Page 17 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive.

~ Thomas Chandler Haliburton

I roll over and stretch my arms. Bringing Liam in to fix Emberleigh’s oven was a good call.

She carries so much, running her own business. I hate to see her stressed.

A vision of her behind the bakery counter serving customers fills my mind like a movie clip.

Her red hair, green eyes, the way she crosses her arms over her chest when she’s getting serious, she’s definitely a woman who’s hard to forget.

And she’s so much more. Bright, funny, a good friend. I like her.

Fake boyfriend.

Mom would not be pleased if she knew I was pulling off a charade with a woman instead of seriously pursuing a relationship. Well, what Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

I pivot and grab my sweats from the back of the desk chair, pull them on and walk upstairs to get a cup of coffee. I’ve got a little while before my shift starts.

I pop the door open and a woman screams. And screams.

It takes a minute for my brain to register anything but the piercing pitch of her shrieking.

“Emberleigh?”

She pauses, hand on her heart, her eyes squinted. “Dustin? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

It is her grandmother’s home, but she’s in pajamas. Cute ones. Pink with little berries all over them. Her hair’s rumpled as if she just woke up …

Wait a minute …

A girl who Mrs. Holt has known for years.

Fell on hard times.

Emberleigh is my housemate?

"You live here?" we exclaim in unison.

“Oh my gosh!” Emberleigh exclaims through a peal of laughter. “Gran! I’m going to kill you!”

“No need for anything drastic,” I say, holding my hands up in a show of innocence. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She told you?” There go the arms, folding across the chest.

“She didn’t say who you were, but she told me we have a housemate. A woman who fell on hard times.”

“Hard times.” She shakes her head. “A minor kitchen fire is not exactly hard times.”

I walk the rest of the way into the kitchen. I’m on a schedule. I have to keep my morning moving.

Emberleigh lifts her cup of coffee off the counter and steps out of the way.

I feel her eyes on my back as I fill the pot with water and pour it into the tank on the coffee maker.

I grab a mug down. She watches me.

I pad over to the fridge to get some milk. She tracks my movement.

The soft sounds of her sipping her coffee fill the room.

Being so close together at such a normally private part of the day should be awkward—maybe it is, but only a little.

There’s this comfort growing between us and a tug I can’t quite explain.

I’m glad she’s here. What does that mean?

It’s nothing I’m going to try to decipher before my first cup of coffee.

The stairs that lead to the second story creak. A moment later, Mrs. Holt is in the kitchen in her pajamas, slippers and a quilted robe.

She glances between the two of us. Before either of us can say anything, Mrs. Holt says, “I told each of you I had another tenant in the house, did I not?”

“You did,” I say.

“Not exactly,” Emberleigh says, giving her grandmother a serious side-eye.

“I told you the basement had been put up for rent,” Mrs. Holt defends.

“That’s not the same as telling me the rookie moved in!” Emberleigh’s faint smile betrays her tone of annoyance.

“Well then, I don’t seem to have been out of line whatsoever. You don’t mind that it’s Dustin, do you, Emberleigh?”

“Gran …”

“Do you?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“And, Dustin, you don’t mind if I give my granddaughter a place to stay while her home is under repairs from the kitchen fire, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“See, there’s not a problem here at all.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my coffee onto the porch and leave you two to cook breakfast together.

” She walks away, muttering under her breath, “It’s so nice to have someone to share a kitchen with.

Infinitely better than being single as an adult, I’d say. ”

Emberleigh’s eyes meet mine and we both break into laughter.

“She’s too much,” Emberleigh says.

“I think she’s amazing.”

Emberleigh grabs a box of cereal from the pantry. She crosses my path to grab a bowl from another cabinet. I watch her the same way she was tracking me. I can’t help it. This version of her is something I haven’t seen before—early morning, slightly disheveled, a little off-kilter.

Voices carry in from the porch. Mrs. Holt is talking to someone.

The front door opens.

Mrs. Holt is saying, “They’re right in here.”

Emberleigh whispers, “What on earth?”

I shrug. My coffee’s done, so I pour it over the milk in my mug. Emberleigh watches me. I don’t hate the thought of her eyes on me. My fake girlfriend. We aren’t dating. And we won’t ever . That’s what she said.

An elderly woman who looks to be around the same age as Mrs. Holt follows her into the kitchen.

“You know my granddaughter, Emberleigh,” Mrs. Holt says.

“She’s staying here while they fix her place from that kitchen fire—the one Dustin saved her from.

And, speaking of Dustin, he’s renting from me.

Living downstairs. Dustin, this is my next-door neighbor, June.

June, this is Emberleigh’s boyfriend, Dustin! ”

How does she know we’re dating?

Small town. Emberleigh was right. News travels. It’s not that different where I’m from. We’re an island of just over three thousand. People talk.

“Her boyfriend? Well. My my. Okay then,” June says. “I didn’t realize the two of you were dating. Where have I even been hiding? Land sakes. And aren’t you just the cutest little couple ever.”

“Little? June, do you need your glasses checked? Nothing about this young man is little.”

They laugh and I slip my arm around Emberleigh, only because she looks like she’s either about to pass out or throw up. I gently rub my hand up and down her shoulder.

Emberleigh looks up at me and shakes her head, but then both June and Mrs. Holt turn their heads toward us, and Emberleigh snaps her head toward them mid-shake. She leans on me as if she were my real girlfriend.

She feels good tucked in next to me.

“Awww,” June coos. “I just love watching young people fall in love.”

Emberleigh steps away from me without even a glance backward. “What kind of muffins do you have there, June?”

“Well, they aren’t going to beat yours, Emberleigh, but they’re my blueberry cream cheese muffins.”

“Sounds delicious,” Emberleigh says.

“I love muffins,” I say. “That’s actually my nickname for Emberleigh. Muffins.”

Whaaattt?

Emberleigh’s head snaps in my direction. The forced smile on her face makes her look as if she downed an entire jar of Metamucil and it just hit home.

“Muffins?” Emberleigh asks. Then she looks at her gran and the neighbor. “I mean. I didn’t want him to tell anyone. Yep. Muffins. He loves my muffins … The ones I bake. At the bakery. He’s a fan. So … that’s how it started.”

“Isn’t that the sweetest?” June says to Mrs. Holt. “My Johnny just called me by my God-given name. Nothin’ fancy like a nickname. Not unless you count the times he said, Hey, in front of my name. Hey, June , he’d say. Hey, June, could ya grab the remote? Or Hey, June, what’s for dinner? ”

“Well, we were more practical in our day,” Mrs. Holt says.

“True. True.” June sets the plate of muffins on the counter. “Help yourself, Dustin … and you help yourself too, Muffins.”

June smiles.

I chuckle lightly.

Emberleigh stands in front of me as if she’s going to lean back on me, but she subtly jabs my gut with her elbow instead. I laugh a little harder. She has no idea how much I like her feisty side.

I grab a muffin for Emberleigh and hand it to her. “Want a muffin … Muffins?”

She doesn’t take it from me.

Mrs. Holt and June are chatting and perusing the plate of muffins, trying to decide which to take. While they’re preoccupied, Emberleigh shoots me a look that’s laced with fire. Her eyes spark, the corner of her mouth twitching—half dare, half don’t test me.

I hand the muffin over to her a second time, silently.

She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.

Her eyes flash, all fire and challenge, but there’s a sliver of vulnerability there.

And maybe something else. Like she’s not sure whether I’m laughing with her or at her.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into it.

I hope my smile settles any doubts she has.

“Here, Dustin,” June turns from the counter, extending the plate toward me.

I pick a muffin and take a bite. They’re still warm.

“Mmmm. Good.”

June beams.

“Let’s take our muffins out on the porch,” Mrs. Holt suggests to June. “We’ll leave these two alone for a bit. They don’t need two busybodies like us hanging around.”

“Oh, yes. You’re right, of course,” June agrees. “Nice to meet you, Dustin. Nice to see you again, Emberleigh.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say.

Emberleigh thanks June for the muffins.

As soon as the front door shuts, Emberleigh turns to me. “That’s my nickname?”

“It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s horrible.”

“I think it could grow on you over time. You are a baker, after all.”

“Muffins,” she muses, taking another sip of her coffee. Then she glances up at me. “New rule. You don’t speak to anyone when we’re together.”

“Really?”

“No, but … maybe.” She laughs lightly. “Muffins? Really Dustin?”

“You can give me a horrible nickname if it will make you feel better.”

“I think it will. Give me time. I’ll pick one.”

“I can’t wait.” I smile at her.

“It must be nice to be so unflappable.”

I take another bite of my muffin. “It’s who I am. I can’t say whether it’s nice or not.”

“It’s nice,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

I can feel my smile widen. “Well, I’d better get ready. I’m on shift in a few hours, but I’m meeting the crew for an early run—twelve miles.”

“Me too,” she says, and then her eyes go wide. “Not the twelve miles. Just work. If you ever see me running twelve miles, call the sheriff.”

I laugh.