Page 11 of Fire and Icing

“Figures,” she says.

The kitchen noise stops at the sight of this fiery redhead appearing with a box of goodies.

Sweets. I love sweets. And something tells me Emberleigh makes the best sweets I’ve tasted in years.

The guys’ eyes flit between Emberleigh and me. The expressions they exchange make me more nervous than that list I have to carry around in my pocket—the one with that woman, Vanessa, at the top, the one my crewmates randomly add items to at whim.

"Hey, Emberleigh,” Patrick says with a smile—one she returns in full force.

“Is the one-boot wonder giving you trouble?”

“The one-boot wonder?” Emberleigh eyes me with amusement.

She’s not smiling at me, but she’s smiling.

“Yep,” Patrick says to her. Then he turns to me. “Go ahead, tell her why we call you that, Rookie.”

I feel the heat rise up my face. I’m not shy, and I rarely get embarrassed. I’m not sure why this particular woman elicits such a strong urge to win her approval. Maybe it was the rescue, seeing her vulnerable and flustered, but steely in her resolve to fight her own fire. She’s a study in contradictions. There’s something exceedingly soft about her, and yet something incredibly strong woven right alongside the tenderness.

I look Emberleigh in the eyes.“I uh … shucked my boots when we were rushing to get to your place. We … uh … ran over one.”

“That was me,” Patrick says proudly.

Then he breaks into song, singingI Shot the Sheriff, but putting the word killed in place of shot and boot in place of sheriff and changing the rest of the words to match the scenario.

“But I didn’t shoot the rookie, oh no! I killed the boo-ooot. Ooh, ooh, ooh!”

The room erupts in laughter. I don’t laugh, but I’m smiling widely.

I’m going to be the brunt of most jokes for a while around here. It’s my rite of passage and I’ll gladly endure it, especially when I look over at Emberleigh and our eyes catch while she wipes a tear with her free hand, clutching the box of goodies gently to her hip.

“Here. Let me take that for you,” Cody offers.

Emberleigh hands the box to Cody.

“Fresh this morning,” she says. “To thank you guys for coming out and putting out the fire.”

She makes eye contact with each fireman, and then reluctantly acknowledges me.

Cody sets the box on the table and opens it. It’s stuffed with donuts. Most of them are laying flat. They look gourmet, if that’s such a thing. And then there is a row of plain glazed standing up and tightly packed at the end of the box. My mouth practically waters. Fresh donuts? Donuts that she made? Yes, please.

“The other boot’s in great condition, though,” Cody chirps with a wide grin on his face, circling back to a subject I had hoped would drift out of everyone’s awareness once the lid to the pink box had been opened.

The crew gathers around Emberleigh’s gift, grabbing out their favorites and naming them out loud.

“Oooh. You brought brown butter sugar? I could propose to you for this,” Cody says with a charming grin.

Emberleigh smiles good naturedly. “No need, Cody. I’m not marrying a man who’s only after my donuts.”

“Don’t you want to marry a firefighter?” Patrick teases her.

“Wrong baker,” Emberleigh retorts.

I don’t know what she means by that, but the guys crack up. Small towns have inside jokes. I know that. I grew up in one, on an island, but still it was a tight-knit community where you didn’t live down your mistakes, but they became fodder for life-long entertainment in most cases. People have one another's backs here. I love that—more than I can express.

“Thanks,” Greyson says sincerely. He holds up something that’s got what looks like a lemon filling and powdered sugar on the outside. “My favorite.”

“I know, Grey,” Emberleigh’s smile at him is fond.

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