CHAPTER ONE
It was twenty degrees outside, but Alex MacDonald was sweating, knowing he had to choose wisely or pay dearly. With only two straws left, this would decide his fate. His smirking coworkers stood nearby, holding their annoyingly long straws. It had come down to Alex and Oscar. A trickle of sweat slid down his back. He closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and picked.
“Damn it,” Alex said, holding up a puny, bent-up piece of plastic.
“Oof. Tough luck, Mac,” his coworker and best friend, Garrett, said.
Drawing straws was the agreed upon go-to method for solving disagreements. In this instance, it was how they were deciding who would give the presentation. Alex had argued for bare-knuckle boxing, but his company had collectively decided that the battalion chief wouldn’t approve of that idea.
“This isn’t fair,” Alex said. “I had to do it last time, and I don’t even like kids. Where’s the figgin’ probie?”
“He’s out today, so no use complaining. And you’d better get ready. They’ll be here any minute,” Garrett said with a laugh, slapping him on the back. “Come on, I’ll help ya.”
Twenty minutes later, Alex’s eye was twitching, and he was fairly certain his head was about to explode from the million silly questions he’d answered. Why are the trucks red? Where was their dalmatian and what was his name? When could they slide down the pole?
Fifteen preschoolers sat crisscross in a semicircle around him. He’d just finished showing them how he put on his turn-out gear. Next, he would put on a mask, get down on the floor, and crawl around to show them what it would look like if they were ever stuck in a fire and a firefighter came to get them.
The kids were squirmy and only wanted to play with the hoses. The young teacher, who sat on the floor with the kids, was the only one paying much attention to him. The dreamy look in her eyes said she wasn’t just trying to set a good example for the kids. When they’d arrived that morning, she’d introduced herself with a coy smile, thanking him for letting them come and telling him she’d be happy to help inanyway.
Alex had been there and done that. No more fire bunnies for him. Too bad the probie wasn’t here today. First, because thenhe’dbe doing this presentation instead of Alex, and second, because he hadn’t yet tired of women throwing themselves at him simply because of what he did.
While the teacher hadn’t interested him, a gorgeous Barbie look-alikehadcaught his attention. He registered the irony of condemning a fire bunny while simultaneously ogling a blond-haired, blue-eyed cliché but pushed the thought aside. The woman wore a long, white parka over tight black pants and a light blue hoodie and was inadvertently and unknowingly driving him to distraction. Every few moments, she’d knit her brow, check her phone, then put it back in her pocket as if impatiently waiting for something.
After he finished his little show on the floor, he took off his mask and started the safety spiel.
“The most important thing to know in an emergency is your address. If you ever have to call 911, the dispatcher will want to know it right away.”
“I know my address,” a little blond boy said, raising his hand as he said it. He had the same bright blond hair as the woman on the bench.
Normally, Alex didn’t tolerate interruptions, but before Alex could stop him, the boy rattled off his address.
“It’s 5-3-0 Broome Street. Number 15-1, New York City,” he said. “My mom taught me.” He pointed to the woman in the white parka. Of course, she was one of the moms. His attraction waned. Kids weren’t his thing. Plus, she was probably married.
“That’s…wait, what? Say that again,” Alex stammered, finally registering what the boy had said. The kid rattled off the address again.
“That’s my address,” Alex said. “I live in 15-3. You live down the hall from me?” He looked to the woman the boy had identified as his mother. She shrugged as if this was also news to her.
“Cool,” the kid said, flinging his glove in the air and letting it fall to his lap.
Alex finished the presentation, thinking how crazy it was he didn’t know his neighbors, even by sight. How had they never crossed paths?
“All right, guys. You wanna take turns in the driver’s seat of the ladder truck?”
A chorus of squeals was followed by pushing and shoving to be first in line. The teacher, dragging the blonde with her, rushed to help the kids form a line.
“It’s like herding cats,” Alex whispered to Garrett, who had also come to his aid and was giving kids a boost into the cab. “Imagine dealing with this every day.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Garrett said, handing Alex a thirty-pound, curly-haired bundle of wiggles.
“I’ll take a thousand degree burning inferno any day,” Alex said, setting the little girl in the driver’s seat.
After everyone had taken a turn, it was finally time to end this thing.
“Who wants a sticker and a pencil?” Alex said, attempting to coral the kids and get them to move to the lobby where the secretary would hand out FDNY Junior Firefighter stickers that looked like badges. As he turned to follow the kids, he heard a faint shout for help. He jogged back to the ladder truck and saw the blonde searching for the source of the cry.
“Cal?” she yelled. “Where are you?”
“I’m up here, Mom. I’m too scared to get down.” The boy’s little voice drifted down from the top of the ladder truck.
