eigenwilliger, sie sind
individueller, ordnen ihr Werk nicht mehr dem Bau unter, und das
führt sie, wie viele nach ihnen, bis an die Grenze des Virtuosentums.
Es ist kein Zufall, daß die interessantesten Darstellungen aus dem
Kreise des Skopas seine Amazonenkämpfe sind, Reliefs, die die
Auflösung der Fläche bis an den Beginn der Zersetzung treiben
(Abb. 24). Hier sprechen die Affekte am stärksten; zu dem
muskulösen Körper des Mannes sind die weicheren Formen der
Frau ein künstlerischer Gegensatz, der zugleich das Mitleid mit der
Schwächeren bei dem Betrachter bedingt. So wird die Kraft des
Mannes bis zur Roheit gesteigert, der Körper der Amazone zum
Träger weicher Schönheit gemacht. Eine solche Auffassung des
Themas ist erst jetzt möglich. Noch für Polyklet ist die starke
Schönheit der Amazone ebenso Träger der Kraft wie der Körper des
Jünglings. Und dieses Suchen nach der Schönheit des Zarten wird
in Praxiteles das zweite Streben der Zeit. Aus ihm kann man
verstehen, warum all die Götter, die früher reife Männer waren, wie
etwa Hermes oder Dionysos, jetzt als Jünglinge dargestellt werden,
die Kraft starken Stehens jetzt der rund, fast weiblich ausgebogenen
Hüfte über lässig stehenden Beinen, die große Ruhe des Gesichts
weicher Süße Platz macht und die nackte Frau nun höchste Aufgabe
der Kunst wird. Praxiteles wagt hier noch nicht alles. Er muß für die
Nacktheit noch nach einer Begründung suchen und läßt seine
knidische Aphrodite eben das Gewand ablegen, um ins Bad zu
steigen. Aber von ihm ab wird die nackte Schönheit der Frau
Selbstzweck. Es tritt eine Verweichlichung ein, die sich auf den
Grabstelen in fast schon sentimentalen Abschiedsszenen äußert und
als erster Vorläufer des Realismus eine Genrekunst entwickelt, die
besonders in den kleinen Terrakottastatuetten von Tanagra Bilder
weiblicher Eleganz und drolliger Derbheit hinterlassen hat.

Abb. 24. Amazonenkampf. Relief vom Mausoleum zu Halikarnaß.

Der Hellenismus, dieses internationale Ausströmen
späthellenischer Kultur, dem die Schlachten Alexanders des Großen
die Welt eroberten, führt dann diese Kunstentwicklung in allen
Ländern des Mittelmeeres zur letzten Konsequenz. Es ist
bezeichnend, daß schon die Zeitgenossen des Praxiteles ihre
entscheidenden Aufträge nicht in ihrer Heimat erhalten. Das 4.
Jahrhundert vereinigt seine Hauptmeister für ein Denkmal
kleinasiatischen Despotenstolzes, das Mausoleum zu Halikarnaß.
Wir stehen auf der Grenze zweier Zeitalter. Für den Hellenen der
klassischen Zeit war seine Stadt, zugleich der Staat, der Mittelpunkt
seiner Anschauungen gewesen. Zu ihr gehörte er als Glied eines
Organismus; die Stadt war stark durch ihre Bürger, der einzelne
Bürger stark im Bewußtsein dieser Zusammengehörigkeit. Daher
das allgemeine Interesse an der Politik, daher die ungeheure Kraft
dieser kleinen Staatswesen, daher aber auch der Partikularismus
und die fortwährenden Reibereien zwischen ihnen. Der Hellenismus
dagegen ist international. Immer stärker hatten hellenische Kultur
und hellenische Sprache die Welt umfaßt. Griechische Kolonien
säumten alle Küsten des Mittelländischen Meeres, drangen bis ins
Innere Asiens, und jede dieser Kolonien schuf neue Wege und
Beziehungen — mitten in der Mark Brandenburg hat man einen
Fund der edelsten griechischen Goldschmiedearbeiten
südrussischen Stiles noch aus archaischer Zeit gehoben. Aber die
Kolonisten fühlten sich noch immer als Bürger ihrer Mutterstadt,
leisteten ihr im Kriege Gefolgschaft, führten die Waren der
Mutterstadt aus und brachten auf deren Markt ihre eigenen. So
mußte gerade das starke Stammesbewußtsein den Gesichtskreis
des Hellenen erweitern. In demselben Maße aber, in dem die
materiellen Interessen des Bürgers außerhalb seiner Stadt lagen,
mußte sich der Zusammenhang innerhalb der Bürgerschaft selbst
lockern. Daß im Kriege der Söldner an die Stelle des Bürgers tritt, ist
nur ein Symptom. Der Bürger wird egoistisch, fühlt sich immer
weniger als Glied des Staates, und der Individualismus entwickelt
sich. Gerade die realistische Eigenwilligkeit des einzelnen Künstlers
ist hier der Beweis und das Überhandnehmen der Porträtkunst.
Luxus und Wohlleben gehen damit Hand in Hand. Nicht nur, wie
man oft lesen kann, weil man sie im Orient kennen gelernt hat,
sondern als notwendiges Ergebnis, sobald der einzelne nicht mehr
an das Produkt seines Ackers gebunden ist. So haben selbst
Neugründungen, wie Alexandria, wenn sie nur dem Handel günstig
lagen, in kurzer Zeit Athen und Korinth überflügelt und sind zu
Mittelpunkten griechischer Kultur geworden. Dadurch erklärt sich das
seltsame Paradoxon, daß durch die Züge Alexanders des Großen
der Orient nicht hellenischem Geiste unterworfen wurde, der ihn
schon lange beherrscht hatte, sondern die kulturelle Herrschaft
geradezu auf den Orient überging. Alexanders Siegeszug hatte den
ganzen östlichen Bezirk des Mittelländischen Meeres zu einem
griechischen Reiche gemacht. Sobald es zerfiel, blieb das
Übergewicht den stärksten Teilen.
Es ist unberechtigt, den Begriff der hellenistischen Kunst mit dem
der römischen Kunst so zu verbinden, als hätte die hellenistische
Kunst nach Rom nicht nur gerade ihren kräftigsten Zweig entsandt,
sondern sich einzig und allein dort weitergebildet. Der Grund für
diese Meinung ist allein, daß Italien, in dem Rom, Pompeji,
Herkulanum eine Fülle von Denkmalen dieser Epoche besitzen,
besser erforscht war als der Orient. Nach allem, was uns gerade die
letzten Jahre über orientalischen Hellenismus gelehrt haben, ist in
ihm der Ursprung fast aller künstlerischen Motive zu suchen, die
Rom verarbeitet hat. Es ist kein Zufall, daß der ägyptische Isiskult
und der Impressionismus der ägyptischen Mumienporträts zu
gleicher Zeit und aus dem gleichen Lande des Orients nach Italien
gelangten. Allerdings ist Rom nicht nur in hellenistischer Zeit
unselbständig gewesen. Immer mehr stellt sich Mittelitalien, vor
allem Etrurien, als ein Land heraus, das, solange man seine Kultur
zurückverfolgen kann, von Griechenland abhängig war. Es hat
archaische attische Geräte ebenso importiert, wie die Kunstwerke
des reifen Stiles. In der hellenistisch-römischen Zeit vollends liegt
der Schwerpunkt aller Kunst im Osten, Alexandria, Antiochia und der
innere Orient blühen weiter, während Rom alle griechischen,
ägyptischen, syrischen Anregungen verschmilzt und weiter
verarbeitet. Rom ist immer nur ein Räuber gewesen, dem die
Kunstwerke nur Kostbarkeiten waren, eingeschätzt nach dem
Namen der Meister, die sie trugen, nicht Werke, die es mit seiner
Seele liebte, wie Hellas, das sie geboren hatte. Wilde sagt einmal,
es wäre das Unglück des Diebes, daß er den wahren Wert der Dinge
nicht kenne, die er entwendet. Und so setzt Rom an die Stelle der
Chöre attischer Bürger, die im griechischen Theater auftraten,
Schauspielvirtuosen, an die Stelle der feingefügten attischen
Komödie die pöbelhafte Farce, macht den griechischen Philosophen,
dem es den Spottnamen Graeculus (Griechlein) gibt, zum
notwendigen Glied im Hofstaat einer eleganten Dame. Es schleppt
die kostbarsten Werke hellenischer Kunst schiffsladungsweise nach
Rom, um sie zur Dekoration seiner Amphitheater zu verwenden, und
seine Pfuscher kopieren gedankenlos die edlen Motive hellenischer
Kunst. Es ist möglich, die römischen Werke der frühen Kaiserzeit,
wie das Isisopfer aus Herkulanum (Abb. 27) oder den Spiegel von
Boscoreale (Abb. 31), zur Charakteristik des Hellenismus zu
verwenden. Aber es ist ungerechtfertigt, die römische Kunst als den
allein wichtigen Sproß der späthellenischen anzusehen.
Wir sahen schon, daß die hellenistische Epoche an einer Stelle
der antiken Kunstentwicklung steht, wo die Kunst den
Zweckzusammenhang verloren hat und frei geworden ist für jede Art
des künstlerischen Ausdrucks. Die starke Innenbewegung der
korinthischen Säule wendet sich nach außen und entzündet den
ganzen Bau. Die klassische Tempelform wird nur noch traditionell
beibehalten, und mit der Leichtigkeit oder Strenge der Säulenstile
drückt man nur noch Wirkungen aus. Man liebt die geraden Linien
langer Straßen, wie das aufgedeckte Priene gelehrt hat, liebt die
großen Hallen und die weitausholenden Bewegungen hoher
Stufenbauten.
Der selbstverständliche Ernst des dorischen Tempels ist bei
einem Bau wie dem Zeusaltar von Pergamon (Abb. 25) zum
bewußten Pathos geworden. Aus dem Stylobat des klassischen
Baues wurde eine hohe Treppe, die den Götterbau dem Menschen
entrückt, aus dem geordneten Aufbau das prunkende Schreiten
prozessionshafter Säulenreihen. Ihnen entspricht die Vorliebe für
den ununterbrochenen Fries ebenso, wie dem neuen Stil der Plastik.
 Abb. 25. Zeusaltar von Pergamon. Rekonstruiert.

Abb. 26. Athena im Gigantenkampf. Relief vom Zeusaltar zu Pergamon.

 Das Streben nach stärkerem Ausdruck und reicherer Bewegung
bildet ihre Mittel weiter aus. Es ist irrtümlich zu glauben, in der
Plastik käme es darauf an, der Naturform in ihrer Modellierung
möglichst gleichzukommen. Es trifft zwar dasselbe Licht auf die
Skulpturen, das auch den lebenden Menschen im Gegenspiel mit
dem Schatten plastisch erscheinen läßt. Aber der Plastiker sucht
dieses Licht in die Wirkung miteinzubeziehen, während es in der
Natur ständig wechselt. Je mehr jetzt Bewegung die Ausdrucksform
der Plastik wird, um so mehr bedarf man des Wechsels heller Lichter
und tiefer Schatten. Man sucht malerische Kontraste und erreicht
dadurch eine Wirklichkeit, der gegenüber die klassische Kunst wie
ein unwahrhaftes Idealisieren erscheint. Ein Relief der Phidiaszeit
(Abb. 20) erscheint unbelebt neben einem der hellenistischen (Abb.
26), wie die dorische Säule streng ist neben der Bewegung der
korinthischen.
Alles geschieht um der Wirkung willen, und diese wird aufs
höchste gesteigert bis an die Grenze der Unbeherrschtheit. Die
Zartheit wird zur sentimentalen Weichheit, die Kraft zur Roheit, die
Furcht zum Grauen. Die Absicht der Künstler geht auf die Erregung
der Lüsternheit und des Entsetzens. Man denke an die grauenvolle
Gruppe des Farnesischen Stieres, wo eine Frau von zwei Männern
an die Hörner eines wütenden Stieres gebunden wird, um von ihm
zu Tode geschleift zu werden. Es war kein Zufall, daß die weichlich
sentimentale Schönheit dieser Frau dem Menschen des 19.
Jahrhunderts dasselbe lüsterne Mitleid erweckte, auf das es bei den
entarteten Nachkömmlingen der Antike berechnet war. Oder man
denke an die Laokoongruppe, an dieses wahnsinnige, grauenvolle
Sich-Wehren gegen einen schleichenden, unabwendbaren Tod. Man
sucht die spannendsten Momente in der Mythologie und drückt die
Größe des Gottes nicht mehr durch ruhige Sicherheit, sondern durch
pathetische Bewegung aus. Man liebt das Thema des Kampfes
zwischen Göttern und Giganten (Abb. 26), in dem starke Gefühle
und Leidenschaften sich überall begegnen, der Triumph des Siegers
neben der Demütigung des Unterliegenden, das freudige
Flügelrauschen der krönenden Siegesgöttin neben dem tiefen
Schmerz der Mutter Erde steht, Mitleid und Furcht des Beschauers
überall gleich erregt werden. Die schrankenlose Bewegung wird der
Träger des Ausdrucks. Jede Gestalt entfaltet den höchsten Reichtum
in Drehung und Gegendrehung in allen Gelenken, und jede
Nachbarskulptur erhöht dieses Spiel durch gegensätzliche Kurven.
Man verstärkt die Wirkung des Lichtes auf den Höhen durch die
tiefen Schatten in den Faltenhöhlungen, den Bohrlöchern der wilden
Haare, der Höhle des Mundes. Von tektonischer Bindung ist keine
Rede mehr. Es ist kein Zufall, daß jetzt das Hochrelief zur Herrschaft
kommt, das den Reliefgrund völlig zugunsten der frei bewegten
Darstellung preisgibt.
 Abb. 27. Isiskult. Fresko aus Herkulanum.
Man hat dieser Art des Formbildens mit Recht den Namen
„malerisch“ gegeben, denn während das Erfassen der begrenzten
Form Sache des Tastgefühls ist, ist das Erfassen der Bewegung
Sache des Auges. So muß die Malerei dieses Zeitalters mindestens
den Wert seiner Plastik besessen haben, wenn auch ihre spärlichen
Reste kein vollständiges Stilbild ergeben. Sie hat eine parallele
Entwicklung erlebt. In der ersten Hälfte des 5. Jahrhunderts scheint,
wie die Vasenmalereien lehren, Polygnot zwar noch versucht zu
haben, die Herrschaft über den Körper durch genaue Zeichnung
seiner Formen zu erzwingen, aber schon gegen das Ende desselben
Jahrhunderts haben wir den „Schattenmaler“ Apollodor, der als
erster den räumlichen Ausdruck als das Problem der Malerei
empfunden zu haben scheint. Es ist in der Tat dasselbe Problem wie
in der Plastik, nur modifiziert durch die Ausdrucksmittel, die zu
Gebote stehen. Für die Malerei handelte es sich nicht nur um Licht
und Schatten; sie mußte die Vermählung des Lichtes mit den Farben
der Natur beobachten, die hier in fein abgestuften Nuancen die
Formen modelliert und die Entfernungen im Raum ausdrückt, und
mußte versuchen, dieser Farbenverbindungen Herr zu werden. So
ergab sich für die Malerei der hellenistischen Epoche, die die
Erscheinungen als Formen sieht, der sog. Impressionismus als
notwendige Ausdrucksform, da er die Formen nicht durch abstrakte
Zeichnung, sondern durch Wiedergabe des farbigen Eindrucks
auszudrücken sucht. Für unsere Gegenwart, die den
Impressionismus als eigenste Errungenschaft zu besitzen meinte,
war es eine erstaunliche Überraschung, zu sehen, daß Porträts
dieser Epoche, die sich auf spätägyptischen Mumien finden,
glänzende Leistungen breit auftragender impressionistischer
Farbentechnik sind, die den vollkommensten Ausdruck des Lebens
geben. Sie sind nicht die einzigen Werke dieser Art, sondern der
Orient, Pompeji, Herkulanum, kurz, die ganze hellenistische Welt ist
voll von Werken dieses Stils, der die eigentliche Ausdrucksform der
Zeit war. Ein außerordentlich charakteristisches Werk ist in
Herkulanum gefunden worden, ein Fresko mit der Darstellung des
Isisdienstes (Abb. 27). Erstaunlich kräftig und lebensvoll ist sein
Eindruck: die Neger in der Mitte vorn, auf deren schwarzer Haut das
Licht glänzt, die Volksmenge zu beiden Seiten, in der das Licht, als
wäre es in lebendigster Bewegung, hier und da einen Kopf hell
aufschimmern läßt, die klar gesonderte Gruppe der drei Priester im
Hintergrunde, kräftig begrenzt durch Sphinxe zu beiden Seiten. Sieht
man näher zu, so findet man, daß keine Linie gezeichnet ist, daß die
Farbenflecken unvermittelt nebeneinandergestellt sind, in breiten
Flächen aufgetragen, ja, daß nur die vorderen Gestalten in der
Volksmenge als Körper geformt sind, daß sie, je weiter nach hinten,
um so mehr dunkle Flecken werden ohne jede Angabe einer Form.
Genau so erscheint unserem Auge die einzelne Form durch die
Abstufungen in den Naturfarben plastisch, und erscheint die
Reihenfolge der Gestalten im Naturbild deshalb als räumliches
Hintereinander, weil wir nur die vordersten Gestalten genau
erkennen, und ihre Aufreihung nach dem Hintergrund zugleich eine
Abstufung der Deutlichkeit bedingt. So ist es möglich, den
plastischen Eindruck, den die Natur dem Auge gibt, wiederzugeben,
wenn man auf die Deutlichkeit der Detailformen verzichtet und die
impressionistisch entscheidenden Raumformen sucht. Zeichnerische
Struktivität der Formen und Impressionismus sind also
Stilerscheinungen, die sich gegenseitig befehden.
Man wird verstehen, daß mit dieser Fähigkeit, alle Dinge in ihrer
Erscheinung wiedergeben zu können, ebenso wie mit der Freude
der Kunst an der reinen Darstellung eigentlich alle Vorbedingungen
für den schrankenlosesten Realismus in Malerei wie Plastik gegeben
waren. Es war vielleicht dieser Trieb zum Wirklichsein, der erst die
Augenerkenntnisse als Ausdrucksmittel forderte. Das tägliche Leben
wird in dieser Zeit zu einem wichtigen Gegenstand der Kunst,
Barbier und Koch, die bezechte Frau und der Bauer, der sein Vieh
zum Markt treibt, die groben Komödienmasken begegnen uns in der
Kleinplastik und in Terrakottafiguren. Wir hören schon sehr früh von
Malern, die Barbierstuben und Krämerläden malten, und hören, daß
die Vertreter idealistischer Anschauungen ihnen den Namen
„Rhyparographen“, Schmutzmaler, gaben, wie man bei uns für eine
Parallelerscheinung das Wort „Rinnsteinkunst“ gebildet hat. Es ist
zuerst überraschend, den krassen Realismus dieser Darstellungen,
die weiche, fast überweiche Schönheit weiblicher Göttinnen und das
Pathos des Zeusaltars von Pergamon hier eng nebeneinander zu
sehen, und ist doch natürlich. Jede Kunst schöpft ihre Vorstellungen
aus ihrer Gegenwart. Solange das Leben eines Volkes im Einklang
ist mit seiner Vorstellung vom Erhabensten, solange das tägliche
Leben selbst groß ist, entstehen Werke wie die Ägineten, in denen
Kraft und Hoheit eins sind. Eine Epoche aber, in der das Leben klein
ist, vermag die Größe nicht zu gestalten, weil ihr das Nur-Einfache
nicht interessant genug ist. Sie freut sich an der Buntheit ihres
Lebens und verlangt zugleich von ihren Mächtigen ebenso wie von
ihrer Kunst die laute Phrase, die aufdringliche Pose, das leere
Pathos.
Das gilt noch mehr von der römischen Kunst als von der
griechischen. Je mehr die Kraft des römischen Volkes schwindet,
desto anspruchsvoller wird es. Zur Zeit der Kaiser, in der die Ämter
nur noch Titel waren, denen die wichtigsten Funktionen genommen
sind, ist die größte Zahl von Porträtbüsten und Porträtstatuen
geschaffen worden, voll des beabsichtigten Ausdruckes von Hoheit
und Würde. Je später allerdings, desto mehr treten auch die
eigentlich realistischen Züge in den Vordergrund, und es gibt
Kaiserporträts der Spätzeit, die jeden Zug physiologischer Entartung
zum Ausdruck bringen.

Abb. 28. Pompeji. Haus der Vettier. Peristyl.