“No.” Feeling punchy, I lean over and peer at her clipboard, pointing. “Says so right here.”
Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold.
“That was definitely ajoke.”
“It was a statement of fact.”
Her mouth twitches. I almost glimpse a smile. “Do you need coffee? You’re acting weird.”
“You’re the one gripping a clipboard before seven in the morning.”
“Someone has to be organized.”
“Someone could also relax.” I rub my hand over my face after an emergency call made for a long night.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m relaxed.”
“Sure and my middle name is Glitter Gremlin.”
She looks like she’s about to explode with laughter, but doesn’t trust it.
Without thinking too deeply about the direction my comments might take this conversation, I ask, “What’s a person named Vincenza’s middle name and how do you get Winnie out of Vincenza?”
“The obvious nickname would’ve been Vinny, but I already have an uncle by that name. When my brother was little, his V’s sounded like W’s, so I just became Winnie.” She shrugs as if that’s a reasonable explanation, but I don’t get her middle name out of her.
I unlock the man-door and enter the old fire house. The building smells like sawdust, slightly damp brick, and home. I swipe the switches on the bank of overhead lights and they flicker to life. The main bay is gutted—exposed beams, concrete floors, and the brass pole glinting in the early light.
Vincenza steps inside and her lips part. “This place is amazing.”
“It needs work.”
“But I can see its character. The stories it could tell. The ones it will when you open the bakery.” She runs her hand along the brick wall.
My mouth dips because, according to the pattern weestablished—as enemies or rivals, according to the guys—never mind the permitting headache, she’s not supposed to show any interest in this place.
“How long was this the active fire station?”
“Over a hundred years. Until the county commissioned the new complex.”
“And now it’s going to be a bakery.”
“That’s the plan.”
She turns to me and her expression fills with curiosity, maybe. Or perhaps interest that’s less like a professional obligation laced with irritation and more like …? But what this is, I’m not sure. “Why a bakery?”
The question catches me off guard. “Why not?”
“I’m serious. You’re a firefighter. Why not open a gym or brewery or something … firefighter-y?”
I could blow her off. Give a surface answer. But her soft gaze makes me pause.
“Captain Kendrick left me this building. He was like a father to me and he had a sweet tooth.”
Her eyebrows bob. “That’s really … sweet.”
The door bangs open. Austin strides in, followed by Scotty, James, and Hayes. They’re like prairie dogs popping up from holes, appearing exactly when I don’t need them.
Austin grins. “Winnie! You’re here early.”
