“Love you!” we call back in unison.
We make our way outside, toward my car that’s parked beside Audrey’s. We both have Honda Civics, but mine is white, and hers is black. It’s a good car that doesn’t look like trash.
“Can I sit in the front?”
“No,” I say.
“Ugh, fine,” Noah complains dramatically, then yanks open the back door. I watch to make sure he buckles right, and then I get into the driver’s side and start the car.
“You didn’t use the remote start,” he complains, crossing his arms.
“Sorry. I’m old and my memory isn’t as it used to be.” I glance at him in the rear-view mirror. “Maybe you can remind me tomorrow.”
I turn on the radio and change it to the station he likes, and back out of the driveway.
“Can we drive by the fire station today?” he asks.
I glance at the clock to make sure it’s early enough.
“Yes, we can,” I say. “We have time.”
“Yay!”
Driving by the firehouse is out of the way, but it only tacks on five minutes. I try to do it as often as I can. Some days we’re running late and it’s not possible, and the traffic in the afternoon makes it too much of a hassle, but it makes Noah happy. Setting him up for a good day is important, and if that means driving five minutes out of my way, I’ll do it.
The station is located on a street that isn’t typically busy in the mornings. Across from it is a large park and playground. I take Noah there in the warmer months so he can play and watch the trucks.
“There’s no traffic,” I say as we come up on the block. “That means…”
“You get to go slow!”
I laugh as we drive five MPH by the fire station, so Noah can get a good look at the trucks. The doors are down, so they’re hard to see, but just being in their proximity is good enough for him. I feel his excitement filling the car.
“Look, a firefighter,” I say, pointing to a man walking from his car to the building.
I assume he’s a firefighter by the black sweatshirt with a red shield logo on the breast. He has a large duffel hanging off one shoulder that also looks like it could have a shield logo on it.
Noah knocks on the window and waves frantically. The guy looks over at the car, confused. He smiles when he sees Noah waving like a maniac.
But then his gaze lands on me, and—shit.
I whip my gaze back to the road as my entire body erupts in goosebumps.
That’s the guy from last night.
“Damnit,” I grumble, pressing on the gas. “Okay, buddy, say bye to the firehouse,” I ramble quickly.
“But you went too fast,” he pouts.
“We’ll come back another day,” I promise. “We’re going to be late for school,” I say. Then I mutter to myself, “Talk about awkward.”
I pull into the staff lot less than ten minutes later. Noah gathers his things, and we make our way inside to my classroom, where he usually hangs out until it’s time for him to go to his own class.
“You want to help me grade these papers?” I ask, waving the stack at him.
“Okay!” He drops his bag and coat into the corner and skips over. I hand him some papers and a red marker.
“All you have to do is see if the colors are right,” I say, pointing to the pictures. “If they are, they get a big smiley face.”
