Page 21 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

Find out what's at the end of some country road.

Go see what's over the next hill, and the one after that …

~ Wally Byam

When I confided in him how badly I think Emberleigh needs to win this contest, Captain bent the rules to accommodate and gave me a week off.

We’re taking off this morning to drive the hour to the estate where the contest is being held. I hoist our luggage into the back of my truck and join Emberleigh in the cab.

“Coffee?” I offer her one of the two to-go cups I put in the center holder.

“You need to stop,” she says, taking the cup from me.

“Stop bringing you coffee?”

“Stop being so thoughtful.”

I chuckle. “So, be more thoughtless?”

“Ugh. No.” She pinches her lips and blows a puff of air out her nose. “You … Just never mind. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime, Muffins.”

“And stop calling me that.”

“And here I thought you were a morning person,” I tease.

“We really need a new nickname for me,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee and humming softly.

This I can get behind. A new nickname. Though, I love how fiery she gets when I say Muffins .

“Okay. What do you suggest?” I ask. “Croissant doesn’t have quite the same ring. Cupcake?”

“Absolutely not,” she pulls her head back.

“Okay. Cookies?”

“Let’s move away from the baked goods.”

“How about … Trouble?” I look over and wag my brows at her.

“Trouble? I think that’s your nickname, not mine.”

“Okay. I’m good with that.”

“Trouble? You want me to call you Trouble?”

“If that’s what fits me for you, sure. Unless you want to go with Stud.”

“Um, no.” She’s all serious, but then she bursts out laughing.

I lift a hand off the wheel and flex my bicep for her. Both directions. Hand back, hand forward, and repeat. “I think it fits.”

“You’re trouble, alright,” she smiles.

“Never claimed otherwise.” I wink.

I’m not really trouble. But I like that she chose a name for me that feels personal.

Emberleigh studies me quietly, sipping from her coffee occasionally.

“Okay, Trouble,” she finally says. “I dare you to come up with something better.”

“A dare, huh? I love a dare.”

“Because you’re trouble.” She smiles.

“I’m the best kind of trouble,” I tease her. “So … give me a minute. I need to dig deep. Pick a song while I deliberate. I don’t want to subject you to music you don’t like.”

“There you go being thoughtful again,” she says, turning on the radio, shuffling the stations and landing on a Motown one.

Even though I love country, I enjoy a variety of music.

I sing along with the song since I know it.

Emberleigh watches me from across the cab.

I don’t mind her eyes on me. After our conversation last night, I feel like I know her better.

The more I know, the deeper she seems to burrow herself into my thoughts.

I like her. A lot. Which is fine, except I’m starting to feel as though I’d ask her out for real if she’d let me. And she won’t. She’s made that perfectly clear.

We ride along down a two-lane paved road, curving gently through the grassy fields flanking both sides.

A wooden fence runs along the edge of the road where a sidewalk would be if we weren’t so far from civilization.

Mature trees dot the landscape, some more full, while others are budding with light green leaves.

A brick house with a red roof sits back from the road, partially hidden behind trees and nestled on the sprawling rural property.

A good distance down the road on the opposite side, a white farmhouse sits at the end of a private gravel driveway.

It’s the kind of setting where kids grow up knowing every neighbor, and where a slow drive feels like a breath of fresh air. Emberleigh has her feet on my dash. She asked before she propped them up there and I easily said yes. I’m pretty sure I’d do anything she asked me at this point.

“So … I’ve got a few top contenders,” I say into the comfortable silence that settled between us a little while ago. Silence filled with Motown.

“Contenders?”

“For your nickname,” I say.

“Okay. Lay them on me.”

“Chance.” I’ve got my reasons for that one.

“Chance?”

“Because you gave me a second chance after I hauled you out of your house fire.”

“Hmmm.”

“No?”

“Better than Muffins, by far.”

“Okay. What about Ember?” I ask.

“Short for Emberleigh?”

“Yeah. Has anyone ever called you Ember?”

“Syd calls me Em on a rare occasion. Not Ember. I don’t think anyone’s used that before.”

“So that’s one option.”

“Got anything else?” she asks. Her eyes drift out across the horizon.

“Last one. Goldie.”

“Goldie? You do know I have red hair, right?”

“Of course I know you have red hair.”

As if that hair doesn’t invade my thoughts when I’m sitting around the station, or when I’m pulling up to the bakery for our donut order, and more times than I’d like to admit when I’m alone in my basement apartment.

“So how do you see Goldie as a fit for me?” Emberleigh asks. “Didn’t you want to say Rusty, Copper, Red, Ginger … something more fitting to my hair color?”

“Those are so expected.”

“True.”

“Do you like any of them?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“That’s what I thought. So, Goldie is awesome because you are going home with the gold from this contest.”

She laughs lightly. “Winning isn't in the bag. The other contestants are fierce competitors and they’ll all be bringing their A-game.”

“You’ve got this,” I assure her. And then a nickname slips out seemingly from nowhere, “Blaze.”

“Blaze?”

“It fits. You’re a bit fiery at times.” I rush to add, “In a good way. You’ve got spunk, an indomitable spirit. And we met in a fire. It’s a nod to your beauty. It fits you. Fits us.”

“Us,” she echoes, barely glancing at me.

“We’re a couple … for now.”

“Yes. For now.”

“So, Blaze?”

“It’s better than Muffins.”

“Beg to differ.” I smile over at her.

“I don’t hate it.” She smiles back at me.

Honestly, her nickname should be Trouble because I’m in big trouble. I don’t know how she did it, but she’s got me hooked on those smiles of hers. I want to bring one hundred to her face every day. And I want them all to myself.

An hour after we left Waterford, we pull onto the long driveway of the estate that will be our home for a week.

At the far end, the colonial-style mansion rises behind a circular drive, surrounded by immaculate landscaping.

A stone fountain bubbles at the center of the driveway and a trio of valet attendants in black vests are greeting guests and taking their luggage.

Emberleigh drops her feet off the dash and sits upright. She visibly girds herself like a warrior preparing for battle. I search for words to assure her, but a valet is at her door before I have a chance to say anything.

“Welcome to The Briarwood Estate at Cumberland, ma’am.”

I hop out of my truck before the other valet has a chance to open my door.

“Welcome, sir,” he says to me.

I hoist our bags out of the back and the valets take over, loading them onto bellman carts and wheeling them up to the house where another man dressed in a red vest grabs them and takes them inside.

I hand the key to my truck to the valet and join Emberleigh.

Her eyes are wide, taking in the house, the property and the other contestants.

I loop my arm around her waist.

She flinches slightly, but then relaxes into me.

I lean my head down next to hers and whisper, “You can’t flinch every time I touch you.”

“I thought we said no unnecessary touching,” she whispers back.

“Right. But I can’t not touch you at all. I have to put my arm around you. You’re my girlfriend.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Maybe we should practice,” I suggest, still whispering into her ear.

“Practice?” Her head turns and our eyes lock.

“Practice me touching you so you aren’t so skittish.” I lean in closer.

She pulls her head back. “I’m not skittish.”

My voice is quiet and low, just for her. “What do you call it when someone jumps and stiffens at the slightest touch?”

She steps out of my embrace and crosses her arms. Then she hiss-whispers, “Unprepared. Or … surprised.”

I have to lean in so she’s the only one who will hear me. “Okay, well, let’s make you more prepared. Preparedness is everything.”

She pulls back again and sends me a challenging look. Her voice isn’t exactly quiet. “Says the fireman.”

“Hello!” a woman in a tailored T-shirt and slacks approaches us. “You must be Emberleigh and Dustin. I’m Cathy. I work for Plated Network.”

Emberleigh and I introduce ourselves. Cathy shows us around, introducing us to the other couples.

Emberleigh seems familiar with some of them.

She occasionally leans in to give me some behind-the-scenes intel about one of them.

I tuck all that away. I’m here to make sure she wins.

She might think I’m just arm candy, but I’m going to prove to her I can be so much more.