"About Mommy?"
The kid's observational skills belong in an interrogation room. "About lots of things."
"It's okay to miss her." Ivy swings our joined hands. "I miss her too. But she said this is gonna be a GREAT ADVENTURE and adventures are supposed to be scary at first."
When did my daughter become the emotionally intelligent one in this relationship?
"Smart mom."
"The SMARTEST." Fierce loyalty, no hesitation. "Except about velociraptors. She thinks they had feathers but the evidence is VERY UNCLEAR."
The station's main entrance leads into a lobby that manages to be both functional and aggressively welcoming. Photos line the walls—crews at community events, kids trying on helmets, action shots that probably required someone to risk their life for a good angle. Everything screams "we're part of the family" in a way that makes my Seattle reserve want to build a wall.
A woman emerges from the hallway beyond—late fifties, silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, uniform pressed sharp enough to cut glass. She moves like someone who's spent decades earning respect the hard way.
"Captain Beck Delano?" Her handshake could probably crush diamonds. "Chief Carmen Rodriguez. Welcome to Station 7."
"Chief. This is my daughter, Ivy."
Ivy executes what she probably thinks is a curtsy but looks more like a wobble. "Hi! Do you have a fire pole? My daddy says you probably do but I need CONFIRMATION."
Chief Rodriguez's mouth twitches. "We do have a pole. Though it's currently off-limits to visiting paleontologists."
"I'm not a paleontologist YET." Ivy's correction carries the weight of someone who's already planned their entire educational trajectory. "But I'm gonna be. After I'm a firefighter. Or maybe a astronaut. I haven't decided."
"Ambitious. I respect that." The Chief's attention shifts back to me, and the warmth cools to professional assessment. "Your file's impressive. Ten years with Seattle, multiple commendations, advanced certifications. We're lucky to have you."
Her eyes wait for the real answer. Everyone always wants the real answer. My jaw tightens. “Ready for a change of pace. Wanted Ivy to have more space to grow.” The words taste like the half-truths they are. She nods anyway, either believing me or deciding not to push. I'm grateful either way.
"Well, Copper Ridge certainly has space." She gestures down the hallway. "Let me show you around. Ivy, you're welcome to explore the day room—there's a coloring table set up."
"Do you have dinosaur coloring pages?"
"I'll make sure we get some."
Ivy's allegiance shifts instantly. Chief Rodriguez just became her new favorite person.
The tour reveals a station that's newer than my last posting but smaller. Three bays, two engines, one ladder truck that looks fresh off the factory floor. Equipment organized with the kind of precision that suggests someone here takes supply inventory very seriously. Everything clean, maintained, ready.
The crew appears in the apparatus bay—five firefighters in various stages of equipment check, conversations dying themoment they spot us. Professional faces slide into place. Polite. Wary. The new captain from the big city, here to shake things up.
"This is Captain Delano," Chief Rodriguez announces. "He'll be taking over B-shift starting next week. Captain Delano, this is your crew."
The handshakes blur together. Names that'll take days to stick. Johnson—stocky, early forties, handshake firm but not aggressive. Martinez—younger, nervous energy, grips like he's trying to prove something. Webb—the only woman, cool assessment in her eyes that says she's been underestimated before and didn't appreciate it. Thompson—older, weathered face from decades of smoke. Whitaker—mid-thirties, easy smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
They're sizing me up. Fair enough. New leadership always brings uncertainty, and uncertainty in a firehouse can get people killed.
"Looking forward to working with all of you.” The words land wrong. Too formal. Vanessa used to say I talked to people like I was reading from a manual. Turns out divorce doesn't fix that.
Webb's expression doesn't change. The others nod, noncommittal. I've already lost the room. "I know change can be difficult. My priority is supporting this team and serving the community. Open door policy—if you have concerns, bring them directly to me."
Nods. Murmurs of acknowledgment. Webb's expression suggests she's reserving judgment. Smart.
"Beck!"
The voice carries across the apparatus bay with the kind of easy warmth that makes everyone turn. A guy strides toward us—early thirties, dark hair, captain's bars on his collar, smile like he's perpetually on the verge of telling a joke. Everything about him radiates natural charisma that usually makes me want to check for hidden cameras.
"Aiden Gentry." His handshake is enthusiastic without being obnoxious. "C-shift. Heard you were coming in. Welcome to Copper Ridge."
