Chapter 2
Caspian was a good kid. He’d never been much trouble, until the bakery opened, and then it was all “Sorry, Rick, we didn’t mean to set the alarm off.
” And I was fine with that. The firehouse was only a block away and we’d stopped sending the one truck we had in town over to them.
Most calls we got were for accidents and less for fires, but Caspian kept me on my toes, and I wanted to pay it back.
My niece and nephew were always harping on about those blind box things I called a waste of money, but to see their faces light up when they were given one, now that was priceless—and maybe not so much of a waste.
I knew Caspian would like them because he often had them on his keychains, or he’d wear blush with heart-shaped holes over his cheeks like he’d been in a tanning accident.
I couldn’t place what I felt for Cas, but it was something I’d been thinking about for a while.
I’d given him my number and the gift, wondering—and hoping—if that would be enough of a hint.
I’d never given a hint to someone before, most of my encounters were in the cities and one-night stands with a whole back pocket of experience.
Cas came up to the counter, revealing the teddy from the box. “Thank you for this,” he said. “When’s your birthday? I’ll have to get you something for it.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t have him giving me gifts—I wasn’t the gift-receiving type. But I couldn’t phrase it, although watching his face, mine was probably doing something strange. “It’s fine, honestly.”
“Well, when’s your birthday?” he asked.
In a soft voice, I looked at his beaming excitement. “It was last week.”
He slammed his fist down on the counter behind the glass. “Shut the front door.” He was dramatic about it, and I smiled. “Whatever you just ordered, it’s free. And—and—have some of my cake. You can say it’s a belated birthday cake.”
I kept smiling and nodded. “Sounds delicious. I’ll take some.”
Behind him, Tobias was decorating cakes and Keaton was standing looking all goofy at our interaction, as if it was something bigger—something different. “Wait,” he said, also slapping a hand on the counter. “Why didn’t you order your cake from us?”
I laughed. “I—I don’t really eat much cake, and the guys at the station, well, they just made me a birthday lasagna,” I said.
Caspian snorted a laugh. “Savory cake,” we said at the same time. We shared a moment, of sorts, but I really had to get back to the fire house, and he had to celebrate his birthday.
With a rather large bag of baked goods all boxed up and stacked neatly, I left the bakery and walked out into the nippy autumn air. I preferred hotter weather. Maybe it was my occupation—with the name fire—but I really preferred being close to the holy ball of burning fire we called our sun.
Tom Whitney was standing around outside the fire station door, half dressed in his uniform. He nodded at the bag. “What you got there?” He was trying to hide the fact that he was smoking—as if he wasn’t standing right beside the smoke bin and rubbing his fingers on the piece of wet wipe.
“I think these are apology cakes from Oh Crumbs,” I said, raising it.
He let out a singular laugh. “I hope there’s enough for me to take some home.”
“Plenty. I’m sure Katie and Denise will love them.”
Since we were a small station, I was in charge, then Tom, who acted as my second-in-command.
He was a paramedic, and he was invaluable to the team—the team of four.
I was on call, from home, from here—whatever it was, I was alerted to it.
Janey was our driver and engineer; she was an absolute beast in the truck.
I’d never seen someone drift in one of them before.
And Rooney, he was green to the job and was following in Tom’s footsteps, but was not quite as experienced.
Anyone else who came in was a volunteer, though we had a couple of retired firemen in town who operated on a paid-on-call situation.
I think it might’ve been part of their retirement benefits package from the department.
Upstairs in the staff room, which doubled up very often as a bedroom with the softest sofas, I placed the cake and cupcakes out.
Janey rushed to me, oil all over her hands.
“I heard you went back to the bakery,” she said.
“I was hoping it was for something yummy.” Janey was a complete contradiction in my eyes, her hair was always slicked into a ponytail and her makeup was always done, usually with an oil-slick shimmer effect on her cheeks. “Those guys know how to make cupcakes.”
“I went over because it’s—” I paused, pulling my jacket off to reveal the deep blue fire station T-shirt beneath. “There was a false alarm earlier, and it turns out it’s Caspian’s birthday.”
“Love him,” she said, placing her oiled hand to her chest. “I always wonder if they’re in some throuple situation, you know.”
I almost choked when she’d said it, my mouth now wide open as if to catch flies. “I—”
“Oh my god, I’m absolutely joking,” she said. “I’d know if they were. My sister, Adrianna, was in their year in high school. She’d tell me if she knew the tea.”
Janey would introduce new lingo all the time.
It didn’t help me when I was trying to figure out what she meant by tea and spilling it.
The last thing we needed in the fire house was a stained carpet.
I just took one of the cupcakes and stuffed my face with it.
Janey sighed and continued to ramble, talking about how she was still working on the rig.
It had been making a sound—one that I hadn’t heard—but I let her get to it since she was the engineer.
* * *
My phone sounded. It was always on me, even as I reclined back in my armchair watching the ten o’clock news.
There were bear sightings in the area, and I was watching a basic informative guide on dealing with them.
I’d almost been asleep when the phone beeped, but now I was alert, upright, almost throwing the cake crumbs caught on my T-shirt across the room.
It was him. Caspian.
Hi! Thank you so much for the gift today. I know you said to text, but I didn’t know if you meant like, text for emergencies, or whether you wanted to talk.
It seemed better worded than anything I could’ve put together at that moment. I just looked his message over, yawning and blinking wildly at it. Crafting a message back was a struggle, mostly because knowing it wasn’t an emergency call, my heart rate had resumed and I was still tired.
Well, I think it’s best we know each other.
I could even give you some safety tips. You know, a lot of the smoke created doesn’t come from the baking, it comes from the matter on the metal that’s burned on, and the more you keep baking it, the harder it becomes, and then it might no longer make smoke, but it’s not a good look.
I looked back over my message and wished to delete it. I didn’t want to come across as a know-it-all, especially to him. He looked like he might break at the slightest sign of criticism, and I didn’t want to be seen criticizing him.
That’s mostly Toby’s job, so I’ll let him know. He replied almost immediately.
Okay, and if there’s anything I could help you with, please let me know.
He quickly changed the topic, asking me how his cupcakes tasted, and they were great, so I turned the question back on him and asked about his birthday plans.
Toby and Keat are throwing me a small thing.
Hopefully no flames, and remember to always extinguish a candle if you leave it in a room alone, I typed, my fingers acting too quickly once more.
I shouldn’t have been instructing him on life, he was grown man, and even if he dressed so sweetly, that didn’t mean I could just infantilize him as well. Did it?
Thank you for letting me know, and if I want your attention, I’ll just leave one of them lit? he asked.
I couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious. My brows arched together as I stared at the message. If he wanted my attention, all he had to do was ask for it. I hoped he wouldn’t burn the entire building down just to get my attention.
Don’t do that. I sent.
If you need my attention, I’ve got plenty of it to go around. What do you need attention on? I followed up quickly.
There was a moment where three little dots appeared and then disappeared.
I wondered if it was something I’d said—I was falling asleep in my armchair, so I might not have been quite so switched on.
“Balls,” I let out, getting up out of the armchair and turning the TV off with the remote.
The crumbs dropped to the ground, and I sniffled a little in laughter at the name of the bakery.
Oh Crumbs was right, and if I’d been hungry enough, I might even have wanted to attack them with a little mouth-to-floor suction. I wasn’t above that, believe me.
I wandered into the kitchen where some of the leftover cupcakes had been put. I’d sampled a few at the station—and claimed them since my mouth cooties were on them according to Janey. I took a bite out of a chocolate one, standing and smiling at the deliciousness.
Anyway, what does a guy like you do with his nights? he asked.
Looking at myself, the answer was unclear.
If I’m not at the hall, I’m usually home, or on a walk, depending on the weather, I replied.
Are you not going to ask me the same? This was some newfound confidence. I didn’t know how to respond to him when he was being a little sassy, but maybe he was being playful and I was misreading the signs—I seemed to have a habit of doing that, unless they were work related.
What do you like to do with your nights? I asked him, just as he’d wanted me to.
I genuinely want to know now, I added.
The picture in my mind was of him and an open book where he was drawing cakes, cupcakes, and other ideas for what to bake. In my mind he was also covered in glitter, like so much glitter it made my nose twitch to sneeze—far from the cakes.
I like to read and play, like fun play stuff, obviously all very SFW.
Which I knew to mean safe for work. I still didn’t quite know what he was saying.
It was like he was trying to tell me something, and I was Mr. Oblivious.
Unless he was handing me a vodka soda with a lime wedge and had his hand snug on my crotch, I wouldn’t know if this was just his interest in me or my brain was telling me I was interested in him.
“Huh,” I said, looking around at my empty apartment.
It wasn’t lived in at all. The walls hadn’t been painted or papered since I moved in, and nothing else ever got done, mostly because I didn’t spend much of the day here.
“Come on, brain, you can reply.” I tapped my fingers on the counter, hands on either side of the phone, watching it like he was going to give me something else, but . . . he didn’t.
Your cakes were delicious, by the way. And I’ll come back tomorrow for some more. It was the only way I could end this thing and see him tomorrow as a temperature check—a literal one too. I needed to know how hot that damn oven went, and why it was causing him such a struggle.
Perfect! I’ll have your belated birthday present ready for you!
he sent, and a weird sensation came over me.
My palms became sweaty, my stomach felt tingles, and my ass clenched tight.
The last time this happened was after a spicy curry that I’d told the state fire captain I could handle—I very much could not handle it.
But I could handle Caspian, and I could handle these emotions running through me.
I didn’t want a present, but the idea of it now .
. . there was excitement in me. And yet, I didn’t want it.
I was the gift giver, so to counter that, I’d have to give him another gift.
Maybe I’d learn a little more about why he felt the need to tell me about his playing was safe.
Was there a not safe version . . . and if so, how could I score an invite to it?
Oh balls. I was falling.
This was a crush. In my thirty-seven years, I’d never really had a crush.
I’d even married a woman when I was eighteen—the save-sex-till-marriage type—and while I’d loved Samantha, our marriage had ended a year later in an annulment—so were we even technically married?
Afterwards, I moved to Sugar Bay and stayed in the closet.
Sure, there were hot men in those fitness magazines, but they were jerk-off material, not the type of material that woke up part of my brain and body like I was taking part in some holy event.
Caspian was my holy event—or holey because I wanted a piece of that . . . cake.