“They’re an egress hazard.”
Austin backs out slowly. “I’ll leave you to it.”
When we finally finish, we have a complete timeline, vendor list, and seating chart. On paper, we’re actually pulling this off.
“Not bad,” I say, standing and stretching my arms over my head.
Winnie’s gaze strays to my midsection—the one that I routinely work out in the gym. The guys and I compete over who has the most trim abs. Color rises to her cheeks.
Flustered, her smile falters and her eyes turn fuzzy. “Not bad,” she repeats, then, regaining her composure, she mock salutes me. “High praise from Lieutenant Cross. Same time next week?”
“Works for me.”
I walk her toward the hallway, where the fire department joins the rest of the building. We’re passing the memorial wall when she stops.
Photos of fallen firefighters line one section. My dad’s formal picture is there along with some candids in a collage—younger than I am now, wearing his smoke jumper gear, grinning like he had no idea that smile would be one of his last.
Next to it is Captain Kendrick. Older, smoke-swept, and with eyes that saw too much yet stayed kind, anyway.
“Is this your father?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
“He looks like you. Same smile.” She snorts a laugh through her nose. “I know, I know. You don’t smile. But you almost did earlier when we were arguing about balloon bouquets.”
I don’t confirm or deny as she continues to study the photographs, when usually people who come here just breeze past them.
She meets my eyes. “Patton, I’m sorry about your dad and Captain Kendrick. They seemed like really honorable men.”
“They sure were.”
She slowly scans the images on the wall. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
When I was attacking my first live fire, my instincts told me to get out, find safety. But I was trained to run into danger and right now this feels much the same. But I have zero training in how to smother the feelings building inside, especially not when she looks at me with those big brown eyes, where, instead of pity, there is respect.
Nodding slowly, she adds, “I see the endgame with the bakery. You have a retirement plan because you intend to be here for a long time.”
My throat tightens as she draws the contrast between the men I lost and maybe why I hung up the titleMaverickwithout wholly realizing it. “Something like that.”
“That’s beautiful, Patton.”
I need to move. Get back to work. Add another layer of bricks and mortar to the wall between us. “I should?—”
She touches my arm. “Thank you for today. For being … less, um, more agreeable.”
“You mean less hostile?”
“We were both a little antagonistic.”
“Maybe a bit.”
She laughs. “So this is progress.”
I walk her to the main entrance. We suddenly occupy that awkward space between professional and what someone might call friendly when Hayes appears.
“Winnie, are you leaving already? I was hoping you’d stay for lunch.”
“Oh, that’s sweet, but I have work to?—”
