Page 26 of Fire and Icing

Someone from inside shouts out, “And he hauled Emberleigh out of her house during her kitchen fire. Isn’t that right? Saved her life from what I heard.”

“Did you now?” Mrs. Wilma asks me.

“I did carry her out of the fire, yes.”

Patrick snickers and the sound comes through the voice amplifier on his mask.

“We’d better be heading back to the station—in the event of a real fire.” Patrick tips his head in the direction of the enginewhere the rest of the crew are leaning back against it, waiting for us to finish visiting.

“Oh, of course you do,” Mrs. Wilma says. “Dustin, don’t you be a stranger. Come around anytime.”

I thank Mrs. Wilma and follow Patrick back to the engine.

Once we’re on the road, I ask, “How often do we get called out here?”

Cody deadpans, “Twice a month. Minimum.”

Patrick sighs. “Last time, it was because Mrs. Patterson burned popcorn. Set off the smoke detectors for the whole second floor.”

Greyson adds, “The time before that? Old man Henderson tried to microwave his dentures.”

Cody laughs. “And this time, someone set a marshmallow on fire just so she could check out the rookie.”

Patrick chuckles and looks over at me. “New rule: Rookie has to handle all future Mrs. Wilma calls.”

“You can’t be serious. I’ve already got Vanessa duty and my every-other-day apology to the local baker.”

Patrick says, “Oh, we’re serious.”

Two days later, I’m making the donut run at Baker From Another Mother. Emberleigh’s busy with some customers. As soon as they step away from the counter, our eyes meet.

“Good morning,” I say with a smile that I hope puts her at ease.

“So, you’re Wilma’s new favorite?” Emberleigh smirks.

“Let me guess. A senior at the assisted living center called your grandma, who called you.”

“Actually, Wilma came into the bakery and told me herself.”

“Well, in that case, yes. I’m her new favorite. I don’t really know why, though. She barely met me.”

“I guess you make quite the first impression.”

She tilts her head and her eyes go wide.

“About that,” I say. “I truly am sorry.”

“Could you just not?”

“I would stop if I could. Here’s the thing. We both know I have to say that line. But only one of us knows how deeply I mean it. So, I’ll make you a deal.”

She crosses her arms across her chest. But she’s not scowling.

Emboldened by Emberleigh’s surprising approachability, I press on. “If you let me say that line, I’ll be completely quiet while you tell me what it will take to convince you I truly am sorry.”

“That you were an oaf?”

“A manhandling oaf,” I add with a wink.

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