We approach from the upwind side, steering clear of smoke and flame.
Captain’s on the radio from the grass rig. “We’re on our way,” he says in a voice that’s calm and confident.
Fires like this one are routine—just another day in the office. With fire, anything can happen, but we all know what we’re doing, and this one’s burning low on a dormant winter landscape.
My boots hit the dirt and Patrick unfurls the hose from the engine into my waiting hands. I advance to the fire’s edge with Dustin flanking me. Water whooshes through the hose, the line bulking and gaining weight in my grip. Dry grass crackles as our spray meets the flames. The smell of smoke and burning brush fills the air.
Dustin and I sweep the base of the flames, working around the perimeter. Captain and Greyson attack from the other side, water fanning out from the bumper nozzle on the grass rig. In less than twenty minutes, we’ve pinched the fire and effectively extinguished it.
I radio dispatch. “Engine one and brush truck. Grass fire contained. We’ll be in mop-up for a few minutes and then we’re heading back to the station.”
Gina at dispatch answers, “Engine One, dispatch copies. Let us know when you’re clear.” Then she adds, “Y’all be safe. I know Emberleigh and Daisy want their men in one piece for Valentine’s.”
I chuckle. She almost kept it professional.
“Copy,” I say to Gina. “We’ll get them back in one piece.”
Ash drifts skyward. We check for hot spots, breaking up residual embers with hoes and hand tools until the threat of a rekindle is gone. Thin grey plumes swirl toward the Buckners’ farm.
Heat still clings to my gear, but Carli slips in anyway—like smoke through a crack. A private smile pulls at my mouth.Our morning at the bakery hits me again—icing spraying everywhere, the look she gave me when I offered to help. I swallow the tightness in my throat. Thinking about her always feels like walking along the top of a fence—unsteady footing and no easy way to settle on one side or the other.
The crew loosens up on the ride back to the station. With the fire contained, our usual banter picks up.
“Valentine’s Day,” Dustin says, as if that’s a whole sentence.
“What are you doing?” Patrick asks.
“Dinner. I’m cooking for Emberleigh tomorrow night. And I got her a few things. We’re celebrating a day late since I’m on shift.” He pauses and smiles. “I’m definitely not baking.”
“That’s a gift,” Grey says under his breath.
“Grey?” Dustin says.
“Yeah,” Greyson answers.
“You got plans?”
“If I did, you’d be the last to know.”
Greyson’s not mean. He’s just private. And gruff when poked. But under all that stoicism is a quiet steadiness we all unknowingly rely on.
“Awww, Grey,” Dustin faux pouts. “You wound me.”
Greyson chuffs out a laugh. “You’ll live.”
“Grey’s love language is silence,” Dustin announces to all of us.
“From you, yes,” Greyson deadpans. The side of his mouth ticks up.
“Awwww.” Dustin blows an exaggerated kiss in Greyson’s direction. “You love me.”
“What’s for lunch?” I ask, shifting the subject before the guys turn their holiday interrogation in my direction.
Single people should be gifted overnight stays in bomb shelters on Valentine’s Day.
“How ’bout you, Cody?” Dustin says instead of answering my question.
“How about what I want for lunch?” I deflect.
