Today, he went about the job with the same pride and vigor. He wouldn’t be satisfied until every inch gleamed.
It took an hour longer than he’d allotted, but by lunchtime, the engine was buffed into her shiniest cherry red. He tucked the damp microfiber towel into his back pocket and shuffled further down the long driveway to take in the massive truck in its entirety. It was a clear day, the sun suspended high in the sky by the biggest swath of bright blue. Beams of light hit every surface; the mirrors, the bumpers, the ladder affixed to the long side of the truck. The entire apparatus sparkled like a meticulously polished gem.
“She cleans up well.” The unexpected voice at his back caused his hackles to instantly rise. Mitch usually wasn’t so deep in thought that he lost all sense of his surroundings. The opposite, in fact. He was often acutely aware of his environment. With a level of unease that stemmed from his distraction, Mitch turned on his heel to glimpse a woman approaching him with something in her hands.
“Sorry,” she continued, smiling brightly before adding, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is Chief Anderson around?”
“He’s inside. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Actually, would you be able to give this to him? I don’t want to bother him if he’s busy.” The woman held out her creation which Mitch could now see was a wreath bent into the shape of a heart with fluffy, pink artificial flowers adhered to the wire frame. It was beautiful, the work of a talented florist.
She saw Mitch studying the piece. “It’s for the engine. I told the chief I’d bring one by to replace the Christmas wreath from last season.”
“It’s beautiful, but isn’t it a little late for Valentine’s décor?”
“It’s not in celebration of Valentine’s day,” she said, her lips remaining set in a perpetually friendly grin. “It’s for the Sweetheart Soiree.”
“And that is?” Mitch held the heart-shaped wreath out as he continued to admire the woman’s handiwork. It would look great adhered to the front of the recently washed truck, and he was eager to get it into place.
“Let’s start here first. I’m Trinity Tillman, the local florist at Joyful Blooms.” Trinity shot out a hand in greeting.
“Mitch Abernathy. I’m new here at Station 24.”
“I gathered as much,” Trinity said with a knowing smirk. “But only because you don’t know what the Sweetheart Soiree is, not because you look like a probie.”
“I see you’re familiar with firefighting.”
“I’m familiar with first responders. My husband was a highway patrolman. You quickly learn the lingo.” Though she hadn’t placed any emphasis on it, Mitch picked up on the past tense nature of her comment. “Glad to have you onboard as one of Snowdrift’s finest,” Trinity said standing tall, just short of saluting.
“Glad to be here.”
“So, to fill you in, the Sweetheart Soiree is a yearly town tradition around these parts.” While Mitch got to work attaching the wreath to the front of the truck, Trinity expounded on Snowdrift’s latest community event. There would be dining and dancing, contests and festivities. Formal attire and all that jazz. “Do you think you’ll attend?”
The question didn’t serve as an official ask to accompany her as a date. While Trinity was a lovely woman, there wasn’t that immediate connection or attraction Mitch needed to pursue things romantically. Not that she was giving off flirtatious vibes, anyway. It was truly a neighborly conversation to get him up to speed on the town’s events, and he was appreciative of hergenerosity. While welcoming, there was an inherent insularity to small-town life that couldn’t be avoided. Mitch understood he’d been dropped into the middle of a close-knit community, one where social roles were already assigned, and relationships established. He was the outsider, plain and simple.
But with each conversation had and every smile exchanged, he could feel himself stepping closer into that inner circle.
“If I’m not scheduled to work, I’ll plan to be there.”
“You’ll love it.” Trinity’s voice brimmed with contagious excitement. “This will be my first year attending without Calvin, but I know he wouldn’t want me sitting at home with the rest of Snowdrift out cutting a rug.”
If a new widow could put herself out there to do uncomfortable things for the sake of tradition, Mitch could surely brave it, too. Despite his two left feet and his disdain for formalwear.
With the wreath secured to the firetruck and the date of the Soiree mentally jotted down in his calendar, Mitch excused himself to head inside the firehouse. Trinity was on her way to drop off a bouquet at a ranch down the road, but she took one last opportunity to encourage Mitch to join in the festivities.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but there will even be a limbo contest.”
“Well, now that you mentionthat, there’s no way I could miss.”
He spentthe latter portion of the afternoon focusing on physical fitness training, something they worked into their schedules at the firehouse. It was different running in the Sierras. From the crisp sting of the mountain air to the background symphony of birds chirping and dogs barking, it made the runs he frequently took at his last job seem frenzied. There, carschugged past spewing exhaust and blaring music riddled with expletives that even made Mitch blush. Not so in Snowdrift. He wondered if he’d somehow stepped into Mayberry, the town so quintessentially idyllic that he briefly questioned the sincerity behind it all.
As he jogged through a charming street lined with A-frame cabins, Mitch spotted a small table at the edge of one driveway, cluttered with several water bottles and a little note penned in ornate writing.
The sign read: “To our delivery drivers, neighbors, first responders, and wanderers: Thirsty? Take a bottle and stay hydrated—it’s on us. Thank you for all of your hard work.”
Despite being in his workout gear and the cold temperatures that kept a substantial amount of snow on the ground even for the month of March, he’d worked up a sweat on the run. With a nod of gratitude toward the house and a tip of his water bottle, he guzzled down half the contents before coming up for air.
This level of generosity would sure take some getting used to.
