Page 85 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Jack’s hand squeezes my knee under the table, and I can’t hide my smile.

The captain continues, “As we celebrate this holiday season, I’m reminded of how fortunate we are. Not just for the food on our table or the roof over our heads, but for the bonds we share. This job isn’t easy. We see things that most people never have to face. But we face them together, and that makes all the difference.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. I glance at Jack, seeing a mix of pride and solemnity in his eyes.

“So tonight,” the captain raises his glass, “I’d like to propose a toast. To family—both the ones we’re born with and the ones we choose. To the loved ones who support us, worry about us, and welcome us home after every shift. And to those who couldn’t be with us tonight, whether they’re working or watching over us from above. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The room echoes with the sound of clinking glasses and heartfelt responses.

As we begin to eat, the conversation flows easily. I listen to stories of daring rescues and comical mishaps, of sleepless nights at the station and unexpected acts of kindness from the community. With each tale, I gain a deeper understanding of the world Jack inhabits.

Halfway through the meal, the station’s alarm suddenly blares to life. The firefighters, including Jack, immediately push back from the table, their expressions shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant.

“Sorry, duty calls,” Jack says, leaning in to place a quick kiss on my cheek. “Save me some pie?”

Before I can respond, he and the others are rushing toward the bay. The remaining guests watch in respectful silence as the engines roar to life and pull out of the station, sirens wailing into the night.

I turn to Melissa. “So what do we do now?”

She shrugs. “You can wait here and see how long it takes for them to come back. Some will leave knowing it’s a crap shoot. It’s up to you.”

“How long do these calls take?”

“Could be half an hour, or it could be hours.” She glances at their half-eaten plates. “At least they got some food in them this year. Thanksgiving they all had to rush out the door right as the turkey was being carved.”

“I think I’ll stay, if that’s okay. I’d like to see how this all works.”

Melissa smiles warmly. “Of course it’s okay. Welcome to the life of a firefighter’s... friend.” She winks at me, and I feel my cheeks heat again.

The remaining guests continue eating, but some get up and start gathering their things. Especially the ones with younger children. I don’t have anywhere else better to be, so I figure I might as well wait for Jack. I just hope it doesn’t take all night.

I join a group clearing the table and packing up leftovers. As we work, I listen to them swap stories about past Christmases interrupted by calls, emergencies narrowly averted, and the unique challenges of loving someone in such a demanding profession.

As we finish cleaning up, I find myself gravitating toward the large windows at the front of the station. The night is clear and cold, stars twinkling in the inky sky. I wonder where Jack is right now, what kind of emergency he’s facing.

My heart leaps as I spot the red truck approaching. The engines pull into the bay, and a few moments later, Jack and the others file back into the community room. They look tired but satisfied, a thin layer of soot dusting their clothes and faces and the smell of grease announcing their presence.

Jack’s eyes find mine immediately, and he makes his way over. “Sorry about that,” he says, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Just a small kitchen fire. Turkey fryer incident. We have at least one a holiday.”

I reach up to wipe a smudge of soot from his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re back safe. And look,” I gesture to the table where I’ve set aside a plate, “I saved you some pie.”

His face breaks into a grin. “You’re the best, you know that?” He pulls me into a hug, not caring about the stink of grease fire transferring to my clothes.

As we rejoin the group, I notice the easy camaraderie between the firefighters and their families. They slip seamlessly back into the celebration, as if nothing had happened. And I realize that this is their normal—this constant readiness, this ability to switch gears at a moment’s notice.

“Hey,” Jack says, leaning in to me. “Want me to show you around? Show you the bay?”

“I’d love that,” I reply, eager to see more of Jack’s world.

He takes my hand and leads me toward the large bay doors. As we step into the cavernous space, the smell of diesel and rubber intensifies. The massive fire engines gleam under the bright overhead lights, their red paint still wet from the recent call.

“This is Engine Five,” Jack says, patting the side of the nearest truck affectionately. “She’s my baby.”

I run my hand along the cool metal, marveling at the size and complexity of the vehicle. “It’s incredible,” I say. “I had no idea they were so... big.”

Jack chuckles. “Yeah, they’re pretty impressive. Want to see inside?”

Before I can answer, he’s already opening the door and offering me a hand up. I climb into the cab, settling into the passenger seat as Jack slides in behind the wheel.

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