"When I was twelve, a wildfire near where I lived took out a hundred acres before they stopped it." I twisted my water glassaround and studied the condensation. “I watched the crews work who were mostly humans but with a few shifters, and they were so calm in the middle of something terrifying. I wanted to be the person who shows up when everything's falling apart and knows what to do.”
Percy didn’t say anything at first, but when he looked up, his expression was no longer playful. His features looked almost fragile. “That's a good answer.”
“Your turn.”
“Mine's less noble.” He grabbed a bread roll from the basket and tore it in half. “I was twenty-two and working at a hardware store, bored out of my mind. The fire department was hiring, and the application said they'd pay for my training. I’d get free education, plus I’d get paid to slide down a pole?” He grinned. “That sold me.”
“There are no poles at Station 9.”
“I know. That was a huge disappointment, and I almost quit on the first day.”
We both laughed, and he bit into the bread.
“But then we did our first live fire drill, and I went through the door into a room that was wall-to-wall flames. The heat, the noise, and knowing that the only thing between you and a really bad day was your training and the crew behind you.” He shrugged. “I was hooked.”
The food arrived. Percy told me he read murder mysteries and sci-fi. He had a stack of paperbacks on his nightstand and refused to read on a tablet because he liked the smell of the pages. He didn’t like creepy crawlies and once stood on a sofa for four hours until a spider made its way out of the room.
“I don’t trust them because nothing needs that many legs. It's suspicious.”
I almost choked on my water. “You run into burning buildings for a living.”
“Buildings don't have legs.” He waved a fry at me. “Now you tell me something sort of embarrassing.”
I thought hard while twirling pasta. “I build furniture.”
He put down his beer. “That's not embarrassing, that's handy. What kind?”
“Tables, mostly, and bookshelves. I also built my bed frame.”
He glanced down at his food and a flush crept over his cheeks.But he took a sip of beer, and the moment passed. “It’s impressive. What else should I know about the mysterious Lieutenant Larkin?”
“I can cook, but only three things. Pasta, stir-fry, and omelets.”
“That's two more than most guys I've dated.”
He said it so casually and tossed it into the conversation. But it was a window into his history, and I wanted to ask how many and were they serious and did the guys have a big cock? Shit, I was jealous when there was no need to be. Percy was my mate.
But I stabbed the pasta instead because pushing too hard might crack the tenuous agreement we’d made. And then what? He’d walk out or we’d get naked, throw everything off the table and go at it?
Needing to change the topic, I said, “I’ve never once in my life been late for anything.”
“Shocking.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Do you set alarms for your alarms?”
“Sometimes.”
We shared a glance and laughed. A huge belly laugh, and gods, that felt good.
Percy dragged a fry through ketchup and studied me. “You know what I think?”
“Nope, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“You’re one of those people who holds everything together for everyone else and forgets to let anyone hold anything for you.”
I wondered if he’d been thinking about that since we first met.
“Also…” I worried the ketchup on the fry he was holding would fly across the table and land with a splat on my shirt. “You've never let anyone at your station see you rattled. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
