Page 1 of Fire and Icing

Chapter 1

Dustin

The smartest person can’t be the hero.

~ Chris Smitty

“Yes,Mom. I’ll text you as soon as my shift is over.” I stare out the windshield of my brand new pickup at the fire station.

The anodized aluminum letters over the two arched wooden bay doors in the brick building spell out WATERFORD FIRE STATION #1. Number one. We’re one of two stations in this town. And the other station, Station #2, is manned by part-timers and volunteers.

“Text me?” Mom says incredulously. “You’ll text me? After your first day on the job as an actual fireman?”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll call.”

“That’s more like it, Dustin. Don’t make me fly out there.”

“I most definitely won’t,” I say on a chuckle.

“Though, I will fly out there to visit. I’ve already bought my boots.”

“You don’t need boots to come to Tennessee, Mom. People wear regular shoes here.”

“I want you to count the number of flip-flops you see today and tell me if they wear regular shoes.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll have a few things ranking higher on my to-do list my first day as rookie. Besides, it’s not quite summer. I’m guessing flip-flops don’t come out in the rainy season.”

Mom tsks. She’s a Californian through and through. Anything east of the San Bernardino Mountains is uncharted territory.

“Well, go show them what you’re made of,” Mom says, her voice dripping with a sweet confidence I wish I could bottle up and chug right about now.

“I’ll do that,” I open the door to my truck and hop out. “I love you. Tell Mitzi, Stevens and Dad I send my love.”

“You can do that yourself on our group chat tonight.”

“You mean group text.”

We have a running family text thread that could be the stuff of a sitcom. The best part is Mom’s trendy teen catch phrases. She job shares at the local high school and insists on sounding like a page out of the Urban Dictionary, only she gets uses of the lingo out of context.

“Groupcall, Dustin. This time, we’re going to all be on a call. After all, you don’t start your career as a fireman every day.”

“Okay. Well, I’d better go.”

“Protect and serve, dear.”

“That’s the police.”

“Nonsense.”

“Right. Okay. Love you, Mom.”

I end the call and force my feet to walk toward the door to the left of the bays. I’ve driven by here every day for the past four days since I flew into Nashville airport. My plane landed in the dark of night, and my captain was waiting at the airport to meet me. I was uncharacteristically quiet on the one-hour ride to his house, where I’m staying until I can find a place of my own.

All that travel left me acting like a puppy after a few hours at the dog park, deceptively tame and calm.

Captain will see my true nature now that I’m a little more rested. I’m still like a puppy, or at least that’s what my older brother, Stevens, says. Golden retriever through and through. My highest aim in life is making sure everyone gets along. I’m playful. Never met a stranger.

That’s at home, on Marbella Island, where I grew up. We’ve had plenty of tourists come and go, but our community is essentially a small town. Here, I’m the new kid in town, twenty-six going on twelve, if my age could be measured in the amount of nervous energy I’m experiencing. I haven’t been this unsettled since I walked into junior high with the haircut Mom gave me the weekend before school started.

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