2
AARON
I ADDED THE cooked sausage to the pasta sauce I’d made and tasted it. Needed more oregano. I was in the last twelve hours of my three-day shift, and I’d grown tired of the probies’ pathetic attempts at food. Turns out, most new firefighters were shit at cooking. One guy’s efforts at “spaghetti” (microwave ramen with heated ketchup and Italian seasoning) were a crime against both food and humanity. I added more seasoning to the sauce, tested it again, and let it simmer while I pulled the noodles off the heat.
“You’re not rinsing those, are you?” My oldest brother, Will, walked into the firehouse’s kitchen with an eyebrow raised at the pasta. “Dad would have hated that.”
“I wasn’t, but now that you mention it…” I ran water over the noodles, delighted in how affronted Will looked.
“Asshole,” he muttered.
I laughed. “It’s not like we’re some Italian family, Will. We’re Southerners. Dad wouldn’t have cared whether the pasta was rinsed or not; he just wanted to feed us.”
Will grunted and pulled bowls down for the few of us eating. We ate in shifts, and naturally, first up had me with both my firefighter brothers and Mike, my partner in the ambulance and a fellow paramedic.
I chopped basil and sprinkled it on the finished dishes, wiping off any drips of sauce before handing them to Will. He rolled his eyes at my insistence on presentation—a person ate with their eyes just as much as their mouths—but said nothing.
“What a treat,” Chief Suarez said as he sat down.
“Looks awesome, man,” Mike said.
My other brother, Price, slapped me on the back as he took a seat. “Doesn’t look as good as me, but then again, nothing ever does.”
I shook my head. “Just say thanks, Price.”
He tipped his chin at me and laughed. It was as good as he’d give and I knew it. Which was standard.
“Looks like Samson’s working on a love connection with your Daisy,” Chief said, shoveling a forkful of pasta in his mouth. Samson was a stray dog that’d ingratiated himself into the firehouse’s neighborhoods’ hearts, which basically meant he didn’t miss a meal. He was a little thing, not quite knee high, with a dingy yellow coat and a crest of hair like a mohawk.
I took a normal-sized bite and shrugged. “Of course he is. Daisy is fully trained, up to date on all her shots, has a home, gets bathed regularly…she’s a catch.”
Chief laughed. “Sure wish someone would take Samson on. He’s a great little dog. Ugly, but great.”
Price looked up. “Have you had ‘the talk’ with Daisy? Made sure she knows her worth?”
I tried not to smile, but it was pointless. Daisy was my two-year-old brindle pit bull and the only woman in my life. She was my baby, and I wasn’t apologizing for it. Besides, she wasn’t going anywhere and she didn’t give me grief about anything, both of which were nearly impossible to come by. “We’ve talked. Samson isn’t good enough for her, but he sure does like her.”
“Sounds about like the rest of you bozos,” Chief said.
We all groaned. I prepared for his regular jab at me about needing to find someone. He was obsessed. I’d done the dating apps for a little while, but then I realized Chief was on there, too, trying to get women to swipe right on me.
Mortifying didn’t begin to describe it.
The other day, he spent an entire hour telling me why I should take one of his nieces out on a date, despite her not being even twenty-three years old. Considering I’m thirty-three, I refused to listen to him. And maybe that was a mistake, but as far as I was concerned, that whole ‘age is just a number’ thing doesn’t happen until both parties are thirty and above. I’m not saying I was some enlightened dude in my twenties—I was just as much of a self-centered asshole as the next twenty-something—but hitting thirty was different. Suddenly the under twenty-five set looked like middle-schoolers, and I figured they’d hang around about as long as a middle school crush. I wanted more than that.
“Which reminds me,” Chief continued, sitting back and wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I found the perfect little lady for you, Will.”
I smirked and kept my eyes on my plate, happy the spotlight wasn’t on me for once. Chief was convinced he was the town matchmaker, but had yet to make anything happen. For one, he was a confirmed bachelor himself, and second, no one seemed ready to forgive him for the time he spent trying to match up the mayor with our local weather person. Yes, they were close in age, but the mayor was engaged, and Chief basically refused to acknowledge that in his quest to create a happily ever after for the weather forecaster.
“I’m going to stop you right there, Chief,” Will said. “The fact you said ‘little lady’ is a problem. You can’t talk about women like that.”
I grinned. Will chapped my ass on the regular, but he was a feminist of the highest order. Not that anyone else really noticed, because it’s not like he was walking around wearing a t-shirt proudly proclaiming his status, but he constantly did this sort of thing. That he did it with his signature scowl made it even better.
“Fine. Her name is Connie. Would anyone else like to hear about her?” Chief asked.
“Also not okay. She isn’t a piece of cattle to be auctioned off. Have some respect.”
Chief’s eyebrows rose. “Remember who you’re talking to. I’ll have you on bathroom duty for a month if you keep it up.”
“Fine. Tell me about this wonderful Connie,” Will said, turning on a dime.
Everyone laughed. We all knew Will’s hatred of bathroom duty, feminist or not.
While Chief rhapsodized about the woman he had in mind for Will, I opened my social media. As I scrolled, my eyes snagged on a gorgeous blue-eyed blonde.
Devon.
She smiled from the passenger seat, her brother in profile in the driver’s seat, with the morning sun shining on them both. My brother swears we’re not on a road trip, the caption read. I say we are. We’ll see who wins.
I double-tapped to like the post before I could second-guess myself. Chief took that precise moment to look over and stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
“Is that Devon Rayne?”
I blackened my phone and didn’t bother answering. Chief never asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to.
“You know she’s coming back to town,” he said.
I knew.
