Page 10 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

"My father was a firefighter," I explain. "I grew up with it, even when I thought I wanted something different. Some things are just in your blood, I guess."

Judy returns with my plate, eyebrows raised as she glances between us before retreating again.

"And you?" I ask, cutting into my meatloaf. "Always wanted to be a teacher?"

Rebecca nods, twirling her pasta again. "Since I was old enough to line up my stuffed animals and give them spelling tests. I was a very exciting child, as you can imagine."

"I can picture it," I say, and I can—a younger Rebecca with the same patient kindness she shows Mia, teaching teddy bears their ABCs.

"My parents wanted me to consider other options," she continues. "Law school, maybe medicine. Something with better pay and hours. But after my first education class, I knew there wasn't anything else for me."

"They've come around?"

"Mostly." A shadow crosses her face. "They worry about me being so far from home. My dad keeps sending me apartment listings in Chicago."

"But you're happy here?"

Her smile returns, softer now. "I am. There's something about Fox Ridge that just feels... right. Like I can breathe here."

I understand that feeling more than she knows. After years away, coming back to Fox Ridge with Mia was like exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the diner's ambient noise wrapping around us—plates clinking, coffee being poured, the low murmur of other conversations. Outside, the last of the daylight fades, turning the windows into dark mirrors reflecting our small bubble of warmth.

"Can I ask you something?" Rebecca says suddenly, setting down her fork.

My guard instinctively rises, but I nod. "Sure."

"Yesterday, in the classroom—" she starts, then pauses, choosing her words carefully. "I know there are boundaries. Professional ones. I just want to make sure things aren't... awkward between us. For Mia's sake."

The mention of Mia grounds me. Everything comes back to her—my daughter, the center of my universe. The reason I can't simply follow where this pull toward Rebecca might lead.

"Nothing's awkward," I assure her, though it's not entirely true. "Yesterday was—" I struggle to find the right words. "It was a moment. The storm, the power outage..."

"A moment," she repeats, nodding slightly. "That's a good way to put it."

But it wasn't just a moment. It was the opening of a door I've kept firmly closed for five years. A reminder that beneath the layers of father, firefighter, provider, there's still a man who notices the way light catches in a woman's eyes or how her voice softens when she talks about things she loves.

"Mia really likes you," I say, redirecting. "That blue star trick was impressive. Where'd you learn that?"

Rebecca accepts the change of subject with a small smile. "My mentor teacher in Chicago. She had a whole toolkit for helping anxious kids. The physical sensation gives them something to focus on besides their anxiety."

"Smart."

"She was. Is." Rebecca's expression turns wistful. "She retired last year. Forty-two years of teaching kindergarten. I can only hope to be half as good someday."

"You already are," I say, the words honest. "At least, from what I can see with Mia."

A soft blush colors her cheeks. "Thank you. That means a lot, especially from you."

"From me?"

"From a parent who clearly cares so much," she clarifies. "I can tell how much thought you put into Mia's well-being. Not all parents are so engaged."

I shift uncomfortably under her praise. "I'm just doing my job."

"No," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "You're doing far more than that. Anyone can see it."

Her words touch something vulnerable in me, something I usually keep carefully guarded. Before I can formulate a response, Judy appears with the check, setting it between us.

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