A routine settled in over the next few days.
Maya stayed late grading papers while Millie watched Zoe at the apartment. I patrolled the perimeter, checked the entrances, and watched for anything out of place. The NYPD officers rotated through, and I got to know them by name: Michael, Joel, and a rookie named Jake who looked barely old enough to shave.
Maya and I found reasons to check on each other. I'd bring coffee to her classroom during my rounds. She'd text me photos of particularly creative spelling errors from her students' essays. We'd steal moments in the hallway between classes, my handon her back when no one was looking, her smile warming something cold in my chest.
One afternoon, on a coffee break in her classroom, I told her about the call I'd gotten that morning.
"They want me for the calendar again."
Maya looked up from her grading, eyebrows raised. "The shirtless-holding-a-puppy calendar?"
"That's the one."
"The one where you're basically a pinup for every woman in New York City?"
"It's for charity."
"Mmhmm." She leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips. "Should I be worried? All those women sliding into your DMs, asking if they can pet your dalmatian?"
"First of all, it was a different dog every year. Second of all—" I stepped closer, bracing my hands on her desk, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. "You're the only one I want sliding into anything."
Maya groaned. "That was terrible."
"You're smiling."
"I'm grimacing."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it." But she was definitely smiling now. She reached up and straightened my collar. "So are you going to do it?"
I hesitated. "I don't know. I've been thinking about saying no this year."
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired of being that guy. The calendar firefighter. The headline." I shrugged. "I want to be more than that."
Maya studied me for a moment. Then she stood, closed the distance between us, and put her hands on my chest.
"You are more than that," she said. "To me. To Zoe. But Shane, it's for charity. It raises money for families of fallen firefighters. That matters.” She smoothed down my shirt. "Besides, I expect a signed copy. Personalized. Something embarrassing I can frame and put on my desk."
I laughed. "You want a shirtless photo of me on your desk? In an elementary school?"
"I'll keep it in a drawer. For morale."
"Whose morale?"
"Mine." She grinned. "Do the calendar. Just remember who you're coming home to."
I kissed her forehead. "Always."
It wasn’t professional. I didn’t care anymore.
At night, I'd drive her home, walk her to the door, kiss her goodnight if Zoe wasn't watching. Then I'd go back to the school and finish my shift, counting the hours until I could see her again.
Three days passed. Then five. Then a full week.
No fires. No Tommy. No sign that he even knew we were looking for him.
