He thanked her again and left.
She turned back to her screen and did not think about silver eyes, broad shoulders, or jeans that fit just right
No, siree.Not her.
Bonnie didn't intend to go to the fire station.
But then Lucas stepped out of his office after lunch and said, “Drop these off to the Lawton boy.”He handed her the signed building occupancy permit and a stack of forms that would need to be filled out before it reopened.
The mayor disappeared back into his office, and she heard the distinctive rolling clicks of his safe unlocking.He came back a moment later and handed her a ring of keys.“These belong to the firehouse.I think the spare engine and ambulance keys are on there, too.”
She nodded and took them.Her hand inexplicably trembled as she grasped the cold metal ring of keys.Death.She associated the firehouse with death.It might not be where the eight lost firefighters were interred, but to her, the station looked like one of those fancy mausoleums rich folks buried their families in.
She put the keys in her bag along with the paperwork and headed out to her car.She would leave them in the fire station mailbox on her way home.
But when she pulled up to the station, one of its two big garage doors was lifted.The sight of the station opened up was a visceral shock.She hadn't seen the building look anything other than abandoned in four years.
Gray must already be cleaning up the place or maybe working on the fire engine.
As she turned into the station's parking lot, she saw him through the open door, sleeves rolled up, working his way down the engine bay with a push broom.A cloud of dust rose behind him.
The sun transformed the years of grime into fairy dust hanging in the air, coating everything it touched in glittering gold.The fire engine stood in the bay beside Gray, its red paint dulled to the color of dried blood under a thick layer of dust.
She'd known she would have to come here eventually.Reopening the fire station was a municipal project, and she was the municipality.There would be inspections, permits, paperwork.She couldn't avoid this building forever.
Deep breath.You can do this.You’re just dropping off some papers and keys.Two minutes and you can leave.
This place had always been the exclusive sanctuary of the firefighters.The wives were invited a few times a year to come to dinner or bring the kids to a picnic in the big training field behind the station.But mostly, only the men had hung out here.
Two nights a week, each guy in the department had been on call with another firefighter.The pair slept in the firehouse and made ambulance runs as needed in Cobbler Cove and the surrounding area.
In the event there was a serious accident, usually a car crash, or in the rare event there was an actual fire, the two guys on call got the fire engine and ambulance ready to roll while the other firefighters rushed over to the station, jumped in their gear, and piled into the vehicles.
She didn't feel ready to face going into the station.Maybe she would never be ready.It was the last place Brent was alive before the fire.This was a bad idea.She reached for her car’s ignition switch.
But the side door of the station, the one leading from the parking lot to the living area, opened just then.Grayson stuck his head out and made eye contact with her.
Rats.
She got out of the car reluctantly.Said hello in response to his mildly surprised greeting.Walked to the door Grayson held open politely for her.Why did this feel like walking to her own execution?
The answer to that was obvious.She had no wish to face the memories—the guilt—this place was bound to dredge up.
The smell hit her first.Stale air.Dust.The faint ghost of diesel fuel.And underneath it all, something she couldn't name.It was the gloomy scent of a place that had been sealed up for a long time with its grief locked inside.
She froze at the edge of the common room, her senses reeling at the half-circle of recliners.She'd forgotten about those.Brent always sat in the one just to the left of the center one reserved for JB Henderson, the fire chief.
An urge to go over and touch the headrest of Brent's recliner nearly overcame her.That was the last place his head had touched before he died.
How weird was that?
Gray spoke quietly from behind her, a gentle quality to his voice as if he realized it would be hard for her to come in her.“What brings you down here?”
His sympathy nearly undid her.She paused for a moment to fight back a wave of tears.
“I brought—” Her voice broke, and she took a wobbly breath.Tried again.“I brought the signed permit and the next batch of paperwork for you.”
She pulled the key ring and stack of forms out of her bag.Her voice came out reasonably steady.Whew.Breakdown averted.“Just so you know, this is the first of many stacks of forms there will be for you to fill out.”
