Rescued By Three Fireman (Firehouse Fantasies #2)

Chapter 1

Rachel

“Have a good evening,” I hold the door open as Dorothy Williams makes her way down the café steps, cane tapping against each one.

“You too, dear.” She pauses at the bottom, glancing back with a warm smile. “That apple pie was delicious today. You tell Linda she’s outdone herself.”

“I will.” I watch to make sure she reaches the sidewalk safely. Dorothy’s been coming in every Tuesday for the past month, always ordering the same thing—black coffee and whatever pie we have that day.

“See you next week,” she calls, waving.

“See you then.”

The café sits quietly behind me. The building used to be a Victorian house before the owners converted it.

They kept the upstairs as storage and office space and turned the ground floor into the dining area.

Tuesday evenings are always slow after six.

Most of Millbrook Falls is home, making dinner or sitting in front of their televisions.

I’ve got end-of-month inventory waiting upstairs, but the café’s part-time cleaner just quit yesterday—something about a better-paying gig at the resort two towns over.

The owners haven’t hired a replacement yet, probably won’t for a while, given how tight money has been. So here I am, manager by day, janitor by night, a five-year-old who thinks bedtime is a suggestion, and about fifteen minutes before Tommy realizes I’m not paying attention to him.

I don’t mind the extra two hours if it means more money in my pocket. Tommy’s growing like a weed, and his shoes don’t buy themselves.

I flip the sign to “Closed” and head back inside.

The dining room looks like a hurricane hit it. Chairs askew, coffee mugs abandoned on tables, newspapers scattered across booth seats. I start stacking dishes, mentally calculating how long cleanup will take.

Tommy’s voice drifts down from upstairs. “Mama! Can I have a cookie?”

“You already had two.”

“But I’m still hungry.”

“Then you should’ve eaten your dinner instead of building a fort with your chicken nuggets.”

Silence. Then, “Can I have a cookie anyway?”

I love this kid to death, but he’s got the negotiation skills of a used car salesman.

“Fine! One cookie! The small ones.”

I’m a pushover, and we both know it.

I haul the dish tub toward the kitchen, shouldering through the swinging door. The industrial dishwasher hums in the corner. I set the tub down and turn back toward the dining room.

That’s when I smell it.

Smoke. Acrid and wrong.

My stomach drops. I spin around and see an orange light flickering through the gap under the storage room door. The door that should never, ever have orange light under it unless the actual flames of hell are visiting us.

“No. No.” I yank the door open.

Fire roars up the back wall, feeding on cardboard boxes and dry goods with flames crawling across the ceiling like living things, hot and hungry and spreading fast.

I slam the door shut. My hands shake as I grab my phone.

“Tommy!” I run for the stairs at the back of the kitchen—the old servants' stairs from when this building was a Victorian house before the Martinezes converted it into a café. I take the steps two at a time, dialing 911. “Baby, we need to leave right now!”

The operator answers.

“Fire at Sunrise Café on Lakeshore Drive,” I blurt out, not waiting for their greeting. “Second floor occupied. My son’s upstairs.”

Smoke curls up behind me, thicker with every second.

“Ma’am, evacuate immediately—”

“That’s the plan!” I hang up because talking, running, and not dying all at once seems like a lot to ask.

Tommy stands at the top of the stairs with a cookie in hand. His green eyes go wide.

“Mama? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. We’re just leaving early.” I scoop him up, and he still holds on to his cookie. He wraps his legs around my waist automatically. “Hold on tight, okay?”

“But I didn’t finish organizing your office—”

“We’ll organize later.”

I head back down the stairs. The smoke billows through the kitchen door now. The front door is our only option, but I can see flames reflected in the dining room windows. The fire is spreading faster than it should.

My keys are in my office upstairs.

My purse is in my office upstairs, but my son is in my arms, and that’s the only thing that matters.

I head for the dining room, but the smoke drives me back, my eyes water. Tommy coughs against my shoulder, his small body shaking.

“Okay. Change of plans.” I pivot, heading back upstairs. The smoke follows us, creeping up the walls. “We’re going out the window.”

“But we’re not supposed to go out windows.” Tommy’s voice is small and scared. “You said so.”

“Emergency exception.” I carry him down the hall toward my office. “Sometimes rules change when buildings are on fire.”

“I don’t like this game, Mama.”

“Me neither, baby. Me neither.”

Suddenly, I hear voices shouting commands I can’t make out through the roar in my ears.

“Fire department! Anyone inside?”

Relief hits me so hard I almost stumble. “Up here! Second floor!”

Tommy burrows his face into my neck. “Are we gonna die?”

“Absolutely not. No dying allowed. I’ve got inventory due Friday.” I press my lips to his hair, trying to keep my voice steady. “The firefighters are here. We’re fine.”

I’m lying through my teeth.

The smoke thickens, and I crouch low, keeping Tommy’s face pressed to my shoulder. My office is five feet away, but it feels like five miles.

Footsteps are pounding up the stairs now.

Two figures emerge through the smoke, massive in full turnout gear. I can’t see their faces through the masks.

“Rachel! It’s Cole!” One of them calls out. “Theo’s with me! We’ve got you both.”

Relief floods through me, Cole and Theo—my brother Jake’s friends. I’ve never been so happy to see them in my entire life.

“Thank God!”

Cole reaches me first. "I've got you. We're getting you out."

I'm coughing too hard to respond. Tommy coughs against my shoulder, his small body shaking.

"I've got him." Theo appears beside Cole and reaches for Tommy. "You're okay, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Tommy's eyes are huge and terrified as Theo lifts him from my arms.

"I need to take him," Theo says, securing Tommy against his chest.

Every instinct screams at me not to let go, but Tommy needs to get out. I release him into Theo's arms.

Cole scoops me up. I wrap my arms around his neck, still coughing.

"Mama!" Tommy cries out from Theo's arms as they move toward the stairs.

"Right behind you, baby!"

Cole’s moving fast, taking the stairs two at a time. I wrap my arms around his neck and let myself relax against his chest. He’s solid and calm and everything I need right now when my whole world is literally burning down.

The heat follows us down. Smoke everywhere. But then we’re outside and cool air hits my face, and I suck in gasping breaths that taste like freedom and lake water.

Cole sets me down on the sidewalk. My legs shake, but I hold.

Fire trucks surround the building, hoses spraying water at flames that shoot through the roof.

The café is engulfed—orange and red against the darkening sky.

Everything I’ve worked for these past three months is just gone.

The building groans, and something inside crashes.

Firefighters shout commands. The water pressure hisses and steams where it hits the hottest spots.

Theo jogs over with Tommy. My son is wrapped in a blanket, face smudged with soot, but he’s breathing. He’s okay.

I drop to my knees, and he crashes into me, all warm weight and trembling limbs.

“We made it.” I hold him so tight he squeaks. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

“That was scary, Mama.”

“Yeah, baby. It really was.”

A crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. Phones are up, pointed at us. At the fire. At Cole and Theo in their gear. Someone’s filming. Someone’s probably already posting this online. Great. Nothing says “getting your life together” like going viral as a disaster victim.

I look up at Cole. He’s pulled his helmet off, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looks exhausted.

“Thank you.” My voice cracks. “Both of you.”

“That’s the job.” But Cole’s eyes are soft when he looks at Tommy. “You did well, little man. Brave kid.”

Tommy beams despite the trauma. “Can I ride in the fire truck?”

“Tommy!”

“What? It’s right there.”

Theo crouches down, grinning. “Maybe next time. When the building’s not actively on fire.”

More emergency vehicles pull up. Paramedics swarm us with oxygen masks and blood pressure cuffs. Tommy thinks the oxygen mask is hilarious and makes Darth Vader breathing sounds until I threaten to take away his video games.

Dorothy stands at the front of the crowd, both hands pressed to her mouth. When she sees me looking, she rushes over.

“Oh, Rachel! Oh, thank God!” She pulls me into a hug that smells like lavender and peppermint. “I saw the smoke from my apartment. I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I was just there. Just minutes ago.”

“We’re fine. We got out.” I squeeze her hand. “See? Not even singed.”

“This is my fault.” Tears stream down her weathered cheeks. “If I hadn’t stayed so late—”

“Dorothy, no. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” I keep my voice firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

More people gather. Whispering. Pointing. Their phones are still out, still recording.

***

A man in street clothes approaches about twenty minutes later.

Dark pants, polo shirt, badge clipped to his belt.

Marco Reyes. Jake’s other friend—the one who makes me want to roll my eyes every time he shows up at the house because he acts like he’s got a stick shoved so far up his ass it’s permanently lodged there.

“Ma’am, I’m Marco Reyes with the county fire investigation unit.” His voice is clipped. Professional.

Like we didn’t just pass each other in Jake’s hallway two days ago. “I need to ask you some questions about tonight.”“Now?” I’m sitting on a curb, covered in soot, with my traumatized five-year-old in my lap. “Seriously?”

“The first few hours after a fire are critical for the investigation.” He pulls out a small notebook. “How long have you worked here?”

“Three months.”

“Were you closing alone tonight?”

“Yes. Well, my son and I.”

His eyes flick to Tommy, then back to me. “Any electrical issues lately? Problems with appliances?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“When did you last check the storage room where the fire started?”

My brain is foggy from smoke and adrenaline. “I don’t know. This afternoon? Maybe around three?”

“Maybe?” He writes that down. “You’re not sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything except that my workplace just burned down and you’re interrogating me like I’m a suspect.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “Is there a point to this?”

“Just trying to establish a timeline, ma’am.”

Ma’am. Like I’m some elderly woman who needs to be handled. I’m twenty-eight and currently rethinking every life choice that brought me to this sidewalk.

Cole steps between us, arms crossed. “She’s had a rough night, Reyes. Maybe give her some space.”

Marco’s expression doesn’t change. “Just doing my job, Lieutenant.”

“So am I.” Cole doesn’t budge. “She answered your questions. You can follow up tomorrow.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Some silent male communication I’m too tired to decipher.

Marco finally nods and walks away, but not before giving me one last measuring look that makes my skin crawl.

“What’s his problem?” I mutter.

“He’s always like that.” Theo appears with bottles of water and hands them out. “Don’t take it personally. Marco thinks everyone’s guilty until proven innocent.”

“Charming.”

“He’s good at his job.” Cole’s eyes follow Marco across the scene. “Doesn’t mean he has to be likable.”

Tommy tugs on my sleeve. “Mama, can we go home now?”

Home. Jake’s house, where I’m living in my childhood bedroom like a failure at adulting. But it has beds and running water and isn’t currently on fire, so I’ll take it.

“Yeah, baby. We can go home.”

"Rachel!" Jake's voice cuts through the noise. He's running across the parking lot, face pale with panic. "Oh my God, are you okay? Is Tommy—"

"We're fine." I stand up, and he pulls both of us into a crushing hug. "We're okay."

"I heard the dispatch call. Grabbed my keys and just—" He pulls back, looking us over like he's checking for injuries. "You're really okay?"

"Really okay."

"Let's get you home." He looks at Cole. "Thanks for getting them out."

Cole nods. "Just doing the job."

Jake guides us toward his truck. Tommy's already half-asleep against my shoulder. I glance back once at the café's burning shell, watching everything I've worked for disappear into smoke and ash.

Three months ago, I left everything behind to start over in my hometown. New job, new life, new determination to prove I could handle things on my own.

One fire later, and I'm right back where I started. Dependent on other people's kindness and wondering if I'm cursed or just spectacularly unlucky.

Jake's quiet the whole drive. He doesn't try to make small talk or ask questions. Just drives with white-knuckled hands on the wheel, occasionally glancing over to make sure I'm still breathing.

When we pull up to the house, he puts the truck in park and turns to look at me.

"You scared the hell out of me," he says quietly.

"I scared myself."

"I can't lose you. Either of you." His voice cracks slightly. "You're all I have."

"We're okay, Jake. I promise."

He nods, but I can see his hands shaking as he unbuckles.