Page 1 of Flashpoint Feelings

Chapter one

Maya

This time will be different.The hopeful thought flits through my mind as I draw to a stop at the busy Columbus Avenue corner. Down the block, a taxi swerves, its tires screeching. The cabbie lays on the horn and curses out the window, but I’m too busy to care as I study the centuries-old, faded-red brick facade of Ladder 24. The New York City fire station, my fourth in three years, is a slim three-story building with two bays tucked amidst towering high rises in the Upper West Side.

I’m not here because I want to be. Nope, I’m here because I was overlooked for a promotion. Again. And rather than stick around to go…nowhere, I opted for a lateral move. Another fresh start, if you will. Shannon, my longtime best friend and roommate, protested, and for a hot second, I regretted my decision. Until my station chief shared somewords of wisdomhe thought I needed to hear.

I didn’t.

Because the truth is, it would be a chilly day in hell before the gray-haired, barrel-chested good ole boy, with a perpetual scowl etched into his face, gave the same advice to any of my malecolleagues. His counsel included, among other choice phrases, “You’d catch more flies with honey, Thorne.” And, “If you want that promotion, Thorne, you need to learn to play nicer in the sandbox.”

My fists curl at the memory. But my frustration is worthless, even if Shannon wanted to drop by and give him a piece of her mind. Because apparently, being exceptional at my job isn’t enough. I also have to make the boys feel comfortable while I’m working next to them. However, I don’t recall repeating that when I swore my oath.

A gleaming aerial truck is visible through a wide-open bay door, but rather than hope for a warm welcome, I heave a sigh and shove my hands into the pockets of my black leather jacket until the walk sign flashes. My quads burn with every step as I cross the street. My deltoids are smarting like the devil, courtesy of yesterday’s double session at the gym on my day off. But long ago, I learned to work through pain. It’s the price I pay to excel in my chosen profession, where I lack the natural upper body strength of my male colleagues.

I pause just outside the bay door, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. If I have to play the game their way, I’m going to play it smart. Starting with making a good impression by accepting the invitation from my new station chief to stop by before my first official shift.

The scent of pizza and chocolate cake hits me first, followed by the underlying notes of diesel fuel and floor cleaner that seem to permeate every firehouse I’ve ever been in. Crooked streamers and a glittery “Congratulations!” banner transform the typically utilitarian space into something festive, if a bit haphazard. They must be for Reyes, the firefighter whose spot I’m filling on B shift. He’s accepted a promotion as a trainer at the academy.

I scan the station, observing, as I’m used to doing, from the periphery, the outskirts. Never truly a part of the gang, thoughthis profession is a team sport. I swallow the curl of desire for inclusion that still rears its ugly head, despite my best efforts to bury it. After all, I knew what I was getting into. I also knew saving lives was more important to me than fitting in with the men. It still is.

Most of the guys are gathered in small clusters, by shift crew, no doubt, wearing standard issue navy NYFD T-shirts that stretch across broad shoulders. No surprise there. My gaze stalls on a towering firefighter with vivid red hair. The blazing shade of copper may have been what caught my eye, but it’s his easy, infectious smile that captures my attention. With his perfectly straight white teeth and a wide grin, which probably gets him out of trouble as often as it gets him into it, the man is mesmerizing in a way that makes me want to watch him like a movie.

I’m not usually the type to be transfixed by charm like that, but he’s mid-laugh, a pizza slice halfway to his mouth, when an unwelcome flutter stirs my stomach. Genuine amusement lights his entire face, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such unabashed joy in my life. Especially not on a random Tuesday afternoon at work.

Must be nice.

I ignore the pang of envy and, with effort, tear my gaze away. To my surprise, I spot two women in the mix. My spirits lift for a split second before I note their positioning and their outfits. A curly blonde, in a denim dress that’s cinched at the waist, is perched on the weight bench next to a muscular guy with close-cropped hair. The other woman, with honey-blonde hair, wearing a trendy army-green jumpsuit, is tucked up against a firefighter in dress uniform who must be Reyes. Girlfriends or wives, not firefighters. Still, the sight is promising. Perhaps, it means I won’t have to endure endless boasting about my shift crew’s latest one-night stands like I did from the guys at my old station.

A wall of recognition near the fire pole displays various plaques and certificates arranged with military precision. The brass “Station of Excellence” award gleams under the fluorescent lights, dated last year. Next to it hangs a framed page from theNYC’s Bravestannual charity calendar featuring Mr. March posed with an ax against a smoky background. He must be stationed here.Great.

My gaze slides to a “Firefighter of the Quarter” certificate from last fall, the FDNY seal embossed in gold leaf. Something inside me twists, a familiar ache I can’t quite suppress. I want that. I want proof I’m as good as any of the men. That I’ve earned my place here and belong.

I force my eyes away. Dwelling on what I don’t have won’t help me get it. But I can’t help imagining what it would feel like to see my own accomplishments mounted on that wall, to know I earned it. Even if I have to work twice as hard as everyone else.

Chief spots me just then and raises a hand in greeting. He excuses himself from a conversation and makes his way across the concrete.

“Ms. Thorne, welcome.” His firm handshake and sharp eyes match his no-nonsense tone. I like him already. “I’m glad you could stop by.”

“Thank you for the invitation, sir.” I keep my voice steady, professional. Working twice as hard as everyone else starts with first impressions.

“Let me introduce you to your new crew.” He guides me toward the group with the redhead, all of them staring in our direction with expressions ranging from puzzled to baffled to amused. Ten bucks says they were just making bets on who I am and what I’m doing here. Which means Chief hasn’t clued them in yet on my posting.Great.“Team, I’d like to introduce Maya Thorne. She’s taking over Reyes’s spot, starting tomorrow.”

I gauge their reactions to see what I’m up against. The stocky one with dark hair gives a professional nod, revealing nothing.Could be worse.The baby-face with the golden curls, Mr. March in the flesh, fights back a grin, the humor in his eyes hard to miss.Interesting.But the way the redhead’s eyebrows shoot up and his easy smile fades sends a chill of apprehension up my spine.

I clear my throat.

“Congratulations on your promotion,” I offer to Reyes, extending my hand.

“Thank you,” he replies, his handshake steady but not challenging. At least, there’s that.

“I look forward to working with you,” I continue, turning to acknowledge the others. My carefully constructed composure is easy to maintain. Until I reach the redhead. The brief contact of our hands, or rather my hand and his enormous paw, sends an unwanted spark of awareness through me. Up close, his green eyes are striking, flecked with gold and framed by laugh lines that confirm his smile is a frequent occurrence.

He’s got what seems like a foot, at least, on me, with shoulders broad enough to block the sun. My mouth goes dry as his gaze locks with mine, and the sudden, rapid thud of my heart makes me want to take a step backward, but I don’t. I stand my ground even as a fizzle of…something I can’t quite name passes between us before I slam my walls back into place. But not before his expression shifts from surprise to an emotion I can’t quite read, but I feel it with an intensity that sends heat crawling up my neck.

Damn. Three prior stations, three years of keeping up my guard, and here I am, getting rattled by a headful of red locks, a pretty smile, and bewitching emerald eyes. Nope, not happening. Not now.

“Welcome to the station,” Reyes says, jumping in when the redhead remains silent. “You’re going to love it here.”

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