EIGHT MYLES
EIGHT
MYLES
I’m pretty cool about my budding friendship with Tristan, although I’ve shoved my feelings about the kissing and our makeout session under the metaphorical rug.
All of that is currently the big ol’ elephant in the room.
We haven’t talked about it, but it continues to be what I think about in the privacy of my dreams. Regardless of his specific role (friends or perhaps more), Tristan has become a welcome fixture in my life and in my son’s life.
I’ve also been going on job interviews here and there.
Nothing promising so far, but I remain optimistic.
Tristan, bless his heart—the heart I can’t forget is covered by his very muscular chest (which I have studiously been trying not to ogle)—he lets Nix stay with him whenever he has a day off.
And Tristan and I text each other every day.
Sometimes it's a meme, or a joke, or a photo of what we're doing, or just messages about the little details of our lives. It has happened so quickly, this thing (whatever it is) between us. I’ve decided I'm not going to question it, no looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Tristan: Are you ducking kidding me? He really did that?
Me: That’s what Nix said
Tristan: I meant fucking
Tristan: Ducking new phone.
Tristan: Ducking autocorrect
Tristan: Fucking, dammit! I meant fucking
Tristan: Hang on a sex. Gonna turn it off
Tristan: I meant sec, not sex
Tristan: Oh duck, brb
Me: You need to stop that new phone from ducking around *laughing with tears emoji*
I was telling Tristan that Nix mentioned his grandparents bought a new smart TV.
Because the remote control is so complicated (to them, at least), his grandpa figured out which buttons on the remote they absolutely needed and which ones were only put there to confuse him.
Then he proceeded to tape over all the confusing ones!
Me: I know what you meant, filthy-mouth man.
Tristan: I’ve got a filthy mouth, huh?
God alone knows why I allow this text chain between us to segue into Tristan’s filthy mouth, which, if I’m being honest, turns me on… another detail I've shoved under the rug.
And because I don’t know how to act now that we’ve veered into flirty territory, I decide to bolt.
Me: Sorry. Got to go. Will get back to you.
Tristan: Cool. TTYL.
I might be slow like molasses pouring out of a jar, but I’m not too old to know some text speak. That’s some consolation.
Phoenix tugs at my sleeve, his brown eyes pleading. “Dad, please? You promised we could go see the fire trucks today.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. The kid’s been on my case for weeks about this, and Tristan’s offered to give us a tour of the station a dozen times.
“Alright, alright. Go get your shoes on.”
Phoenix whoops, dashing off to find his sneakers. I text Tristan, telling him we’re on our way.
The station doors are open when we arrive, the familiar scents of exhaust and coffee wafting out. Phoenix dashes ahead, heading straight for one of the ladder trucks.
Tristan strides out of the locker room, his six-foot-plus frame fills the doorway.
He has dirt smudged on his cheek, which I have to fight the urge to wipe off.
The way his uniform clings to his well-defined physique, accentuating every curve and muscle, sends a rush of heat through me.
I’m reminded that I’ve actually seen this man without his clothes, and I’d loved every minute of the time I’d spent worshipping his body.
Tristan’s a vision of strength and confidence, igniting my desires with a single glance.
He grins. “Hey, little man. What do you think of the truck?”
Phoenix nods eagerly. “It’s so cool! Do you get to drive it?”
“Sometimes,” Tristan says. “Want to see the hose?”
Phoenix’s eyes go wide. “Yes!”
Tristan laughs, leading Phoenix over to the fire hose. Watching them, warmth blossoms in my chest. Tristan’s so good with Phoenix, patient and playful. He was made to be a dad.
The thought startles me. Tristan and I have only known each other a couple of months. I shouldn’t be thinking about a future together, about him being a father figure for Phoenix.
I push the thought away, following them around the station. Today is about Phoenix, not my complicated feelings. We’ll deal with the rest later.
For now, I’ll simply enjoy the excitement on my son’s face and the joy in Tristan’s laughter.
Tristan shows Phoenix how the hoses unwind and lets him spray a test burst from one of the hoses. Phoenix shrieks with delight, dancing out of the way of the water.
“Be careful, buddy,” Tristan warns, but he’s grinning. “Want to see the fire engine we take out on calls?”
“Yeah!” Phoenix dashes over to the fire engine, attempting to climb up to sit in the driver’s seat. Tristan lifts him down with an apologetic look at me.
“Sorry, little man. You have to be a real firefighter to drive the fire truck.”
“Can I see the sirens?” Phoenix asks. “And the lights?”
“Sure thing.” Tristan helps Phoenix stand up on the sideboard, showing him the light and siren controls. He flips them on, the station filling with the wail of sirens.
Phoenix cheers, clapping his hands over his ears. “So loud!”
“But cool, huh?” Tristan ruffles his hair. “Ready to see the bunk room and kitchen?”
“Yeah!”
Tristan lifts Phoenix down, grabbing his hand to lead him into the station. Watching them, that warmth blossoms in my chest again. Tristan really would make an amazing dad.
I shake my head, hurrying to catch up. One day at a time.
Tristan leads us into the bunk room, gesturing around. “This is where we sleep. And the kitchen’s through here.”
The kitchen smells of coffee and leftover takeout. A few firefighters are sprawled around a table, playing cards. They look up at our entrance, greeting Tristan with a chorus of “Hey, Triscuit!”
Tristan rolls his eyes at the nickname, nudging Phoenix. “Buddy, these are the reasons I go prematurely grey.”
“Hey, little dude!” The blonde woman—Haley—waves. “I’m the prettiest one here, in case you couldn’t tell.”
Phoenix giggles, ducking behind Tristan’s leg.
Tristan ruffles his hair. “Don’t worry, they only bite on Wednesdays.” He gestures to each firefighter in turn. “Phoenix and Myles, meet Nick, Jared, Haley and Connor. And this is Captain Torres, but everyone just calls her Steph.”
I greet them with a sweeping wave of my hand and a friendly smile, but their main focus is on my son, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Steph waves from where she’s making a fresh pot of coffee. “Nice to meet you, Phoenix. Tristan’s told us a lot about you.”
Phoenix peers around Tristan’s leg, giving a shy wave. “Hi.”
Nick leans forward, waggling his eyebrows. “So, you’re the little dude who’s got Triscuit wrapped around your little finger, huh?”
Tristan flushes. “Knock it off, Nick.”
“What?” Nick raises his hands in mock innocence. “Just stating the obvious. He talks about you all the time, kid.”
“Do not,” Tristan mutters, though he ruffles Phoenix’s hair again.
Phoenix blinks up at Tristan, eyes wide. “You talk about me?”
“Only good things,” Tristan promises. “These guys just like to tease.”
“He won’t shut up about you,” Connor adds, deadpan. “Phoenix said this, Phoenix did that—”
“All right, that’s enough.” Tristan’s blush deepens, but he’s fighting back a smile. “Why don’t I show you the gym and equipment, buddy?”
“Okay!” Phoenix chirps, following Tristan from the kitchen.
I hesitate in the doorway, meeting Steph’s gaze. She smiles, jerking her head after Tristan and Phoenix. “He’s great with kids. And he really does talk about Phoenix all the time.”
“Does he?” I rub the back of my neck, watching them through the glass walls of the gym. Tristan’s showing Phoenix the weights and climbing equipment, hands moving as he talks. Phoenix is gazing up at him adoringly, mimicking Tristan’s gestures.
My chest aches, and I look away. “They’ve become close.”
“More than close, from what Tristan says.” Steph studies me, smile softening into something sympathetic. “He really cares about you both, you know. As more than just friends or neighbors.”
I stare at her, throat tightening. “What?”
She pats my arm. “Just thought you should know… in case you feel the same.”