Page 3 of The Grumpy Firefighter
Irritation shifts in my chest at her name. "Did she bring the safety helmet I suggested?"
Logan snorts. "No, but she's got coffee and what looks like a very professional binder of plans. I think you might have met your match in the preparation department."
Before I can respond, voices approach from the station side of the maze. I hear her first, that warm, animated tone that somehow fills more space than her physical presence should allow.
"—and we could hang these vintage books from the ceiling right about... oh!"
Natalie rounds the corner and stops short when she sees me. Today she's wearing a burnt orange sweater that matches the maple leaves, her hair pulled back in a messy knot that somehow looks intentional. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with enthusiasm.
Something about her makes me feel instantly older and more rigid than my forty-one years should warrant.
"Chief Hawkins," she says, recovering quickly with a smile. "Good morning. I brought coffee." She holds up a cardboard tray with four cups. "And very safe, non-hazardous plans for your review."
I accept the coffee she offers, noting the neat label: "Chief - Black."
"Thank you," I manage, taking a sip to avoid having to say more.
Nathan appears behind her with Bradley and Austin in tow. "We're setting up the final wall sections," Nathan explains. "Arthur's on shift with the engine today."
"I've been giving Natalie the tour," Austin adds with unnecessary enthusiasm. The kid practically radiates energy this morning, casting frequent glances at our visitor.
"I was just explaining to Austin how we could transform this corner into a haunted library section," Natalie says, gesturing with animated hands. "Minimal additional materials, maximum atmospheric effect."
"Show me these non-hazardous plans," I say, gesturing to a folding table we've set up as a work station.
She opens her binder with the careful precision of someone who genuinely respects organization, and despite myself, I appreciate that. The pages inside are meticulous, filled with detailed sketches, materials lists, and what appears to be a risk assessment for each element.
"I took your concerns seriously," she says, her voice softer now that we're standing closer. "Each effect is rated for safety, with alternatives if you think the original idea is too risky."
I scan the pages, looking for flaws and finding fewer than expected.
"The floating book effect," I say, tapping the page. "Explain how this works without creating trip hazards."
She leans in, her shoulder nearly touching mine as she points to her diagram. "Fishing line attached to ceiling rigging here and here, well above head height. Books are lightweight foam replicas, no risk of injury if something did fail. And see this notation? Glow tape on the floor marks a clear boundary so no one walks into the display area."
I clear my throat. "And the fog effect?"
"Low-lying only, contained within this area." She flips to another page, and I catch a whiff of her subtle floral scent. "The machine would be elevated and secured on this platform, with the distribution tube angled downward. All wiring in protective covers, nothing where it could get damp."
"These are... thorough," I admit, turning another page. "More than I expected."
She straightens, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I told you, Chief. Safety first, magic second, but we can have both."
"Hey, Chief!" Bradley calls from across the maze. "Can you check this wall section? Something's not lining up right."
The moment breaks. I step back, suddenly aware of how close we've been standing. "Excuse me," I say, more curtly than intended. "Keep reviewing the plans. I'll be back to discuss specifics."
As I walk away, I hear Austin immediately step in. "I can help you set up some of these effects, Natalie. I'm pretty handy with tools."
I grit my teeth and focus on the wall section Bradley's struggling with, refusing to acknowledge the irrational flare of annoyance at Austin's eagerness.
The next hour passes in practical work. I lose track of Natalie until I round a corner and find her on her knees, untangling a mess of extension cords with Logan.
"These were stored properly last year," I comment, frowning at the knot of orange cabling.
Logan grins up at me. "Blame the Explorer Scout troop that borrowed them for their campout. Returned everything looking like spaghetti."
"I'm pretty good at untangling things," Natalie says, her fingers working nimbly. "Yarn, Christmas lights, bureaucratic red tape..."
