Page 9 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

"It is," I agree. "Mom's been a lifesaver since... well, always, but especially since Mia."

Rebecca nods, understanding in her eyes. "And how about you? Recovered from first-day dad nerves?"

"Getting there." I offer a small smile. "Though apparently I didn't pack the right kind of juice box. Major kindergarten faux pas."

She laughs, the sound warming something cold inside me. "The apple versus grape debate is serious business in room twelve."

I find myself wanting to tell her more, to share something I rarely speak about. "You know, I had no idea what I was doing when Mia was born. First night home from the hospital, she wouldn't stop crying. Nothing worked—not feeding, changing, rocking. I was convinced I'd somehow already failed her."

Rebecca's expression softens, her attention completely focused on me.

"I called my mom at three in the morning, probably sounding half-crazy. She came over in her pajamas, took one look at Mia, and swaddled her in this specific way I couldn't figure out. Mia was asleep in minutes." I shake my head at the memory. "I sat on the kitchen floor and cried from exhaustion and relief. Mom just sat next to me and said, 'Welcome to parenthood, sweetheart. You're doing just fine.'"

"She sounds wonderful," Rebecca says softly.

"She is." I meet Rebecca's eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how different things would have been if Mia had had a mother who stayed. If she's missing something I can't give her, no matter how hard I try."

Rebecca reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine in a touch that feels bold in this public place. "From what I'veseen, that little girl isn't missing anything. She's loved, secure, confident. That's what matters."

Her words unlock something tight in my chest, a validation I didn't know I needed until this moment.

Judy appears at our table, sliding a mug in front of me and filling it with coffee dark enough to stand a spoon in.

"You eating, Sam?" she asks, eyeing Rebecca with poorly disguised curiosity.

"Whatever's the special," I tell her.

"Meatloaf," Judy replies. "Mashed potatoes, green beans."

"Sounds perfect."

As Judy walks away, Rebecca leans forward slightly. "I think we just became the talk of tomorrow's coffee klatch," she says in a mock whisper.

"Probably already texting my mother," I admit, and we both laugh.

It strikes me how easy this is—sitting here with her, the awkwardness of yesterday's moment in the classroom somehow dissolved in the warm light of the diner. Here, we're just two people sharing a meal, not navigating the careful boundaries of teacher and parent.

"So," I ask, taking a sip of scalding coffee, "how was day two with the troops?"

"Slightly less chaotic than day one," she says, her expression brightening. "Though we had a minor crisis when Tyler convinced half the class that the class hamster could talk."

"And can it?"

"Sadly, no. Mr. Whiskers maintains a dignified silence at all times." Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. "But Tyler has quite the imagination. He'd get along well with some of my guys at the station."

"Especially Jax," I find myself saying. "He once convinced a rookie that we had a firehouse ghost that stole left boots."

Rebecca laughs again, and I realize how much I like the sound—warm and genuine, without pretense.

"How long have you been a firefighter?" she asks, taking a sip of her water.

"Twelve years now," I answer. "Started when I was twenty-four, right after college."

"Did you always want to be a firefighter?"

I consider this, stirring my coffee. "Not always. I thought I wanted to be an architect, actually. Studied it for two years before I realized I was more interested in saving buildings than designing them."

She tilts her head, studying me with genuine interest. "That's quite a shift."

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