But they should because we all face the same uncertainties.
While I organize my gear, I offer unsolicited advice, “Do you know why I don’t do relationships? Firefighters make terrible partners. Long hours, dangerous work, and the constant possibility of not coming home. My dad proved that. My mom …” I pause. She never recovered. I won’t do that to someone.
Austin rolls his eyes. “Your dad is a hero and died in the line of duty twenty-four years ago. That doesn’t mean?—”
“It means I’m not putting someone through that. Especially not some sunshine-y people-pleaser who’d eventually resent the job, the hours, the danger.”
Austin points at me. “You mean Winnie.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I could’ve been talking about anyone. Susan from dispatch, for example.”
“She’s sixty-five and married to one of your cousins.”
How’d he know that? Oh yeah, small town.
James pushes off the doorframe. “Maybe you should give her a chance. She seems nice. Then again, she is best friends with Peony.”
I chuckle. “Is that a warning or a recommendation?”
He snorts.
I continue, “Anyway, everyone is nice until they’re not.”
“That’s paranoid.”
“That’s realistic.”
“Paranoid,” Austin repeats.
“Or prepared,” I suggest.
“Preparanoid?” Hayes asks.
Now, I’m just getting annoyed.
Scotty shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m practical. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, impossible means it can’t be done. Practical means you’re being stubborn,” Scotty delivers this in a rare show of involvement in non-work-related topics of discussion—unless fishing is involved. He’s a big fan.
The conversation dies as the captain—our actual captain, not the ghost of Captain Kendrick—visiting from Carson City, sticks his head in. “Cross, you got a minute?”
I follow Leyton to his office. He’s officially stationed in Carson City, serves as our interim captain, and comes to the site once a week. Given his legendary leadership, we all respect him and his wife owns a bakery, so I’ve sought his advice as we open our shop. Likely, the position will be offered to me since I do most of the work of a captain as it is.
He hands me a stack of rejected permit applications. “Parks & Rec dropped these off—something about incomplete documentation and zoning variances. You’ll need to resubmit.”
I flip through the pages. Red stamps everywhere. Denied. Denied. Denied.
This is going to cause a setback, which doesn’t help since the contractor is on a tight schedule. The equipment orders are time and installation-sensitive.
“Thank you,” I say.
We invited him to buy into the bakery, but he’s already spread thin between the two departments.
