Chapter 4
Ford
Apology cookies.
Goddamn it.
I stared at the plastic container and the sticky note for what felt like hours after she left but realistically were only a few seconds. Maybe a minute. Two, tops.
Not accepting food from strangers is something even my five-year-old niece knows. So why I opened the container, smelled the cookies, and ate three in one sitting without a second thought escapes me.
Then there was the sticky note with the smiley face that I shoved inside a kitchen drawer when I should have thrown it in the trash instead.
I told myself I just wanted to enjoy my day off with a movie and a beer, and getting up from the couch to throw it away after a forty-eight-hour shift was too much work.
Despite that happening three days ago, I’m clearly still hung up on the whole interaction. Because now, at the firehouse, I don’t even hear Ian come toward me before he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Hey, Cap. Everything okay?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. What do you need?”
My father used to be a firefighter before he retired. He was and still is the most uplifting man I’ve ever known, which is something that carried over to his job as fire lieutenant. His crew loved him, and he had a reputation—the good kind.
Some of my men know him, others have worked with him, and it’s no secret that they expected me to be a carbon copy of my father when I joined the department.
But if they were hoping for me to host barbecues, invite them over for drinks and baseball, or be anything other than the detached asshole that I am, I’m sure they’re deeply disappointed.
It’s not that I don’t like these men. They’re good guys, and we work well together. We protect one another out there. After all, firefighters share a special kind of bond that can’t be compared to anything else.
I keep my work and personal life separate, though.
I wasn’t an overly social kid, and that habit has carried into adulthood.
I don’t like having enemies, which is why I’m nice to everyone—or, at least, neutral—but that’s where it ends.
The less people know about my personal life, the less complicated things get.
“Just scrubbed the toilets until I saw my reflection on those motherfuckers,” Ian says with his usual smirk. “Need any help here?”
Slow days at the firehouse are synonymous with cleaning, batch cooking, and working out.
Being a firefighter in a small town isn’t the most action-packed job out there, but I didn’t choose this career to feel like the hero of a movie.
I’m damn proud of doing this for a living, no matter what my shifts consist of.
“No need. I’m done here.” I finish stirring the pot of spaghetti and meatballs. It’s enough to feed an entire army. “Lunch is in ten.”
Ian grabs some plates and starts setting the table for the twelve of us who are on duty. “Cool. So, how are you? But, like, for real.”
Possibly the most common question in the English language, yet each of those three words makes my insides stumble. Because I know what he’s really asking.
“Fine” is my one-word answer.
Just because I want to keep my life private doesn’t mean I’m always successful. And in a small town where everyone knows everybody and gossip spreads like wildfire, that’s exactly what went down.
Ian knows what happened, and so does the entirety of Harmony Hills.
Being cheated on is something that fundamentally changes everything you thought you knew.
At least, that’s what it did for me. It’s not about the other person—it’s about me and my unreliable gut.
Because if I can’t trust it to help me choose the right partner, what about my other choices?
Can I trust myself to pick the right job, the right house, the right path?
Getting cheated on fucking sucks. But getting cheated on by your wife, in your own damn bed, in the house you bought for the two of you? Yeah, that takes it to another level.
I met Jocelyn three years ago at a wedding. She was a friend of the bride. Witty, cheery, beautiful, big smile, curves for days, my age—she ticked all the boxes I once thought needed to be ticked, so I invited her out for dinner.
A year later, we were engaged. And ten months after our wedding, I found her in our bed with her ex-husband.
I knew she had been married before, but I didn’t mind it; everyone deserves a second chance at love if they want it.
Her divorce had been finalized the month before we met, and at first, I was nothing but a rebound.
She was open about that, which I appreciated.
But then she caught real feelings for me—or so she assured me.
Only that, after I walked in on her and her ex together, she called leaving him a mistake. She swore she’d been planning to tell me, that the guilt had been eating at her, that she knew what she was doing to me was cruel. And then she twisted the knife and told me that I deserved better.
If I peel back the layers of hurt ego, deep down I knew our marriage was destined to fail.
Our multiple arguments and poor communication skills were a dead giveaway, looking back.
And for that, I can’t blame her—we were both responsible.
I was living inside an impenetrable fort, and she was a grenade trying to burst the gates open.
We weren’t a good match, and we are both to blame for getting complacent instead of splitting amicably.
Not that any of those things excuse cheating, but I’m over it. I took the divorce well, despite what my reluctance to talk about it might suggest.
Mentally, I moved on overnight. And physically, I was quick to sell the house, move to a smaller one, and keep living my life with no intention of getting into another relationship again—let alone a marriage.
Been there, done that, not interested anymore.
Ian is my right hand. Although we aren’t best friends outside of work, he’s a good man.
But his constant check-in questions drive me up the fucking wall.
If I look like something crawled up my ass and died there some days, so be it.
My mood doesn’t interfere with my job or our dynamic, which is all that matters.
After lunch, we shoot the shit while the local news plays quietly in the background. I’m about to head for a second workout when the tones go off, the lights at the station all turning on at once, and we jump out of our seats.
Not even a minute later, my guys and I are geared up and ready to go.
Restaurant fire near Main Street. According to the dispatcher, all the workers and customers got out, but the flames are spreading rapidly, and the adjacent buildings have been evacuated just in case.
My rig is first due. Behind the wheel, Ian’s usual smirk is replaced by a mask of concentration. The rest of my crew looks just as focused.
When we first arrive at the department, usually as volunteers, the adrenaline highs that come with every call are inevitable.
Firefighting isn’t just our job—it’s our calling.
With time and experience, though, that initial rush transforms into silent focus and calm anticipation.
We no longer act like overstimulated puppies.
Lives are in our hands, and it isn’t time to play.
When we get to the scene, I curse under my breath. The flames are eating the restaurant from the inside, and it’s not looking good.
“Disconnect the electricity,” I instruct one of my guys while the rest of the crew gets the hose and the foam ready.
“Excuse me. Please.” A woman’s voice reaches me, and I turn to see Gloria, the owner. “Goodness, Ford. This is terrible. The deep fryers…. They were old, and—”
“It’s okay, Gloria. We’ll get it under control. Is anybody still inside?”
I already know the answer, but relief hits me all the same when she confirms, “It was just Olivia and me in the kitchen, then Walter, and four customers. We checked the bathroom before we left. All of us got out.”
Just then, her niece, Olivia, comes up to us. “Ford, hi.”
“Hey,” I say distractedly, supervising my crew from the distance.
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you around in way too long.”
It’s how she asks the question, as if her family restaurant isn’t about to turn into ashes, that takes me aback. And sure enough, a sly smile is on her lips when I glance back at her. Jesus.
“Let him do his job, Olivia,” Gloria chastises, seeing the same thing that I am—she’s openly flirting with me while, behind us, her family business is burning to the ground.
She pouts and turns to leave, but not before throwing me a wink over her shoulder. If I were interested—which I’m absolutely not—she couldn’t have picked a worse time and place.
I’m vaguely aware of people piling up on the street, phones aimed at the burning building as we start putting out what’s easily the worst fire I’ve seen recently.
“Ready for number one. Let’s go!” I yell into the radio.
Lost in the situation, I’m not sure how much time passes until the flames are under control. By the time we’re done, the outside of the restaurant looks completely black, its usual green color long gone.
“Thank you, my boy. Thank God you’re all okay.” Gloria’s eyes are teary, and she grabs my stubbled cheeks in her shaky hands. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I swallow. “I’m sorry, Gloria.”
She was so close to retirement too. Goddamn it. Not that I needed the reminder, but life fucking sucks sometimes.
She shakes her head. “Material things can be replaced. The important thing is that everyone is safe.”
I offer her a small smile I hope is reassuring. “You’ll get back on your feet. The community has your back.”
Which is true. Residents of Harmony Hills show up for one another like I’ve never seen before. I’m confident that within hours, Gloria will have a dozen neighbors knocking at her door with food and company, offering all the help they can.
“We’ll get back on our feet,” she echoes in a hopeful voice.
I’m nodding when something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Or someone, rather.
Joe’s sister, Ivy, is handing out water bottles and brown bags to my crew. The hell?
“I need to take care of something,” I tell Gloria absentmindedly.
“Ah, of course. I’ll see you soon, Ford. Hug your mama for me.”
The smile I was giving Gloria vanishes when I notice Ivy is still here, now talking to Ian. He says something, she laughs, and that alone tips me over the edge.
She’s not going to interfere with our job because she wants to flirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a little harsher than I meant to.
She looks away from Ian, her blue eyes falling on me with no small amount of glee. “Hello to you too. Fran told me to get these for you guys.”
“What is it?”
Ian sends me a look, probably because I’m not asking too nicely, which I ignore.
Just like Ivy ignores me and keeps smiling at me without a care in the world as she explains, “Water and donuts, what else? She said you would be thirsty and hungry after putting out that nasty fire. They’re from Jill’s Café just across the street.
I swear by them. Here, try one.” She shoves a water bottle and a brown bag in my direction.
“No sticky note this time, though. I hope you don’t mind. ”
Something akin to a grunt leaves the back of my throat. “You shouldn’t get this close to the building. It’s not safe.”
“You guys had already put out the fire when I started handing these out. Your crew was just hanging around, getting ready to leave. I wouldn’t have interrupted you,” she argues.
“I sure could use a donut right now,” Ian chips in a little too enthusiastically. “Thanks, honey.”
Before she can give him an answer, I tell her, “Say thank you to Fran, but don’t do this again.”
Her eyes hold a challenge. “I won’t make a habit of giving you food, don’t worry. I was trying to do a nice thing, but I get your point. Won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
Technically, I know she isn’t in any kind of imminent danger, or I would’ve carried her out of here myself. But still.
“Look, I know you don’t like me,” she blurts.
“And I also know I’ve been giving you one too many sweet treats lately, but Fran really made me do this.
It wasn’t my idea. I mean, I was happy to do it, but I’m not following you around town or anything.
You don’t have a stalker—or maybe you do, but it’s not me.
That sounds a little suspicious now that I’ve said it out loud, but it’s the truth. ”
I pause. Have I given her the impression that I don’t like her? Sure, I’m not the life of the party, but it’s not that I hate her or find her annoying. It’s only that I get the impression that she’s—
“Cap!” one of my men calls behind me, bringing my thoughts to a halt.
I point a finger at her and repeat, “Don’t do this again.”
I don’t give her enough time to answer before I head where I’m needed, pushing away all thoughts about Ivy and her impromptu sweet treats.
For some damn reason, it’s harder than I expected.