Page 10 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Residents and nurses file back in slowly while Patrick and I stand to the side responding to their comments, many of them noting that I should have come by to introduce myself and this wouldn’t have had to happen.

One of the last women up the steps introduces herself as Mrs. Wilma.

She looks straight at Patrick and says, “I had a hankerin’ for s’mores.

So I thought I’d roast one on the stove.

You know how it goes with those marshmallows.

One minute they’re brown and golden, the next, they’re up in flames.

I sure didn’t mean to drag you boys out here in a fuss.

” She turns toward me. “Though, I’m glad to finally meet you, Dustin. ”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say.

“S’mores on the stove isn’t advisable, Mrs. Wilma,” Patrick says in a serious, but respectful, tone.

“I know it. I wasn’t born yesterday, as you can see.”

“So, we won’t have to worry about any more indoor campfire situations?” He smiles at her.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Patrick, I’ve known you since you were in diapers.”

If he didn’t still have his SCBA mask on, I’d be able to tell for sure, but even through the gear, I’m pretty sure Patrick is blushing.

“Yes, ma’am. You have.” He doesn’t give her any more pointers.

“I was just about to win at BINGO too,” another woman says from inside the foyer.

“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Wilma shouts in to her. “You wanted to see him in person as much as the next person.”

She points at my helmet and mask. “Take off that hood so we can take a proper look at you now.”

I look at Patrick. He nods. We’ve got the all clear. There’s no fire here.

I remove my SCBA and helmet and smile at Mrs. Wilma.

“Yes sir, just as she said.”

“Who said?” I ask.

“Betty Faye. She said you were built like a house and cute as a button.”

“Betty Faye?”

“You’d know her as Mrs. Holt. Your landlady. She plays cribbage with a few of us twice a week. Sometimes we switch it up for Canasta. Anyhoo, she said you were a looker.”

Someone from inside shouts out, “And he hauled Emberleigh out of her house during her kitchen fire. Isn’t that right? Saved her life from what I heard.”

“Did you now?” Mrs. Wilma asks me.

“I did carry her out of the fire, yes.”

Patrick snickers and the sound comes through the voice amplifier on his mask.

“We’d better be heading back to the station—in the event of a real fire.” Patrick tips his head in the direction of the engine where the rest of the crew are leaning back against it, waiting for us to finish visiting.

“Oh, of course you do,” Mrs. Wilma says. “Dustin, don’t you be a stranger. Come around anytime.”

I thank Mrs. Wilma and follow Patrick back to the engine.

Once we’re on the road, I ask, “How often do we get called out here?”

Cody deadpans, “Twice a month. Minimum.”

Patrick sighs. “Last time, it was because Mrs. Patterson burned popcorn. Set off the smoke detectors for the whole second floor.”

Greyson adds, “The time before that? Old man Henderson tried to microwave his dentures.”

Cody laughs. “And this time, someone set a marshmallow on fire just so she could check out the rookie.”

Patrick chuckles and looks over at me. “New rule: Rookie has to handle all future Mrs. Wilma calls.”

“You can’t be serious. I’ve already got Vanessa duty and my every-other-day apology to the local baker.”

Patrick says, “Oh, we’re serious.”

Two days later, I’m making the donut run at Baker From Another Mother. Emberleigh’s busy with some customers. As soon as they step away from the counter, our eyes meet.

“Good morning,” I say with a smile that I hope puts her at ease.

“So, you’re Wilma’s new favorite?” Emberleigh smirks.

“Let me guess. A senior at the assisted living center called your grandma, who called you.”

“Actually, Wilma came into the bakery and told me herself.”

“Well, in that case, yes. I’m her new favorite. I don’t really know why, though. She barely met me.”

“I guess you make quite the first impression.”

She tilts her head and her eyes go wide.

“About that,” I say. “I truly am sorry.”

“Could you just not?”

“I would stop if I could. Here’s the thing. We both know I have to say that line. But only one of us knows how deeply I mean it. So, I’ll make you a deal.”

She crosses her arms across her chest. But she’s not scowling.

Emboldened by Emberleigh’s surprising approachability, I press on. “If you let me say that line, I’ll be completely quiet while you tell me what it will take to convince you I truly am sorry.”

“That you were an oaf?”

“A manhandling oaf,” I add with a wink.

“Do people ever say no to you?”

“Every other day. I’m the rookie. Did you forget that minor detail?”

“Apart from your childish initiation into the fire station? Do people turn you down?”

“People say no to me. You should meet my sister. She’s made a lifetime hobby of saying no to me.”

“I think I’d like her.”

“You’d love her. She has her own taco shop on the island where we grew up. She’s a bit fiery too.”

Emberleigh’s eyes narrow.

“And I mean fiery as a deep compliment.” I rush to correct my assessment of her.

Emberleigh makes me weirdly comfortable while also making me more uncomfortable than I ever remember feeling—and my ease with her doesn’t seem to be going in my favor.

“Of course you do. You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”

“Do you mean charmer as a compliment?”

“Not really.” Her eyes twinkle with amusement.

“How about we leave the jury out on whether I’m a charmer.”

Her eyes narrow the slightest. “Do you think you were wrong to hoist me over your shoulder and haul me out of a minor kitchen fire?”

“Fire is unpredictable. Were you in imminent danger? Probably not. Were you barefoot and in shock? Probably. I did what I thought was best to assure your greatest chance of survival and safety.”

“So you’re not sorry.”

“I’m sorry that I upset you. And maybe I could have given you a little more warning. Am I sorry I carried you out? Not one hundred percent.”

Emberleigh is quiet.

Sydney pops through from the back. “Oh! Hey, Dustin. Here for the donuts?”

“I am.”

She looks at Emberleigh. “Is he allowed to get donuts?”

“Of course.” She looks at me and then at Sydney. “I was about to get them for him.”

“Okay,” Sydney says. Her amusement is evident.

Emberleigh takes my order, throwing in an extra blueberry-lemon, looking up and nearly whispering, “Okay, Rookie. I forgive you.”

My eyes go wide for a moment and then I lower my voice and say, “Thank you.” Then, because I’m me and I can’t seem to help myself around her, I say, “Next time I haul you over my shoulder like an oaf, I’ll be sure to obtain your consent.”

“Which will be the tenth of never,” she says.

Then she stares at me with her brows raised and her lips pursed. There’s that same twinkle of bemusement in her eyes.

“Never say never, Sunshine.” I tease.

Emberleigh’s mouth pops open. “Where did you hear that nickname?”

“Um … nickname? Is that your nickname?”

“No. Not mine. Nope.” She glances around.

Leave it to me to cross a line and use the nickname Emberleigh’s grandma used when bragging over her childhood photos.

“Can you bake?” Sydney asks, stepping up next to Emberleigh.

She catches me off guard, but I’m grateful for the change of subject.

“Not even a little. Why?”

“What about the other guys at the station?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe some of them. I could ask.”

Emberleigh shoots Sydney a questioning look.

Sydney lowers her voice and looks at Emberleigh. “The ontest-kay.”

“Pig latin? Seriously, Syd?” Emberleigh rolls her eyes in my direction.

“Not everyone speaks it,” she defends.

“I eak-spay ig-pay atin-Lay,” I say with an amused grin. “What contest?”

“Excuse me,” Emberleigh says.

She moves further down behind the display case to ask a customer if she can help her.

Sydney launches into an explanation about a contest that Emberleigh could enter if only she had a significant other who couldn’t bake.

Sydney’s entire body and face are animated while she lays out the details of this contest, the prize money which she says they could really use, and how Emberleigh would obviously win, but she can’t even enter because of what Sydney calls “some silly rule.”

“Of course none of you would have to marry her.”

“Of course,” I agree with a chuckle. “Wait. What?”

“To be in the contest. Only people here in town know if you’re actually her partner. And it would be perfect. You’d be a fan favorite right away. The baker and her fireman? Come on.”

Emberleigh rings up her customer and rejoins us.

“No, Syd. Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s a silly rule. Un-American. Discriminatory. I bet you could get a lawyer and fight it.”

“I am not getting a lawyer.” Emberleigh looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. Excuse her. She gets a little … much … when she’s championing my cause.”

“What about Patrick? He’s single.” Sydney persists. “I think we need to find out if that man can bake.”

“I can find that out today,” I volunteer.

“No need,” Emberleigh says. “I’m good. I have already given up the idea of entering the contest. There are plenty of ways to raise money. I don’t need to enter that specific contest. Besides, there’s no telling who would win.”

“You could use the money, though?” I ask her.

It’s a personal question, but given the way Sydney just laid everything out, I feel like I have an opening to ask.

“She needs the money,” Sydney says before Emberleigh can answer.

“Don’t you have some dough to knead?” Emberleigh asks Sydney. “Or cookie batter to mix?”

“I’m good.” Sydney smiles a smile that reminds me of the one I give my brother when I’m messing with him.

“What if I were your partner?” I volunteer, not even knowing what in the world I’m committing to.

This whole morning has been unexpected. I figured I’d come in, say the line the guys are making me say, get shot down one more time, try to convince Emberleigh to give me the donuts anyway, and return to the station with my tail between my legs.

Instead, I seem to have caught Emberleigh on a morning when she’s a little more open.

I’m known for pressing my luck. I can’t really help myself.

My mom says it’s one of my most endearing qualities.

My brother and sister would beg to differ.

Whether it’s an asset or a curse, it’s just who I am.

“Come on, I’m charming. And I definitely can’t bake. I could pretend to be your significant other and you could enter the contest."

Emberleigh eyes me skeptically, "You? My partner?”

I grin, "I can follow instructions. Plus, think of the publicity. And the prize money. It’s worth a shot, right?"

“Yes!” Sydney nearly shouts.

“I don’t know,” Emberleigh says.

The bell over the door tinkles and a couple of women enter.

“I’ve got it,” Sydney says.

We’re alone, Emberleigh and I, separated by the glass display case. She’s eyeing me as if she can see through to my soul. I stand stock still, giving her time to consider her options.

"This would be strictly professional,” she finally says. “No funny business."

I raise my hands in mock surrender, "Scout's honor."

“Were you even a scout?”

“Nah. But you have my word. Think of this as my penance for hauling you out of your home.”

“Like an oaf,” she says with a smile.

“Like an oaf,” I agree.