“It was dismissive and undermining. You took one look at me, found out about the Miss Nevada pageant thing, and decided I was too cheerful and superficial to take seriously.”
“You were talking about ‘departmental synergy’ like we were at a corporate team-building retreat.”
“I was trying to be professional and collaborative. You were trying to be cool in front of your team.” She crosses her arms again and starts pacing. “But sure, let’s work together now. Should be great. Wonderful even.” She presses her fingers to her temple. “What was Mayor Barbie thinking?”
The cheery veneer has finally cracked, revealing how she really feels.
Eyebrow arched, this has just gotten interesting. “So I was right, you do hate me.”
“For the record, I don’t hate you.” She tilts her head. “Much.”
“You wave, then give me death glares from your office across the hall. What gives?”
“No, that’s your reflection.” She pauses. “Admit that you think I smile too much.”
“I said that one time and I was having a bad day.”
“You’re always having a bad day, Patton. That’s not an excuse.”
Fair point.
Straightening, she says, “We’ll have our first meeting on Wednesday. I’ll send the agenda. If anything comes up before then, Mayor Barbie gave me your number. Here’s mine.” She passes me a sticky note with her name in elegant script along with her digits. Crumbling it would be the smart thing to do.
My eyes drift to the beauty mark above her lip and hold there a beat.
She shudders a breath. “I’ll text you so you have my number in your phone in case youlosethat.” She tips her head to the square pink piece of paper in my hand as if reading my mind.
I grunt. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Neither did I. But here we are.”
My radio crackles from dispatch. “Engine Seven, we have a reported structure fire at thirty-nine Pinecrest Drive.”
It’s probably a false alarm. Mrs. Weaver burns dinner every other week and she can’t reach the fire alarm off button with the end of her broom, which is how most people fix the problem.
“We’ll discuss this later.” I back toward the exit.
“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s an assignment, not a negotiation.”
I’m halfway down the hall when I notice the pink and red hearts, sparkly garlands, and lacy doilies. Dangling from the ceiling as if mid-flight, Cupids with creepy smiling faces aim their arrows directly at me.
It’s a couple of days away from February and Vincenza has already put up Valentine’s decorations.
She was right. I do hate them.
I glance back. She’s standing in her doorway, arms still crossed, watching me leave. For a second, I see that same exhausted vulnerability from earlier. Then it’s gone and hershoulders are thrust back. Chin lifted as if daring me to defy her perfectly positive perma-smile.
Oreo waits by the truck, tail wagging.
“Good to see you too, boy,” I say.
He licks my hand.
In the command truck, we head past the Timber’s Edge Inn and Resort toward the false alarm, and my phone buzzes with a notification. It’ll have to wait. But it buzzes and buzzes. Just like Vincenza’s voice in my ear. Her smile in my mind. The woman whose perfume I can still smell. The woman who makes me feel things I’ve spent twenty-four years learning to deny.
It’s my job to manage fires, but she might be too hot to handle.
After I make sure Mrs. Weaver’s home is safe and secure, I check my email. It’s from Mayor Barbie, confirming that I’m heading up the Fireman’s Ball planning committee, along with some details.
