Page 4 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
Eventually, we get to work.
We make trip after trip from the car, the air thick and salty as we haul in the essentials: structured canvas totes, soft leather duffels with worn handles, and sleek packing cubes that slot into place like a puzzle. Everything’s clean, tidy, and labeled.
Parker insists on carrying the “important stuff” himself, his T. rex tucked under one arm, a cloth-bound stack of picture books clutched to his chest, and his favorite cereal tucked in a reusable bag that rustles with each bouncing step.
By the time I reach for the last bag, an oversized weekender made of navy waxed canvas with buttery leather straps, the sun’s high in the sky, and I’m drenched. .
Thank god I'm nearly done.
Before I think about getting settled I'm going to get myself a shower and fix us some lunch.
I sling the heavy bag over one shoulder, but the weight shifts awkwardly, tugging against me.
Chapter two
Noah
I’m back there again.
The acrid sting of smoke is in my nose, sharp and metallic. Sirens scream over the sound of shattering glass. I can still feel the heat rising in waves off twisted steel and burning pavement. Someone’s shouting my name, but I’m stuck. My boots won’t move. My hands are shaking.
She’s somewhere close. I can feel her.
And then I see the flash of her curls in the wreckage, wild and dark, tangled with blood and soot. Josie. Her name tries to claw its way out of my throat, but it won’t come. The sound dies before I can say it.
Everything goes black.
I shoot up in bed, chest heaving. The sheets are soaked, clinging to me like damp fog. My lungs burn like I’ve been choking on smoke. I swipe a hand over my face and try to catch my breath, but the silence makes it hard to breathe.
And worse than the dream?
The memory of her face is fading away.
I get flashes, those bright eyes always dancing with mischief, the way she never bothered with shoes even in winter, her voice too loud when she laughed. But it’s like someone smudged the edges of her in my memory. I used to see her so clearly, even after everything. Now… now she’s slipping. And I hate it.
I sit there for a while, elbows on my knees, waiting for the pounding in my head to settle. I drag myself out of bed, every joint stiff like I’ve aged a decade overnight. The floorboards groan beneath my weight.
I shuffle into the kitchen barefoot and hit the coffee maker like it owes me something. It gurgles, sputters, and then dies with a pathetic wheeze.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
I open the cabinet, no beans. Not even the emergency tin in the back behind the crackers I’ll never eat. My stomach growls like it’s offended by the lack of caffeine and food.
This whole day is already sideways, and the damn sun’s barely up.
Shoving on jeans and a T-shirt, I lace up my boots, not because I want to go anywhere but because sitting still makes everything louder. My yellow Labrador, Blaze, is already by the door, tail swishing like he’s been waiting for me to catch up.
The air is cool, damp with salt and early spring, thick enough to cling to my skin but not sharp enough to wake me up from the kind of exhaustion that lives in my bones.
The gravel underfoot crunches as Blaze trots ahead, nose twitching, ears perked. He doesn’t need a leash. Never did. He always circles back, checking on me like he knows I’m not okay.
It’s a short walk into town, fifteen minutes if I’m dragging my feet, ten if I pretend I’ve got somewhere to be. Today, it’s somewhere in the middle. The streets are quiet except for thesoft rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional gull calling out overhead.
Ava’s coffee shop comes into view, a warm little corner with fogged-up windows and potted plants that have no business surviving the sea air but somehow do. The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, Blaze slipping in behind me like a shadow.
The smell hits first, roasted beans, vanilla, and something sweet that makes my stomach twist. Not with hunger. With memory.
She sees me the second I walk in. Ava Murphy, hair up in a messy bun, apron tied over a soft pink tee, baby balanced on her hip like it’s second nature.
