Page 13 of Fire and Icing

“Yeah! I like this,” Cody says with an enthusiasm that sets my nerves on edge.

Greyson nods his assent.

“Yeah, Rookie,” Patrick says with a friendly smile. “You’ll pick up donuts from Emberleigh every day we’re on shift. And you have to do something nice for her while you’re there.”

“I don’t think she likes me doing nice things for her,” I admit.

“Well, you’ll work it out,” Cody says. “And you have to say this on every visit: I’m truly sorry I manhandled you like an oaf, Emberleigh.”

The guys lose it. Well, Cody and Patrick lose it. Greyson looks amused, but you have to study him to see it.

“Don’t you men have work to do?” Captain’s voice shouts in from the office.

It’s a friendly reprimand, but it serves its purpose.

“I like that,” Patrick nudges Cody as they walk away from the kitchen together. “I’m truly sorry… That’s rich. She’ll hate it.”

They both laugh.

Greyson shuts the box of donuts and stashes it on top of the fridge. He glances at me. “Hang in there, Rookie. Never let them see you sweat.”

“Who’s sweating?” I say with the most nonchalant shrug I can muster.

Greyson grins for a split second. “Exactly.”

Our day rolls on. The guys leave the box unattended at one point and I grab another one of the fluffiest, most delicious donuts I’ve ever eaten in my life. It’s blueberry-lemon and it’s pretty much all I can think about the rest of my shift. That and how to win Emberleigh over and prove to her I’m not an oaf or a misogynist or whatever she thinks I am—while declaring to her that I am, in fact, an oaf on my every-other-day visit to her shop. Maybe donut duty won’t be so bad. At least I’ll have a reason to see her on a regular basis for a while.

By midday, I’m taking an extended break Captain approved. I’m on a mission. I have to find a place to live that’s not in his spare bedroom. He’s totally in favor of my mission. Not that he’s giving me the boot, but I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I’m getting very, very close to that line.

This morning I woke to David’s five-year-old staring at me over the edge of my bed while his toddler crawled across me making zooming noises with his toy truck. I love kids. Someday I hope to have a hundred—or at least four or so—of my own. There’s something about waking to other people’s kids that makes it glaringly obvious you’re intruding on private moments of their life.

Patrick hooked me up with a realtor here named Rhett. He sent me a list of rentals to check out. I drive to several overpriced apartments and less-than-ideal rentals—one of which had questionable plumbing and another where the next-door neighbor was blasting loud music. Back at the firehouse, the crew isn’t actually helping me figure out a living alternative. They’re all on to the fact that I’m staying at our captain’s home. Greyson offered his couch, and Patrick informed me that half the landlords in town have weird rules.

I set all thoughts of finding a place aside to go out with Cody to do an elementary school fire safety instruction. On the way back, we stop at a deli to grab a late lunch of sandwiches. Man can not live on donuts alone, unfortunately.

“Hey, check that board for any rentals,” Cody says to me while we’re waiting for our sandwiches to be prepared.

I glance over at a large bulletin board that says Buy * Sell * Trade * Whatever across the top.

“People post stuff there even when they don’t take out an ad in the paper or online. That’s Waterford. We’re more of a word of mouth type of town.”

“I get that. I grew up in a small town too.”

“On that island?”

“Yes. Marbella.” My heart clenches with an unexpected surge of homesickness.

I walk over to the bulletin board. A handwritten note catches my eye. It’s pinned up in the middle of a bunch of printed flyers. The note looks like it was written by someone who learned penmanship in elementary school, but has long since lost full control of their fine motor skills.

Room for Rent. Cozy, Quiet Home. Contact Mrs. Holt.

Chapter 4

Dustin

I’ve learned that home is not a place, it’s a feeling.

~ Cecelia Ahern

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