Page 9 of The Fire Between Us

There it is again—that casualness about helping, like it's no big deal to potentially solve one of my biggest immediate problems. Like kindness is just what people do.

"Still, I appreciate it," I insist. "It's not easy being new somewhere."

"No, it's not," he agrees, and something in his tone makes me wonder if he's speaking from experience. "But Cedar Falls grows on you. Give it time."

Amelia chooses this moment to reach for Max again, her little hands grasping toward him insistently.

"She really likes you," I observe, surprised and a little unsettled by how quickly my usually cautious daughter has warmed to him.

"Chicks dig firefighters. It's science," he jokes.

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "Must be."

"I’m sure," he chuckles, wiggling his fingers at her in a little wave. "See you around, kiddo. You too, Jennie."

I watch him walk away, his stride easy and confident. He glances back once and raises his hand in farewell when he catches me looking.

"Come on, Amelia-bean," I murmur, turning in the opposite direction. "Let's get back to the motel and make some plans."

As we walk, I mentally review the events of the morning. Job secured. Childcare potentially solved. Possible lead on affordable housing. It's more progress than I've managed in the last three towns combined.

Maybe it's Cedar Falls. Maybe it's luck. Or maybe it's the tall firefighter with kind eyes who picked up a stuffed cat and saw a woman who needed help without making her feel pathetic for needing it.

I shake my head at myself. This isn't about Max Davidson. This is about establishing stability for Amelia, about creating a life where we don't have to look over our shoulders. Handsome firefighters with easy smiles and helpful suggestions are not part of the plan.

Still, as Amelia and I make our way back through the tree-named streets toward our temporary home, I wonder if he works the same shift every day and whether he'll come into the diner for breakfast this week.

Not that it matters. Not that I'm interested.

But as we pass the fire station and Amelia points excitedly, babbling "faya, faya," I make a mental note of when my breaks will be. Just in case.

The next day

"Coffee, table seven. Pancake special, extra butter, table three. Order up for the booth by the window."

Lou's voice cuts through the morning chaos, somehow both authoritative and calm. I grab the coffee pot and head to table seven—a pair of elderly women who've been watching me with the open curiosity that seems common in Cedar Falls.

"More coffee, ladies?" I offer with a smile.

"Please, dear," the one with bright red glasses says. "You're doing wonderfully for your first day."

"Thank you," I reply, refilling their cups. "Let me know if you need anything else."

It's been three hours since my shift started, and I'm settling into the rhythm. The diner is busy but manageable, the regulars mostly patient with the new waitress, and Lou runs a tight but fair kitchen. Compared to my last waitressing job in Minneapolis, this is practically a vacation.

Yet I can't help scanning each new customer as they enter, assessing for threats. Old habits.

Dropping Amelia at Mrs. Gunderson's had been surprisingly easy. My daughter, usually wary of new environments, had been too fascinated by the older woman's collection of children's books to notice my departure. Mrs. Gunderson had assured me she could call if there were any problems, but so far my phone has remained silent in my apron pocket.

"Order up, Jennie!" Lou calls.

I collect the plates—a Denver omelet and hash browns—and deliver them to a middle-aged man reading the newspaper.

"Anything else I can get you?" I ask.

He glances up and smiles. "Just some hot sauce if you've got it."

"Coming right up."

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