Chapter 2
Three days after the fire, I unpacked boxes. Smoke had clung to everything salvageable. I was in a rental that screamed temporary, with furniture straight from the 'Basic Bitch Starter Pack' section at IKEA. Still, at least I wasn't dead. Lieutenant Crawford made sure of that.
This place was sparse, a testament to how quickly I had to find somewhere to stay after the fire gutted my new home.
The one-bedroom, one-bath open kitchen/living area tried hard to be a modern, minimalist space.
Instead, it looked empty. The property manager called it "cozy" — realtor-speak for "small as hell.
" Nonetheless, beggars who had their shit almost burned to a crisp couldn't be choosers.
I unpacked a kitchen box. I'm alive, I reminded myself as I stacked plates in the sink to be washed.
Still, I tried to shake the thoughts I'd almost lived my final moments on this earth.
Then Lieutenant Crawford burst through the door like something out of a damn movie.
He'd scooped me up like I weighed nothing and had become a human shield between the flames and me.
Mmhmm, the solidity of him: broad chest, strong arms, and how he tucked me against him when debris rained down around us, the surprising gentleness in his hands that looked like they could bend steel. Yet, his eyes were intense and haunted.
I shook my head, annoyed with myself. I moved to Goodwin Grove to escape the intensity of big-city life and the high-pressure architecture firm, where sixty-hour weeks were considered taking it easy.
Not to mention the toxic relationship, which left me questioning my own sanity, I'd come here for peace and space to breathe.
I wanted to rediscover the joy in creating, and already, the first fine ass man I encountered crossed my mind, even if he had literally carried me through the fire.
I continued unpacking my trauma along with my boxes.
I mean, the man saved my life. Was it so strange that I couldn't get him out of my head?
Though it was gratitude that made my stomach flutter when I thought of him and the way he checked on me, there was a hint of reluctance in his stance as he walked away.
By evening, my apartment almost looked livable.
My clothes were washed and put away, and the kitchen was functional.
I stood in the center of my living room, surveying my progress.
It then dawned on me that I needed to thank the lieutenant properly.
Plus, it would help me close the loop by giving real acknowledgment of what he'd done.
Tomorrow, I would thank him in person, satisfy my curiosity about the man behind the uniform, and maybe even get his first name. Then, I could move on with a quiet, drama-free life that I'd come to Goodwin Grove to build.
I picked up my phone, dialed my mama's number, and hit the speaker. "Hey, Mom," I greeted her when she answered.
"Hey, baby, are you alright? I can come up there, bring you a few hot meals, and get that place together for you—"
I interrupted. "I'm fine, I promise, and this little rental already feels like home." I smiled despite the lump in my throat.
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm just tired. Starting over has been a lot, but I got this." I sank into the couch.
There was a sigh and then a long pause as she released her worry. "Alright, if you say so."
"I say so."
"Good, because I have Bible study tonight, and if I miss it, Sister Dorris will tell everyone my backsliding daughter set her place on fire just to get attention."
I laughed. "What? She would not say that."
"She wouldn't have to. She would say it with her eyebrows."
We both laughed, real laughter, making the weight in my chest lift.
"You are a mess. Love you, Mama."
"Love you more, baby. And remember, don't let that pretty face fool people into thinking you can't fight."
"Yes, ma'am." I giggled.
I hung up. Mama was holier than thou but always ready for a good fight.
The next day, I pulled into the parking lot of the 791 Fire Hall, a red brick building.
"You have arrived at your destination," the voice on my GPS announced.
I sat with the engine idling, wondering if this was a good idea. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, glad my curls had cooperated today. I wore my favorite gold hoop earrings — casual but put-together.
Up close, the fire hall was more intimidating than online, a place built for strength and unity. Two trucks were visible through the bay doors. I switched off the engine, stepped outside the car, and walked toward the entrance.
As I approached the pedestrian door next to the bay entrance, male laughter drifted out. I hesitated. Did civilians walk into fire stations? Was there a reception area? Not wanting to overthink things, I pushed the door open and went inside.
The bay had high ceilings and concrete floors. Two fire trucks were flanked by four men in navy T-shirts bearing the department's logo. They turned around at the sound of the door, mid-conversation.
I stepped forward. "Look who survived."
"Oh shit, it's the fire girl!" The tallest one stepped forward with a wide grin. He extended his hand. "Dane. I was with the rescue team that pulled you out. Good to see you vertical."
I shook his hand. "Gisselle Daniels. And technically, I was never on fire."
"Semantics," Dane replied and winked.
A shorter, stockier man with close-cropped hair stepped forward to shake my hand. "Evan. Glad to see you're doing well, Ms. Daniels."
"Gisselle, please," I insisted.
The third man hung back but offered a small wave, making me notice the tattoos covering his forearms. "Jaxon. How are you feeling? Any lingering respiratory issues?"
"I'm fine. I received a clean bill of health," I replied.
The fourth man moved toward a counter. "Connor. You want coffee? It's firefighter strong. You've been warned." He laughed.
"Coffee would be great," I responded, relaxing a bit at their welcome.
After the initial introductions, I took in the details of the space. A bulletin board on the far wall had photos, as well as other legal-looking documents. A box of donuts sat on the counter. The place had a comfortable vibe, considering this was a second home to the firefighters.
Dane crossed his arms. "What brings you to our humble abode? Besides my irresistible charm."
I rolled my eyes playfully and smiled. "Actually, I'm here to thank Lieutenant Crawford. I was a bit distracted the other day after nearly dying.
The men exchanged looks. "Blaze is in with the chief. A budget meeting."
"Blaze?" I asked, accepting the coffee.
"Lieutenant Crawford, it's his call sign. Been with him since the academy," Evan clarified.
"Fits him. The man's intense as hell," Dane added with a smirk.
Something in Dane's tone had me wondering if there was more to the nickname, but I didn't press. Instead, I sipped the coffee, which was strong enough to wake the dead. "I can come back another time," I offered.
"He shouldn't be much longer. You can wait if you want. We're just doing inventory," Connor stated.
"You're new in town, right? What brings someone like you to Goodwin Grove? We're not exactly the happening place to be," Dane questioned.
I recognized the subtle probing for what it was — friendly curiosity mixed with a dash of flirtation, but I didn't mind. I loved how refreshing the camaraderie among these men was, especially after the political minefield of my former workplace.
"I'm an architect. I took a job with Taylor Design Group here in town. I needed a change of pace from Columbus.
"An architect? That's dope. You design houses and stuff?"
I laughed. "And stuff. My specialty is actually commercial renovation, taking old buildings and reimagining them for modern use while preserving their historical integrity."
Evan nodded. "Goodwin Grove has plenty of buildings from the 1800s that could use some love."
"That's one thing that drew me to the job. That, and a place where sixty-hour work weeks weren't normal."
"Running from the big city hustle, huh? No boyfriend left behind? Husband? Pet iguana? Wife?" Dane laughed.
I laughed despite myself. "Just me, though I did have a fern named Frederick, who didn't survive the move."
"R.I.P., Frederick," Dane said, placing his hand over his heart.
I playfully swatted at Dane's arm and giggled.
The men continued with their routine, moving around the workbench. It reminded me of the better days at my old firm, when we had a collaborative spirit.
"Was that your place that was burned or a rental?" Evan asked.
"Yeah, a rental. Thank goodness I hadn't fully unpacked yet. I was able to salvage a few things."
"Could be worse," Connor offered.
"Small blessings, I guess." A nervous laugh slipped out.
"Can I give you the grand tour while you wait?" Connor asked.
"Sure," I agreed. I had a little time to kill.
"Allow us to show you the luxurious accommodations of Goodwin Grove's finest fire establishment," Dane said.
I followed them deeper into the bay area, my architect's eye automatically assessing the space.
The building was older than it appeared from the outside, probably from the early 1950s, based on the exposed beam work and the style of brickwork.
Someone did a decent renovation, maybe fifteen years ago. The place had solid bones.
"The original station was built in 1952, then expanded in the late 80s and again in 2008," Dane explained.
"You can tell by the flooring transitions. They did a good job maintaining the architectural integrity," I noted.
"You really are an architect," Jaxon commented.
"Did you think I was lying?" I laughed.
"Nah, it's just most people don't notice that kind of stuff," Jaxon replied.
"I can't enter a building without mentally renovating it," I admitted.
They led me through a door into a large room with a long dinner table, comfortable couches, and a kitchen area. The TV on the wall played a muted sports channel.
"This is our common area where the magic happens," Connor stated.
"By magic, he means where Dane attempts to cook and nearly burns the place down on the regular." Evan laughed.
"Nah, what happened was—" Dane started but was interrupted.
"He got a booty call text," Jaxon blurted out.
I bit back a smile and covered my mouth. "Do you guys live here during your shifts?"
"Twenty-four on, Forty-eight off. It's our second home," Connor answered.
Before I could probe further, the bay door opened. "Connor, Chief needs those inventory reports from the last shift!" a female voice yelled out.
"Be right there! Duty calls. Let me walk you back to the front. Blaze should be out soon," Connor said.
I glanced at my watch as we walked. "Actually, I should probably head out. Thanks for the tour and the coffee."
"Yeah, come back anytime. We'll put you to work." Dane winked.
I dropped my paper cup into a trash bin. "I might take you up on that." I laughed. "Tell Lieutenant Crawford I stopped by. I'll come by another time."
"He'll be sorry he missed you," Connor replied.
Almost to the door, I reached for the handle when a deep voice behind me froze me in place.
"Ms. Daniels."
I turned around, and my heart did a ridiculous little jump in my chest. Lieutenant Crawford stood in the doorway to the hall, his broad frame nearly filling the space. I remembered the fire, and for a moment, I couldn't find my voice.
So much for a smooth exit.