“That too. But I’m talking about Valentine's Day. Any plans?”
“Nope.” I turn toward the window, hoping my one-word answer kills the subject.
Someday I’ll have to figure out how to shut down my inconvenient feelings for my sister’s best friend—who also happens to be my best friend’s sister. Talk about a complication. I know I’m not getting any younger. I should ask someone on a date. But the idea of approaching any other woman sounds about as fun as getting my wisdom teeth pulled without novocaine.
Dustin lets out a little huff, eyeing me with something just shy of pity—a goofy love-drunk smile plastered on his face. I’m about thirty seconds away from spouting off a diatribe about the commercialism of a holiday devoted to romance—none of which I really believe—when we pull into the station. My need to defend my singleness is thankfully replaced by our post-fire routines.
I lose myself in food prep once the engine is secured and the equipment is stowed. It’s late for lunch and the donuts we had at the bakery were no real breakfast—not for men who eat at least thirty-five hundred calories a day. I chop the potatoes into chunks and toss them with olive oil and seasoning. Once they’re on the baking sheet, I sear the steaks hard—two minutes a side—then drop in butter, garlic, thyme, and baste until the crust hits that deep brown. Meanwhile, Grey preps a salad, Patrick sautés asparagus, and Dustin sets the table.
“Smells like the brush fire,” Patrick teases, leaning over the pan of steaks.
Dustin inhales dramatically and says, “Smells like love.”
I wag my tongs at Patrick. “Smells like we’ll be eating cereal if you don’t give me a little elbow room here.”
The crew bursts into laughter, and I smile—a familiar sense of home settles in my chest.
We settle in around the dining table. Conversation slows to a halt while we indulge in our meal. Eventually, the food kicks in and we start talking again.
Captain David usually talks shop when we’re gathered in a group. He saves his personal talks for one-to-ones, and today is no exception.
“They’re finalizing interviews for the new fire inspector this week,” he says.
Dustin smiles. “You think Carli’s gonna get the position?”
“Did she apply?” I ask, looking up from my plate to find all eyes on me.
I lower my gaze and focus on my steak as if cutting my next bite requires the sculpting prowess of Michelangelo.
“What?” I ask when no one answers.
I look around at the guys, who are all still fixated on me.
“How did you not know?” Dustin asks. “Carli’s practically your sister.”
And there you have it—our status might as well be chiseled somewhere. She isnotpractically my sister. McKenna is my sister. Carli is … Carli.
“She knows her stuff,” Captain says. “I think she’d throw herself into the job with everything she has.”
Grey studies me. I swear that man’s a psychic. His imperceptible nod tells me he doesn’t think Carli’s a sister to me either. I’m more grateful than ever for his limited use of the English language. He’s a human vault. Sometimes I wonder what else is locked inside.
The conversation shifts, but my mind remains fixed in a battle. If Carli wants the inspector position, I want it for her. But if she gets the job, that will be one more reason we cannever be more than what we are to one another—our families, and soon our workplaces, inextricably interwoven. The whole world seems dead set on keeping us in our lanes. I don’t even know if she feels anything for me more than friendship and lifelong familiarity. Sometimes I think I see a flicker of interest, but she shuts that down faster than my crew contains a brush fire.
It’s entirely possible I’m suffering from unrequited love—that kind where one person can’t stop thinking about the other while they wander through the world oblivious and detached.
Valentine’s Day should be outlawed.
This one day serves as a magnifying glass fixed on romance—or the lack of it.
When we were younger, Mom made heart cookies and gave us all something small to show her love for us. Dad sometimes took her out, but he’s not one for big shows of affection, so mostly we celebrated as a family.
February fourteenth betrayed me. What used to be a fun evening around the ranch dining table has turned into a day of uninvited introspection while most of my friends make plans to dote on the women they love. I’m happy for them. I wish I could leave it at that.
We clean up from our meal and head into the workout room a half hour later. The rest of the shift is uneventful. We even get a decent, uninterrupted sleep. Shift change goes quickly with little to report and then we’re all heading down the driveway to our respective cars and trucks.
The sun is up and the roads are pale with frost as I make my way out to the ranch. A truck approaches, heading the other direction—red, older. It’s her.
Carli sends me a small wave through the windshield and a smile breaks across her face. The corner of my mouth pulls up and I wave back at her. I’m a beggar, feasting on scraps andcalling them a meal. Pathetic. But one soft glance from her can feed me for days. My smile lingers for several miles. She’s on her way to pick my sister up from the airport.
