Page 1 of The Grumpy Firefighter
Chapter 1 – Natalie
Autumn has a way of making even the ordinary feel like magic, and right now, walking toward the red-brick fire station with a basket of fresh-baked ginger cookies and a thermos of spiced cider, I'm swimming in that magic.
The nervousness fluttering in my stomach seems silly.
I march up the concrete steps and push open the heavy door with my shoulder, careful not to spill anything. A wall of warmth envelops me immediately, along with the scent of coffee and oil.
"Hello?" I call out, my voice echoing slightly in the entryway. "Anyone home?"
"In the kitchen!" a deep voice responds. "Follow the hallway!"
I navigate past a bulletin board plastered with safety notices and community flyers, my low boots clicking against the polished floor. The hallway opens into a spacious kitchen dominated by a long wooden table. Five men in t-shirts with the Whitetail Falls Fire Department logo look up simultaneously as I enter.
"You must be Natalie," says the closest one, rising with a warm smile that immediately puts me at ease. He's in his early forties, I'd guess, with kind eyes and the steady presence of someone you'd want beside you in a crisis. "I'm Nathan Cross. We spoke on the phone about the haunted house fundraiser."
"That's me!" I confirm, hefting my offerings. "I come bearing gifts! Fresh ginger cookies and hot cider. Perfect for an autumn planning session, right?"
"A woman after my own heart," says another, younger guy with an easy grin, springing up to help with my basket. His eyescrinkle at the corners. "I'm Logan, lieutenant and resident snack enthusiast. These smell amazing."
"Family recipe," I explain, feeling myself relax a fraction. "The secret ingredient is crystallized ginger. Gives them a little kick."
"Speaking of kicks," Logan says, gesturing toward the others, "let me introduce the crew. The quiet one pretending to fix that flashlight instead of being sociable is Bradley Wood."
Bradley, who seems to be in his late thirties with focused eyes and methodical hands, glances up just long enough to offer a nod and a half-smile. "The flashlight actually is broken," he points out, but his expression suggests he's not actually annoyed.
"The one watching us like we're an experiment is Arthur Gray," Logan continues. Arthur, lean and observant, with dark hair and intelligent eyes, gives a small wave without changing his expression.
"And our baby Austin Rivers," Logan finishes with a smirk.
Austin, who can't be much older than twenty-eight, with boyish good looks and an eager energy, actually blushes. "Ignore him," he says, extending his hand. "Logan thinks he's hilarious."
"I am hilarious," Logan counters, already opening the container of cookies. "And correct."
"It's wonderful to meet you all. I'm so excited about helping with the haunted house. The store is doing a whole autumn reading program, and when I heard about your fundraiser, it seemed like the perfect collaboration."
"What exactly did you have in mind?" Nathan asks, pulling out a chair for me. "We typically do something simple, a maze through the bays with some spooky effects, nothing too elaborate."
I sit, pulling out my sketchbook. "I was thinking we could add a literary twist this year. A haunted library corner with floating books, eerie stories playing on hidden speakers, maybe some special effects with old manuscripts and ghostly librarians. I've got connections with the theater department at the Community College, they could loan us some amazing props."
My fingers trail over the sketches I've made. I've spent weeks on these ideas, imagining how magical it could be.
"That sounds..." Austin begins enthusiastically.
"Complicated," a new voice interrupts, deep and firm.
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as I look up to meet steel-gray eyes.
He stands in the doorway, arms crossed over a broad chest, his presence immediately commanding the space. Taller than the others, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short and the kind of face that seems carved from years of making difficult decisions.
"Chief Paul Hawkins," he introduces himself without moving closer, without softening his stance. "And while I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. Wells, we need to focus on safety and practicality, not... floating books."
I straighten my spine, smile fixed in place even as I feel a flush creeping up my neck. "The floating is an illusion, Chief Hawkins. Fishing line and clever lighting. Perfectly safe."
"Fishing line is a tripping hazard. Fog machines reduce visibility. Extra wiring means increased fire risk." He ticks off each point like he's reading from a safety manual. "Our fundraiser needs to be accessible and secure, not a hazard zone of theatrical effects."
The room has gone quiet, and I'm suddenly aware of five pairs of eyes bouncing between us like spectators at a tennis match.
"With respect," I say, keeping my voice even, "I've run similar setups for the bookstore's events. Everything is secured properly, marked with glow tape, and monitored constantly. People come to a haunted house for atmosphere and creativity, not just to walk through an empty fire station with a couple of plastic skeletons."
