Chapter 3 Magnolia
Magnolia
We’re still holding hands as we hurry around to the front of the building.
I don’t know if I reached for him or he reached for me, but we’re hand-holding buddies now.
It’s crisp outside today, and normally, I’d regret not having a big coat, but the cold air feels good after all those stairs. It’s early fall, so the weather can be a real toss-up.
There’s a confused crowd gathered in front—everyone has forgotten the emergency gathering point at the end of the small VIP parking lot. Fire trucks sit parked in the center of the street, and several police cars are blocking the parking lot exits.
Apparently, it’s a slow day in Bend, Oregon.
Isabel spots me and frantically waves for me over the crowd.
“I see someone I need to check on,” I tell Nash, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.
He releases my hand, and I make my way through the group of disgruntled employees. It’s a jumble of voices and comments. ‘Were you smoking in the bathroom again, Steve?’ ‘My feet will never recover from those stairs.’ ‘Do we get to go home now?’ ‘We made it out in the elevator.’
I shake my head. I’d be jealous of the ones who came down in the elevator, except my exit was a lot more entertaining.
Isabel folds her arms across her chest and taps her foot. “Do you have them?” she asks, not bothering to ask about me.
I pat the manila folder. “Right here. Here you go,” I say as I hold them out to her.
Isabel unfolds her arms and holds her hands up, refusing to take them. “No, I’m too stressed right now to keep track of them. Keep them safe until we can return to the office.”
“Of course,” I say slowly as I watch her wring her hands together. “But wouldn’t you want to take—”
“No. I already told you I can’t handle it right now. What do you think I’m paying you for?” she scoffs. “Oh, and, Magnolia?”
“Yes?”
“If anything disappears, you’re fired.” She gives me a glare.
Another loud siren interrupts anything I could say as fire trucks and police vehicles switch places.
The firefighters look practically gleeful as they run toward the building.
One particularly eager woman starts dragging a hose from the fire truck to connect with the fire hydrant.
She looks far too happy at the possibility of there being a fire.
At least she’s having a good day, I think.
“We won’t be going back to work today,” Isabel says as she watches yet another fire truck pull up in front of the building. “I think I’ll go get a massage to calm my nerves.”
She marches away from the crowd, hardly sparing me another glance.
“Will she really fire you?”
I jump at the question and spin around to see that Nash is standing there.
Well, that was embarrassing.
He heard the threat of her firing me. That doesn’t exactly make it seem like I’m a stellar employee.
I nod, my attention on an ambulance that drives over the curb and parks in front of the main entrance to the building.
“Isabel hasn’t fired anyone in six weeks.
She’s feeling the urge again. She’s a serial firer.
” I point at the ambulance, desperate to change the subject.
“Why do you suppose they need that? Someone isn’t hurt, do you think? ”
“It’s probably just protocol and nothing to worry about.” He steps closer, and his arm brushes against mine as we watch the paramedics line the sidewalk, waiting for the word from the firefighters.
“You don’t suppose someone fell down the stairs?” I glance up at him. “I heard other people talking about how rough it was getting outside. Maybe someone is hurt.”
“Are you borrowing trouble?” he asks in a low voice.
“I don’t even need to borrow it. I seem to already have it. I might need to squeeze in a massage for myself.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assures me.
“I will? Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re a trooper.”
“Perhaps I’m a trooper who likes a good massage.”
“If you come with me to speak to the fire chief, I’ll give you that massage myself.”
“You must be HR’s worst nightmare. But I’m intrigued. How good are you?” I lift his hand to study it. It’s bigger than my face.
“I’ve never given a massage before, but I’ll look up a tutorial online.”
“That doesn’t sound sketchy at all,” I reply with a laugh.
“I promise I’m a quick learner,” he says with a wink. He’s got a face card guaranteed to send a tingle down your spine.
“Maybe I want to talk to the nice fire chief with you.”
“That’s the spirit. Maybe he’ll give you a sticker.”
I release his wrist when I realize how weird I’m being.
He winks and jerks his chin. “Come on.”
And what do you know? I follow after him. He’s the Pied Piper, and I’ll go where he leads.
We stop next to an older gentleman wearing the station T-shirt and a ball cap. His well-groomed mustache must be the inspiration for firefighters everywhere because he looks fantastic.
“There was no smoke in the building, but there are some gas lines. Maybe something set off the CO2 sensors,” my fire-drill partner says to him.
“Who are you?” the fire chief asks him.
“Nash works in infrastructure and maintenance,” I butt in, feeling very helpful.
“Oh, in that case, you’re exactly who I need to talk to.” The fire chief’s suspicion melts away, and he starts firing away questions for Nash about the location of different things. He then radios his firefighters, who are in the building.
“So far, they haven’t found anything, but it’s going to take a while. They’re doing a thorough sweep.”
“Thank you,” he says to the fire chief. “I’ll keep the building clear the rest of the day and go through everything.”
“No problem. It was a slow day anyway,” the fire chief says with a smirk.
Nash points to me. “She wants a sticker.”
“Did you try to use the elevator when you left the building?”
I shake my head. “I took the nearest staircase.”
“Good job.” He pulls a sticker from his pocket and passes it to me.
This will definitely be going to Rowan, my ten-year-old brother. He’s still at the stage where everything firefighter-related is the best. I’ll mail him the sticker with a letter about the whole evacuation. He’ll eat it up, then call me with a million questions.
Nash leads me back to the crowd of civilians. The majority are on phone calls while some are busy arguing over whether they’ll have to go back to work or not.
“I should have stayed home today,” I mutter as I pull my phone from my pocket and snatch a picture of the firetrucks.
“And miss out on this?” Nash asks, mock incredulity on his face. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I left it on the shelf next to my comfortable tennis shoes,” I reply.
He reaches a hand toward me and acts as though he’s pulling something from my hair. “Oh, look, there it is. I found it.”
It’s such a cheesy move that it’s adorable.
Is he flirting with me?
I hope so. Because the last time I met a man I could see myself dating…Well, honestly, I can’t remember the last time I met a man like that.
Yet here I am, hoping Nash is flirting with me, and I don’t even know his last name.