Page 1 of Saved By the Firefighter

Chapter 1

Ellie

"Alright, class," I say, my hands sweeping through the air, the sunlight from the windows catching on my simple silver bracelet. "Can anyone tell me what makes Cedar Ridge's forests so special?" I beam at my sea of wide-eyed third graders, each one perched on the edge of their pint-sized chairs like little sparrows waiting for a worm, their backpacks and lunchboxes tucked neatly beneath their desks. I love talking about my hometown, with its towering pines and hidden streams. I grew up exploring the parts of it connected to my backyard and it gave me such a love and appreciation for nature.

A bunch of hands shoot up, their little fingers waggling eagerly. I push my glasses back into place and then I point to a little girl with braids, Marcy, who practically vibrates with excitement.

“The trees are old!” she exclaims, bouncing in her seat, little pigtails swaying.

“That's right, Marcy. Some of the trees here are hundreds of years old.” I catch the eager face of little Tommy at the front, with his untamed mop of red hair. "Yes, Tommy?" I pace between the rows of desks, my flats silently tapping against the tile.

"Animals," he states proudly, his chest puffing out slightly, and I smile. Such a broad statement but he's simply adorable with his missing front tooth and earnest expression.

"Uh-huh. What kind of animals?"

He shrugs. "Squirrels?"

"Foxes, dummy," Marcy cuts in.

I put my hands on my hips and give her a frown. "That's not a nice word to use."

Marcy sighs, her shoulders slumping a bit. "Sorry. But the forests have foxes. I see them with my dad."

I turn to Tommy. "You're absolutely right, Tommy. There are squirrels.” I glance at Marcy. “There are also foxes."

Tommy sticks his tongue out at Marcy, his nose scrunching up. These two have been bickering all year and I'm not quite sure what the grudge between them is about. But I need to stay focused on the lesson.

"Just like Marcy and Tommy mentioned," I say, "the old, wise forests around us are a home and a sanctuary for creatures big and small. They've stood the test of time, much like the town of Cedar Ridge. Soon, we'll all be exploring a part of the forest together on our field trip." I walk to the front of the class and face my little audience. "And what do we have to be careful of when we visit the forest on our field trip?"

A chorus of responses erupts. "Fire!" "Bears!" "Falling on rocks!"

I suppress a smile at some of the comments—I love kids because they're so innocent and sweet. Guess that means I just love my role as teacher.

"Well, you're all correct. So when we go on our field trip, it's important to always stay with an adult. I'll be there along with several parents, so we must always know where you are, got it?"

I see a lot of bobbing heads.

"Ms. Carter, do firefighters really live in the forest?" Tommy asks, his hand shooting up.

The question catches me off guard, not because it's wrong to ask, but because it sparks an image of Jake—Jake Wilder, my neighbor and a local wildland firefighter. I picture his guarded smirk, chiseled jawline, and brooding brown eyes. I feel a little guilty because I secretly peeped on him yesterday when he was in the "backyard," which is just a large slab of concrete behind our duplex. It was warm outside so he was shirtless, tending to his plants. I shouldn't have stared, but damn...that man is fine. All bronze muscle with that long black hair. And he's always outside when I leave or get home, like he's keeping an eye on me. It's a little strange but also sweet for such a massive grump.

"That's a great question, Tommy," I say, refocusing. "Firefighters don't actually live in the forest. But when there's a fire, they race there in a big red truck to put it out. Firefighters work hard to protect our forests and homes, which is why safety and teamwork are so important." I pivot, embracing the teachable moment. "Speaking of teamwork, let's put that into practice for our upcoming field trip."

I guide them into making natural history dioramas, encouraging teamwork and creativity. Soon they're buzzing around, their little hands working diligently, demonstrating my kickass teaching skills. They huddle in clusters, their voices a hum as they collaborate on building miniature forests with construction paper and glue sticks. Watching them work together, I feel a lot of pride swelling in my chest. This is what teaching is about—instilling lessons that stretch beyond the classroom walls, fostering a love for learning and cooperation that will serve them well in life.

"Remember, just like firefighters, each of you has an important role to play," I encourage them, my gaze drifting momentarily toward the window. I wonder what Jake is up to since there aren’t currently any wildfires to fight. And I wonder if he'll be outside shirtless again this weekend to give me a small thrill. I smirk to myself, knowing I shouldn't be thinking such things.

Since all of my students are occupied, I return to my desk. Arms crossed, I watch them work. My naughty thoughts drift back to my grumpy, mysterious neighbor. I hardly know anything about Jake beyond his daughter Charlotte and his job. Yet I can't stop thinking about his eyes, his slight smile every time we say hi in passing. The pang in my chest—and other places—when our eyes meet.

But there's a major block between us—my brother, Marcus. Jake is my brother's bestie, so he’s completely off limits. Still, the temptation is undeniable.

The classroom door creaks open and Danielle, my teaching assistant, slips inside. She's a burst of color, everything about her dress and accessories bold and blinding. She glides over to me gracefully, her chestnut bun exceptionally neat and tidy today.

"Looks like they've got it under control," Danielle murmurs, sidling up to me with her clipboard clutched like a shield. "So, about the field trip..."

"Right," I say, straightening. "The reservations are all set at the Deer Creek Campground. Our chaperones all have specific supplies to bring. I've double-checked the route for the hike, and I've arranged for the park rangers to give a short talk on local wildlife." Flipping through my own notes, I feel that familiar surge of satisfaction. Everything is planned down to the minute; there's comfort in the certainty of a well-organized itinerary.

Danielle nods, scribbling something on her clipboard. "And the emergency contacts?"

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