Chapter 4
Bonnie showed up at the fire station Thursday afternoon with a red folder this time and the determined expression of a woman who had made a decision and was going to see it through.
Gray was on his back under the fire engine when he recognized her footsteps on the concrete.
He recognized a lot of things about Bonnie Watson that he probably shouldn't be noticing quite so closely. She wasn’t technically his boss, but they were going to be working together closely in the days to come.
Plus, he was a big believer in letting a woman signal first that she was interested in him before he started pursuing her. Particularly a woman like Bonnie who had suffered an incalculable loss and might not even be interested in dating, let alone diving into a romantic relationship.
Whoa. Did he just think the phrase ‘romantic relationship’ in the same thought as Bonnie?
Yes, Einstein. You did.
The next obvious question was what he planned to do about it. For the moment, nothing. Bonnie might blush about every time they made meaningful eye contact, but she hadn’t given him any overt signal that she was interested in more than just a cordial professional relationship.
He rolled out from under the vehicle. She was standing beside the big red engine. Her defensive posture faded as she looked around, replaced with an expression he hadn't seen from her before. It wasn’t the stricken composure of her first visit. Rather, she looked amazed.
“You've been busy,” she said in wonder.
He climbed to his feet and reached for a rag.
The bay was spotless, the floor swept, mopped, and buffed.
The engine and ambulance were freshly washed and waxed, the equipment lockers sorted, inventoried, and newly labeled.
He’d even scrubbed the walls and repainted them a bright, clean white. He'd spent two solid days on that.
“There’s still a lot to do,” he replied. “I see projects everywhere I look.”
“Gray.” She turned slowly, taking it in. “This place looks better than it did when it was running and fully staffed.”
He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing.
She turned back to him. “You didn't have to do all of this before the inspections. The inspector will grade on the building’s structural condition, not . . .” She gestured at the gleaming floor. “This.”
“I know.” He folded the rag. “But I couldn’t leave it the way it was.” It had looked so . . . sad. Weighed down by time and grief. How was he supposed to ask new firefighters to come work in a place that looked and smelled like death?
She nodded in mute gratitude. In the late afternoon light slanting into the garage, her eyes were more gold than green or brown.
Her blonde hair glittered in soft waves around her shoulders and even her skin had taken on a golden glow in the magical Montana light.
She looked like a fey creature, too beautiful and ethereal for this world.
Then the fey being held out a red folder to him and said dryly, “More forms.”
He frowned as he took it from her. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to bring these to me. I meant what I said at lunch. I’ll come to the office. I know it’s painful for you to be here, and there’s no need for you to be reminded of the past.”
She said soberly, “When am I not reminded of the past? I live with it every minute of every day. “
“I’m so sorry, Bonnie.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. She lifted her gaze to his, and for a long, naked moment, let him see her pain laid bare.
It rocked him to his core. He’d never considered before he came to Cobbler Cove and met the eight widows from the Shoemacher fire how completely and utterly a life could be destroyed by a single tragic moment.
He’d been five when his dad left his wife and three boys and never returned.
Gray only vaguely remembered the screaming matches between his parents, his mom crying in bed alone when his dad stayed out all night drinking, the quiet panic of his older brothers as they’d been helpless to keep their father from slipping away from the family.
He’d grown up with the aftermath of his father’s mental illness, that Gray now knew to be PTSD from being a military medic in a war zone. But even his parents’ messy divorce didn’t come close to approaching the scale of what Bonnie and her kids had gone through.
Bonnie said firmly, “The City of Cobbler Cove’s most important services to the community are the police department, emergency medical services, and soon, the fire department.
You’re about to be in charge of two of those.
And I am, for all intents and purposes, the city.
I’m going to be involved with this place a lot, and I need to get used to being here again. So I might as well start.”
“You don't have to do it now. You’ve got time before this place opens.”
She retorted, “Better now when there’s just you to witness my breakdowns and freak outs.”
Her gaze snapped up to his as if she’d just realized she trusted him enough to break down and freak out in front of him. His eyes widened as well as it dawned on him what she’d just admitted by accident.
She trusted him.
They gazed candidly at each other for a moment. He promised silently that he wouldn’t abuse the trust she’d placed in him, and that he was here for her.
. . . and on cue, her cheeks turned bright pink.
“You're not wrong that it did upset me to be here the first time,” she said, honestly. “But I need to be able to come here without falling apart. I want to be able to come here and be okay.” She looked around the bay again, stubbornness settling in her expression.
He understood the logic. He also understood it was costing her a lot to do this, and he respected that she wasn't asking for sympathy or acknowledgment of how hard it was.
“Do me a favor,” he said evenly. “Take it at your own pace. We’ve still got time before this place opens up for business. Be kind to yourself.”
She made a sound like a laugh, but it lacked any humor and was laced with pain. “Since when have I ever been kind to myself?”
“Maybe it’s time to start,” he said without judgment. Just as an observation.
Another sound slipped out of her throat, low and quiet. Not quite a groan, not quite a sob.
She spun away from him, visibly fighting for composure.
He reached out and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, a brief touch of comfort. An offer with no expectations. Letting her know she wasn’t alone.
Her shoulders rose and fell with several deep breaths. She turned around to face him, her composure regained.
“I called my counterpart at the county commissioner's office and asked what exactly we need in terms of permits, inspections, and applications to get this station fully certified.”
“And?”
“Cobbler Cove's original fire department was established in 1947. The only thing required to open a station was a basic construction permit and a handshake from the county.” She added wryly, “Times have changed.”
“How bad is it?”
“Sharon, the county clerk, said it involves roughly the same number of forms as opening a hospital.” She let that land. “The list of hoops you and I have to jump through over the next several months is genuinely impressive.”
She continued, “I've set up a spreadsheet for all the forms, applications, and permits, and I’ve numbered them. Each document in this latest batch has a number in the top right corner. Going forward, we can just refer to them by number instead of by their official titles because some of the names are almost longer than the forms themselves.”
He said in real admiration, “I do love a good spreadsheet and numbering system.”
“The master list has the document names, their numbers, what each is for, and the order in which they need to be completed. Several of them have dependencies. You can't file Form 10 until Form 7 is approved, for example.”
Gray opened the folder. The top form had a neat, hand-written “5” in the corner.
She must’ve retroactively numbered the first two sets of forms he’d filled out.
He flipped through the folder. Each document was numbered, and in the back of the folder was a print copy of the master spreadsheet.
It was a clear roadmap of everything he needed to do get the fire station up and running.
He looked up at her in wordless gratitude.
“I just organized it,” she said with a slight defensive edge that told him compliments in this direction made her uncomfortable.
“It's perfect. Thank you.”
She glanced around the bay once more. “It really does look good in here.”
“It's a solid building,” Gray said. “It just needed some attention and love.”
“Don’t we all,” she murmured under her breath.
He wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear that or if she’d even realized she said it out loud, so he didn’t say anything in response.
Something that looked a lot like longing crossed her face before she headed for the door. “I'll see you soon, I’m sure.”
Very soon, he hoped. He sensed many layers to her that he had yet to see and understand, and he was fascinated by the prospect of revealing every one of them. “See you soon,” he replied.
He told himself, reasonably and sensibly, that he was simply glad to have a competent colleague handling the paperwork. Sure. That was exactly why he was already counting the hours until he had an excuse to see her again.
Friday was a teacher in-service day and Lucas wasn’t feeling well, which meant Bonnie's office had acquired two additional occupants for the day.
Noah had claimed the chair beside her desk, his question notebook open on his knee, a mechanical pencil behind each ear in case one ran out of lead. Cassidy had taken over the small table by the window and arranged her notebook, pens, homework, and library book on it.
“Can I answer the phones?” Noah asked.
“No.”
“What if someone calls and you're in the bathroom?”
“I won’t be in the bathroom.”
“But what if—”
“Noah.”