Dispatch: Always. Thompson called in. You okay?
Me: Totally fine. Just want to stay busy.
Dispatch: Uh-huh. Be here in twenty?
Me: On my way.
I start the car and head back down the mountain.
The shift runs long. Two calls, then a third, then a fourth that shouldn't take as long as it does but I keep asking the patient follow-up questions that are technically thorough and absolutely have nothing to do with the fact that I am not thinking about Beck Delano. Between runs I clean the rig. Then clean it again. I scrub the same section of floor twice. My partner watches me attack a perfectly clean cabinet with a disinfectant wipe and says nothing, which is either professional courtesy or deeply deserved judgment. Possibly both.
By the time it's over, exhaustion has settled into my bones in ways that have nothing to do with physical work.
My phone buzzes as I'm stowing my gear in my locker.
Riley: Heard you survived Dinosaur Day. Coffee this morning? There's someone I want you to meet.
Riley Pritchard. Aiden's girlfriend. The arson investigator who somehow sees through everyone's bullshit with terrifying accuracy. We've had coffee exactly twice since I moved here, and both times she made me feel like I was being gently interrogated.
But she's nice. And I need coffee. And going straight home means potentially running into Beck.
Me: Peak Grounds in an hour?
Riley: Perfect. Fair warning: my friend doesn't do small talk. You'll either love her or find her terrifying.
Me: Can't wait!!!
Three exclamation points. The international signal of someone who's definitely fine and not at all spiraling.
Peak Grounds smells like roasted coffee beans and something warm and slightly buttery when I walk in --- someone in the back is baking. The espresso machine hisses behind the counter. The room is warm after the cold outside, and I feel my shoulders drop half an inch without deciding to.
Micah's behind the counter, doing that thing where he somehow makes espresso preparation look like performance art.
He's not the only one there.
Beck stands at the counter waiting for his order, still in his jacket, a to-go cup in hand. He spots me half a second after I spot him, and my stomach does something I immediately file undernot thinking about that.
We do the thing --- the single, loaded nod of two people who have wordlessly agreed not to discuss whatever happened yesterday, involving his daughter and the wordgirlfriend. His jaw does its usual thing, tight and controlled. I give him a small wave. He gives me the same back, and that's the agreement: zero casualties, zero conversation.
He shifts his weight slightly, half-turning back toward the counter. I head for Riley's table and do not look back.
The woman with Riley has the kind of quiet confidence that doesn't need to announce itself. Dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders. She's dressed in jeans and a simple gray sweater that somehow looks more put-together than my entire wardrobe, and she's compact in the way of someone who is economical about everything --- the way she sits, the way she holds her mug. She looks up when I approach, dark eyes assessing me with the same focused attention I've seen in good paramedics.
"Gemma!" Riley waves me over. "This is Hanna. Hanna, Gemma."
Hanna stands and extends her hand. Her grip is firm, professional. "Riley's told me about you. You're the one who charmed Captain Delano's daughter with dinosaur facts."
My smile activates automatically. Full wattage. Sunshine deployed. "Ivy's amazing. And dinosaurs are objectively fascinating. Did you know that birds are technically dinosaurs? Like, chickens are tiny T-Rexes."
Hanna's eyes narrow slightly. She doesn't respond to the sunshine. Just studies me like I'm a puzzle she's solving.
"Hanna's thinking about moving to Copper Ridge," Riley says. "She's a medic — looking at the station." She either doesn't notice Hanna studying me like a lab specimen, or she's pretending not to. I can't tell which.
"That's great!" Too enthusiastic. Dial it back. "I mean, the station's really welcoming. Everyone's been so nice since I transferred."
"You transferred from Denver," Hanna says. It's not a question.
"About six months ago," I say. "Needed a change of pace. Slower calls. Mountains. Fresh air. All that good stuff."
