Smart dog.
Inside, the station is quiet—the morning crew running drills in the bay. I head straight for my office, determined to burymyself in paperwork until I stop remembering how Jo’s perfume smelled. Something beachy and floral with vanilla underneath, like summer afternoons and bad decisions.
My phone buzzes before I can sit down. Savannah’s face fills the screen, video call request flashing.
I answer, propping the phone against my coffee mug. “Hey, sweetheart. Isn’t it the middle of your shift?”
“Lunch break.” My daughter’s face is tired but happy, her scrubs the same navy blue she’s worn since finishing nursing school last year. “Wanted to check in. You sounded weird when we talked yesterday.”
“I didn’t sound weird.”
“Dad. I know you better than you think.”
I scrub a hand over my face. Twenty-six years old and she can still read me like a book. “Just dealing with a difficult situation. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Uh-huh.” Savannah leans closer to her phone, eyes narrowing. “And why do you look like you’re having a moral crisis about it?” She takes a bite of what looks like cafeteria pizza. “You’ve dealt with code violators a thousand times. You usually just cite them and move on. But you’ve mentioned this one like four times this week.”
Have I? I run back through our conversations. The soft launch disaster. The occupancy issues. The upcoming Valentine’s event that can’t legally happen. And yes, okay, maybe I’ve brought up “Asher’s mom” more than strictly necessary.
“It’s complicated,” I say finally.
“You clearly like her.”
“I don’t—” I stop. Because lying to my daughter has never worked and isn’t about to start now. “It doesn’t matter if I like her. She’s Asher’s mother.”
“So? Asher’s an adult.”
“She’s breaking fire codes.”
“So cite her. That’s your job.” Savannah sets down her pizza, giving me her full attention. The same focused look she probably gives her patients. “What’s the real problem here?”
The real problem is that I can’t stop thinking about the way Jo’s jaw set when she refused to back down. The passion in her voice when she talked about her boutique, her community, her dreams. The way her whole face lit up despite the glitter disaster, despite my intervention, despite everything going wrong.
The real problem is that I haven’t felt this kind of pull toward someone since Sarah died five years ago, and I have no idea what to do about it.
“The real problem,” I say carefully, “is that she wants to hold an event that’s genuinely unsafe. And I can’t compromise on that, no matter how much I might—” I catch myself. “No matter the circumstances.”
“But you want to compromise.” Savannah’s voice is gentle. Understanding. “Dad, you’ve been following rules to the letter since Mom died. Which I get. I do. Structure helps with grief. But maybe it’s okay to be a little flexible sometimes?”
“Not with safety. You work in healthcare. You understand regulations exist for a reason.”
“I do. But I also understand that sometimes the spirit of the rule matters as much as the letter of it.” She pauses. “What’s she trying to do? This woman. What’s the event?”
“Valentine’s Day festival. She wants to bring people together, create community connections, support local businesses.” I hear the warmth creeping into my own voice and hate it. “It’s... it’s actually a nice idea. Just not feasible in her current space.”
“Have you told her that? Explained the actual dangers instead of just citing codes?”
I think about yesterday. The capacity numbers. My professional distance that felt more like a wall. “Not exactly.”
“Dad.” Savannah sighs. “You can’t expect people to comply with rules they don’t understand. Maybe she’s not being reckless. Maybe she just doesn’t know better.”
The words hit harder than they should. Because she’s right. Jo didn’t seem like someone deliberately flouting safety—she seemed like someone so focused on her vision that she hadn’t considered the risks.
“I’m going back this afternoon,” I say. “Official follow-up inspection.”
“Then talk to her. Actually talk to her. Explain why it matters.” Savannah grins suddenly. “And Dad? If you like Asher’s mom, that’s allowed. You’re not betraying Mom by moving on. She’d want you to be happy.”
My throat tightens. “I know.”
