Page 13 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

Samuel returns with two glasses of red wine, handing one to me before sitting beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us. He's removed his jacket, and the soft gray t-shirt he wears reveals the defined muscles of his arms. I take a sip of wine, grateful for something to do with my hands.

"So," he says, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

"So," I echo, smiling over the rim of my glass.

"I'm not great at this," he admits, gesturing vaguely between us. "The dating thing. Or whatever this is."

"I'm not sure what this is either," I confess. "But I like it."

His eyes meet mine, dark and intent. "I like it too."

We sip our wine in companionable silence for a moment. Through the window, I can see stars scattered across the clear night sky. The distant sound of a train whistle drifts through the quiet town.

"Tell me something about you," Samuel says suddenly. "Something not related to teaching or kindergarten."

I consider the question, tilting my head. "I collect old typewriters. I have three so far—a 1940s Remington, a Smith-Corona from the sixties, and a really beaten-up Underwood I found at a garage sale."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. "Do you use them?"

"The Remington, sometimes. There's something satisfying about the keys—the physical connection between thought and word." I take another sip of wine, feeling myself relax. "Your turn. Something not related to firefighting or being a dad."

"I build things," he says. "Furniture mostly. That bookshelf—" he points to a sturdy oak piece against the wall, "—and the coffee table. It helps me think, working with my hands."

"They're beautiful," I say, genuinely impressed. "You're talented."

He shrugs, but I can see he's pleased by the compliment. "Just a hobby."

"A good one." I set my wine glass on a coaster, turning more fully toward him. "Samuel, can I ask you something personal?"

He nods, though I see a slight wariness enter his expression.

"You don't have to answer," I clarify. "But I've been wondering about Mia's mother. You mentioned she wasn't in the picture from the start?"

Samuel is quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. When he speaks, his voice is measured, careful. "Lisa and I dated for about a year. When she found out she was pregnant, she was clear that she didn't want to be a mother. We tried to make it work for a few months, but..." He shrugs, a gesture that doesn't quite hide the old pain. "She left during the seventh month. Signed over all parental rights after Mia was born."

"Do you ever hear from her? Does Mia?"

He's quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "No. She made it clear she wanted a clean break. She moved to California right after Mia was born. Last I heard, she was working for a tech company, married to someone else."

"Does Mia ask about her?"

"Sometimes." His voice softens. "She went through a phase around three where she asked almost every day. Now it's more occasional—usually after mother-focused events at school or when she sees her friends with their moms."

"That must be hard for both of you."

Samuel turns to face me. "The hardest part is not knowing what to tell her. How do you explain to a child that someone chose not to be her mother? That it wasn't anything she did wrong?"

I place my palm against his cheek. "You tell her she's loved. That families come in all different shapes. That sometimes people aren't ready to be parents, but that doesn't mean she isn't perfect exactly as she is."

"You sound like you've done this before," he says with a sad smile.

"I've had a lot of students with complicated family situations." I hesitate before asking, "Are you worried? About me coming into Mia's life and then..."

"Leaving?" He finishes my thought. "The thought has crossed my mind. Not because I don't trust you, but because Mia's already experienced one woman walking away. I don't think she'd understand if it happened again."

"I wouldn't do that to her," I whisper, the promise feeling sacred in the quiet between us. "Or to you."

His arms tighten around me. "I believe you. That's what scares me most."

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