Page 1 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

Chapter 1 – Rebecca

The morning light spills through yellow curtains, casting a warm glow across the empty desks. I smooth the front of my navy dress and take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of crayons, glue, and fresh bulletin board paper. My classroom.

I adjust a crooked name tag on the nearest desk and step back to survey my work. Alphabet charts with colorful animals. A reading corner piled with cushions. Cubbies labeled with each child's name.

Not so different from my classroom in Chicago, really, except everything here feels more... deliberate. In a school this size, in a town like Fox Ridge, every choice matters.

The clock reads 7:45. Still thirty minutes until the children arrive.

My stomach flutters as I straighten a stack of welcome packets. Three years of teaching experience hasn't done much to calm the first-day nerves. And this isn't just any first day—it's my first day in a new town, a new school, with families who've known each other since before their children were born.

I moved to Fox Ridge six weeks ago, drawn by the quiet streets and affordable rent, the chance to start fresh somewhere I could breathe. Chicago had been all noise and hustle, endless commutes on packed trains. Fox Ridge offers space—both the physical kind and the kind I need in my head.

"Good morning, Rebecca! All set for the big day?"

Principal Jenkins appears in my doorway, her silver bob swinging as she pokes her head in.

"Morning, Mrs. Jenkins. As ready as I'll ever be." I manage a smile that feels more genuine than I expected.

"You'll be wonderful. First-day jitters are completely normal." She winks. "And remember, kindergarteners are forgiving. Trip over your own feet, and they'll think it's the funniest thing they've ever seen."

After she leaves, I open my desk drawer and touch the small frame tucked inside. My parents smile back at me from their vacation in Florida, and I wish, not for the first time, that they lived closer. Mom would've brought me coffee this morning. Dad would've called with one of his terrible jokes to make me laugh.

The first bell rings, shattering my thoughts. Voices fill the hallway—high-pitched excitement mixed with parental reassurance. I square my shoulders and move to the doorway, pasting on my brightest smile.

"Good morning! Welcome to kindergarten!"

They arrive in trickles and waves—some bouncing with excitement, others hiding behind parents' legs. I crouch down to eye level for each one, using the techniques that have become second nature over the years.

"I love your unicorn backpack!" "What an awesome t-shirt—are those dinosaurs?" "Your braids are beautiful. Did someone special do those for you?"

Each child responds differently—shy smiles, enthusiastic nods, whispered thank-yous. I guide them to find their desks, helping with backpacks and lunch boxes, maintaining a steady stream of chatter to distract from parents slipping away.

A little girl with glasses carefully arranges three colored pencils beside her name tag. "Ms. Brown? Will we have math today? I like counting."

"We sure will, Emma. We'll count all sorts of things."

A boy with a cowlick that defies gravity tugs my sleeve. "Teacher, I forgot my snack."

"That's okay. I keep extra snacks right here." I point to the cabinet by my desk.

The classroom hums with nervous energy, the children feeding off each other's excitement. I've just helped a boy named Tyler locate his cubby when a different sound cuts through the buzz—a high, thin wail that raises the hairs on my arms.

In the doorway stands a tiny girl with dark pigtails and a pink cardigan, her face crumpling as she clings to a man's leg. Her cries grow louder, more desperate with each passing second.

"D-daddy, no! P-please don't leave me!" Her whole body trembles as she buries her face against his jeans. "I want to go h-home!"

The classroom stills. Several parents exchange glances. A few children stop unpacking, their expressions uncertain, as if deciding whether to join the tears.

I move toward them, careful not to invade their space. The little girl's knuckles have gone white where she grips her father's leg. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down flushed cheeks.

"Hi there," I say softly, kneeling a comfortable distance away. "I'm Ms. Brown."

One eye peeks open, regarding me warily through wet lashes.

Her father gently touches her head. "This is Mia. She's been a little worried about starting school."

His voice catches me by surprise—deeper than expected, with a gentleness that contrasts with his appearance. I look up briefly, registering broad shoulders and dark stubble, before returning my focus to Mia.

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