Page 99 of Nanny for the Firefighter

“Hi, I’m Amy, Mia’s daycare teacher. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh!” Realization hits, and I offer my hand as Amy extends hers. “Of course. Nice to meet you, I’m Bridget.”

We shake, and as the line moves forward to buy tickets, Amy steps closer to the front, and we follow.

“It’s good to see you out and about, Mason. I heard about what you did during the fire. Red Lodge is in your debt.”

Mason blushes, which is adorable, and waves the comment off. “Just doing my job.”

“He’s being modest. Mason was amazing that day.” I offer, and Amy nods in agreement.

“And Mia has one great dad. You’re doing a good job with her. I know I say that to all the parents, but I mean it.”

Putting a hand on the back of his head, Mason struggles to take the compliment, and I laugh under my breath.

“Thank you, Amy.”

“Well, I won’t keep you two. Have fun in there.”

“We will,” Mason replies. “See you around.”

As we get our tickets and walk past the stanchions set up to direct traffic, I can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl around. I’ve got a handsome, fantastic dad on my arm, and we’re about to stuff ourselves with fair food and watch concerts.

The music is already playing loudly, providing a backdrop to our date night, and Mason and I go straight for the first food truck we see.

They have “culinary” versions of the most quintessential fair food, and I’m quick to order the deep-fried Flaming Hot grilled cheese panini with smoked cheddar and bacon.

“You are going to have the worst heartburn.” Mason laughs as he pokes fun at me, and I just grin.“That, good sir, is what Pepto Bismol is for. What’d you get?”

I look over at his little dish of yummy, the contents pilled so high and thick that it’s hard for me to tell if there is, in fact, something beneath all that sour cream and bacon bits.

“Deep-fried, twice-baked potato with all the fixin’s.”

The giggle bursts out of me as I take a bite of my delicious sandwich. “Oh, you are so one to talk.”

We just laugh together and head over to the beer tent set up on the other side of the closed-off street. There are tons of local and US-based brews, and I pick a smoky porter to go with my delicious grilled cheese.

Mason takes forever to finally pick something, but when he does, I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he’s paired a dark amber with his potato.

“I so worried you’d shock me and turn out to be an IPA guy.” I stick my tongue out, making a disgusted face.

“Ha,” Mason chuckles, “no, I’m not a big fan of them, either. I like the darker stuff. Or, you know, a scotch, but I had a feeling we wouldn’t find that here.”

I furrow my brow, turning my face up toward the rides just a block down. “Hard liquor and the teacups. Hmm…nope, I don’t think anyone wants to see that.”

Mason grimaces. “Oh, God. I can just imagine. The streets overflowing with vomit. Ew.”

A pack of giggles again, Mason and I find a small bench table to sit down and eat at. We scarf our food, trading bites as we enjoy the cheesy, salty, deep-fried goodness.

The band onstage finishes, welcoming one another as the live show continues like there will be no end to this fabulous party. The genres of music are all over the place, but it’s just a delight to even be out like this.

Mason hasn’t mentioned that I need to watch what I eat, he’s not wandered off without me or demanded that it’s too loud, either. We’re just…enjoying ourselves.

It’s perfect.

After our food is good and digested, with no threats to our image lurking, I drag Mason over to the teacups.

“I remember going on these with you when we were younger,” Mason says, and I smile over at him.

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