Page 2 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter (Fox Ridge: Fire Station #1)

I hang my jacket on the hook that's been mine for eight years now, right next to the faded photo of last year's department barbecue—Mia on my shoulders, ice cream smeared across her grinning face.

"There he is." Jax's voice carries from the kitchen area. "Thought you might've gotten lost at school drop-off."

I follow the smell of coffee into the common area where Jax sits at the table, boots propped up on an empty chair, scrolling through his phone. His dark hair is still wet from a shower, tattoos running up both forearms where he's pushed his sleeves back.

"Mia had a rough morning," I say, heading straight for the coffee pot. "First day..."

"How'd that go?" Jax asks, not looking up from his phone. "She do okay?"

"Eventually." The coffee is strong enough to strip paint, exactly how the night shift always leaves it. I pour a mug and lean against the counter. "Her teacher helped."

Something in my voice must give me away because Jax's head snaps up, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Teacher, huh?"

I take a deliberate sip of coffee. "Ms. Brown. New kindergarten teacher."

"Ms. Brown," he echoes, drawing out the syllables. "And what's Ms. Brown like?"

"She's good with kids."

"I bet she is."

"Drop it, Jax."

His grin widens. "Not a chance in hell, Lewis."

Before he can dig deeper, Caleb emerges from the equipment room carrying a toolbox.

"Morning, Sam," he says, setting the toolbox on the counter. "Mia get settled okay?"

"She did. Eventually." I'm grateful for Caleb's straightforward question. "New teacher helped calm her down."

"The new one from Chicago?" Caleb asks, grabbing a clean mug. "Principal Jenkins mentioned her at the town meeting last month. Said she's got some innovative teaching methods."

"Innovative," Jax repeats, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

I shoot him a look that would wither most men. Jax just grins wider.

"She gave Mia some kind of stress ball," I say, ignoring Jax completely. "Star-shaped. Calmed her down in about two minutes."

Caleb nods thoughtfully. "Smart. Physical distraction to break the emotional cycle."

"Yeah, well, it worked." I drain half my coffee in one swallow, trying not to think about the way Rebecca—Ms. Brown—had knelt down to Mia's level, her voice soft but confident. The gentle curve of her smile when Mia finally stopped crying. The warmth of her hand when we shook goodbye.

"So what does she look like, this miracle worker?" Jax asks, his tone deliberately casual.

"Normal," I say flatly.

"Normal," Jax repeats, exchanging a glance with Caleb. "He says 'normal' but his ears are turning red."

I set my mug down with more force than necessary. "Don't you have something to maintain? Equipment to check? A cliff to jump off of?"

"After you tell me about Ms. Brown." Jax swings his boots off the chair. "Blonde? Brunette? Tall? Short? Glasses? Face tattoo?"

"Brown hair. Curly." The words come out despite my best efforts. "About this tall." I hold my hand at shoulder level. "No tattoos that I could see."

"Nice body?" Jax pushes.

"Jesus, Jax. She's Mia's teacher."

"That's not a no."

From the doorway, Dom's gravelly laugh interrupts us. "Let me guess. Lewis finally noticed a woman exists, and Walker's on him like a dog with a bone."

Dom limps into the kitchen, his left leg stiff from an injury two years back that nearly ended his career. He's older than the rest of us, pushing fifty now, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually unimpressed expression.

"Lewis met Mia's new teacher," Jax informs him. "And he won't admit she got under his skin."

"She didn't get under my skin," I say, but even I can hear the defensiveness in my voice. "She helped Mia. I'm grateful."

"Grateful," Dom repeats, exchanging a look with Jax. "Sure. That's why you're standing there strangling that coffee mug."

I realize I'm gripping my mug so hard my knuckles have gone white. I set it down and cross my arms.

"Let the man breathe," Caleb says mildly, though there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Not everyone lives for drama like you two."

"Not drama—entertainment," Jax corrects. "This place is dead on weekday mornings."

Chief Grey's voice cuts through the conversation as he emerges from his office. "If you're bored, Walker, I've got a stack of incident reports that need reviewing."

"Suddenly I'm very entertained by this coffee," Jax says, raising his mug in a mock toast.

Chief Grey—Mason to most of us, after hours—is in his early fifties with the kind of weathered face that's seen everything twice. He runs a tight ship but treats us like family, which means he knows exactly when to step in and when to let us sort ourselves out.

"Lewis," he nods at me. "Mia get off to school alright? First day can be tough."

"Yes, sir. Rough start but she settled in."

"Good, good." He refills his own mug. "Sarah's got pictures of Josh's first day if you need some consolation. Kid was so nervous he threw up on the principal's shoes."

I wince. "I'll take the tears over that."

"Don't we all," Chief says. "Anyway, light schedule today unless something comes up. Engine 3 needs maintenance, and those safety presentations for the elementary school need finalizing."

"I can handle the presentation prep," I offer, needing the distraction.

"Perfect." Chief heads back toward his office. "Oh, and Lewis? Ms. Jenkins mentioned the new kindergarten teacher's a keeper. Thought you'd want to know."

He disappears before I can respond, leaving me standing there while Jax practically vibrates with suppressed laughter.

"Not a word," I warn him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, the picture of innocence.

Wyatt chooses that moment to walk in from his workout, towel around his neck. At thirty-five, he's closest to my age, transferred here three years ago from Seattle. No-nonsense, practical, ex-military with the discipline to match.

"What'd I miss?" he asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Nothing," I say, just as Jax says, "Lewis has the hots for Mia's kindergarten teacher."

Lewis has the hots for Mia's kindergarten teacher," Jax announces.

Wyatt raises an eyebrow at me. "That right?"

"No." I aim a glare at Jax. "Mia was upset this morning. Her teacher helped. End of story."

"She single?" Wyatt asks, cutting right to the chase.

"I didn't ask for her relationship status," I snap. "It wasn't a date, it was a school drop-off."

Jax throws an arm around my shoulders, his voice dropping so only I can hear. "Look, man, I'm just giving you shit because that's what brothers do. But seriously—if you're interested, it's been five years. You're allowed to notice someone."

I shake my head, but there's something about Jax's casual support that cuts through my defenses.

Despite his constant teasing, he's been there through everything—the pregnancy, Lisa leaving, those first sleepless months with a newborn.

The day Mia got sick and I panicked, Jax was the one who drove us to the hospital, stayed all night in the waiting room.

"I'm not interested," I mutter, even as I recall the gentle way Rebecca had knelt beside Mia, the warmth in her eyes.

Jax just grins, seeing right through me like always. "Whatever you say."

"You're all twelve years old," I mutter, grabbing the coffee pot to refill my mug.

"Look," Caleb says in his reasonable voice, "there's nothing wrong with noticing someone, Sam. It's been what, six years?"

"Five," I correct automatically, then regret it when Jax smirks. "And it doesn't matter. She's Mia's teacher. There are boundaries."

"Boundaries," Dom snorts. "In a town this size? Everyone's connected somehow."

"That's different."

"How?" Wyatt asks.

"It just is," I insist, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

"Fine," Jax relents. "But only because your face is turning the color of our trucks."

I deliberately turn away, focusing on the schedule board on the wall. We've got a quiet day ahead—equipment checks, training drills, community outreach prep. Nothing that should get my heart rate up the way one simple conversation with Rebecca Brown had.

It's ridiculous. I've met hundreds of people through Mia and the job. Parents, babysitters, neighbors. None of them have stuck in my head like this. None of them made me notice the exact shade of their eyes or the way their voice softened when talking to Mia.

It's just because she helped with Mia, I tell myself. I'm grateful, that's all. Anyone would be.

I'm saved from further harassment by the sudden blare of the alarm. The automated voice comes over the speaker: "Engine 61, Truck 81, Squad 3. Vehicle accident with entrapment, Highway 23 mile marker 14."

The room transforms instantly. Coffee mugs abandoned, conversation forgotten. We move with practiced efficiency, all business now. This is the rhythm I understand—the clean, clear purpose of the job. No confusing feelings, no overthinking, just training and instinct.

I pull on my turnout gear, muscle memory taking over. Boots, pants, suspenders, coat. I catch a glimpse of Mia's photo as I pass my locker, her gap-toothed smile reminding me why I do this, why I come back every day despite the risks.

"Let's move!" Chief calls over the organized chaos.

As we load into the truck, Jax claps me on the shoulder. "We're not done with this conversation, Lewis."

"Yes, we are," I tell him, but I know it's a lie.

Because even as the sirens wail and we pull out of the station, lights flashing against the midday sun, I can't quite shake the image of warm eyes and gentle hands from my mind.

Not Rebecca Brown.

Ms. Brown, I correct myself firmly as the town blurs past our windows.

Mia's teacher. Nothing more.

The lie sits uncomfortably in my chest all the way to the scene.