Cinder (Maplewood Fire #1)

1. Wanted one magical intervention

Chapter one

Wanted: one magical intervention

Evan

“What you need is a fairy godmother, bud.”

“Yeah,” Colt Lawson snorts from across the table. “That’s exactly what this place is missing. A little bibbidi-bobbidi backup on shift.”

“I’m serious,” Mason Fletcher fires back. “Man’s out here working full time, raising a kid, and what, sleeping occasionally? He needs a magical intervention.”

“Are you done?” I ask.

“Not even close.”

Fletch is tipped back in his chair, with one boot hooked on the rung, and a steaming coffee in his hand. If it weren’t for his fire department tee tucked into his duty pants, he’d look like he belonged at Flora’s Café instead of about to start a shift.

I shake my head and drag a rag over the already clean edge of the table. “I’m doin’ just fine.”

“Mm.” Colt tilts his mug at the tabletop. “That why you’ve cleaned that same spot five times since you walked in?”

I glance down at the tabletop. The varnish is practically gleaming under the fluorescent station lights, catching the dull gold of the late winter sun.

“Six times,” a quiet voice adds before I can respond, and we all turn.

Luke Ryder—also known as Ghost because the guy moves like one half the time—doesn’t look up from checking his gear in the locker room.

Fletch’s grin spreads. “See? When Ghost’s keeping count, you know it’s getting weird.”

“It’s not weird.” I toss the rag aside and reach for my coffee. “It’s called staying busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Fletch leans forward to plant his elbows on the table and his eyes on mine now. “Because from where I’m sitting, it just looks like a lot of aggressive cleaning.”

“Leave the man alone,” Colt says, but there’s a laugh under it.

“I am leaving him alone!” Fletch shoots back. “I’m just… leaving him alone while also asking questions.”

“Meanwhile,” I snark, “you’re the guy begging to be kept busy every time your girlfriend disappears back to Toronto for work.”

“At least the city trips are worth it for the phone se—”

“If you finish that sentence before I’ve finished this cup of coffee, we’re gonna have a real big problem,” mutters our captain, Beck Holloway, as he strolls in and moves toward the fridge.

There’s movement all around us—boots crossing the bay, a locker slamming shut across the hall, and the low murmur of a radio being tested and then clipped back into place. The smell of coffee hangs thick, strong enough to hide whatever the night crew reheated overnight.

Fletch snaps his fingers once in my direction. “So this whole cleaning spiral thing—what’s the deal?”

“There is no deal.”

“That’s disappointing.” He leans back. “I was hoping for something juicy.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, taking a sip of coffee, “try a podcast.”

“Rude.”

Beck settles at the table with his mug, eyes glued to the clipboard in his hands. “If you’ve got time to run your mouth, Fletch, you’ve got time to recheck the hose bed.”

The exasperated groan is immediate. “Cap, I just did that.”

“Then you’ll be real quick the second time.”

Colt snorts a laugh into his fist as Fletch drags a hand down his face and pushes to his feet.

“This is harassment.”

“It’s your job,” Beck replies, flipping a page. “And you’re an easy target.”

There’s a beat where Fletch looks like he might argue, then thinks better of it.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, heading for the bay. “I bring innovation to this station, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Your innovation is yapping,” Colt calls after him. “We got plenty of that already.”

Fletch flips him off over his shoulder without breaking stride, and the room settles back into its early-morning rhythm.

I move to rinse my mug at the sink. Cold water runs over my fingers with enough sharpness to wake me up properly, and for a second, I watch the swirl of coffee dilute and disappear down the drain.

“So, you’re just fine, huh?”

I glance back over my shoulder to see Colt watching me. “Yep.”

“Good,” he says with a nod and a frown. “Love that for you.”

There’s a beat before he casually clears his throat. “Everything sorted with Elle for school restarting?”

I shrug, drying my hands on the towel. “Working on it.”

“Translation,” Ghost says, making his way over to pour his own cup, “not sorted.”

I shoot him a look while Colt chuckles.

“Schedule’s just a bit tighter lately,” I explain, trying to keep the strain out of my voice. “That’s all.”

“Tighter,” Beck repeats. “Man’s out here running on fumes and calling it a light jog.”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Fletch echoes, reappearing from the doorway. “Everyone relax.”

“You’re not helping,” Beck mutters.

“I’m backing him up,” Fletch shoots back. “Huge difference.”

I shake my head and grab the rag again, just to give my hands something to do. “It’s just childcare stuff. Elle’s restarting school, hours are different. That’s it.”

Beck looks up. “And the nanny?”

“Miss Mabel had to move back to Toronto,” I say. “Went a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Colt says with a frown. “Thought she was just away for the holiday break…”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “I’ve got it covered. Herb and Leah have been helping.”

“Course they have,” Fletch says. “They’re basically the town’s unofficial grandparents.”

“Accurate,” Ghost mutters.

I don’t know what I would’ve done without Herb and Leah. Herb, the town’s retired fire chief, saw me through some of the worst days of my life, and Leah has never once made me feel like needing help with Elle is some kind of failure. Including today.

“You know Remi’ll take Elle whenever, yeah?”

I huff a breath at Colt offering up his wife. “Yeah. I know.”

“She’d probably fight you for her,” Fletch adds.

“A five-year-old is easy work compared to our two,” Colt chuckles. “Remi loves having Elle around.”

Remi’s a goddamn earth angel, but she’s already got her hands full with her and Colt’s two kids, Zela and Max. Last thing she needs is me adding to the chaos.

“I can take her before shift change if you’re stuck,” Jayla calls as she passes through from finishing night-shift.

“You’re meant to be going home to sleep,” Beck says without looking up.

“I am going home,” she replies with a wink. “Can still be useful on the way.”

Fletch leans against the doorframe. “And Frankie’d happily take her too. When she’s here, she’s working from home anyway.”

“Frankie’d take in a stray dog if it looked at her cute,” Colt says.

“Exactly. Prime candidate.”

Fletch’s girlfriend, Frankie Monroe, is a new addition to our crew around here.

They met through some online dating app at Christmas, it was a whole thing.

She’s great with Elle, but she still travels back to the city for work—and when she is here, Mason usually clings to her like a barnacle. Not that I blame him.

Still, the fact they’re all willing to help isn’t something I take for granted. They mean well, they always do.

“Thanks,” I say, shaking my head. “But I’ve got it.”

“He’s got it,” Fletch repeats.

“Stop taunting the man,” grumbles Beck.

I swallow and push off the counter, picking at a stray thread on the rag to give my hands something to do.

Ghost stands up from the table. “You do need some help, though.”

“I know,” I say finally, trying to keep my voice even. “And I appreciate your offers, you know I do. I just need something more consistent for Elle… and for me. But mostly for her.”

Colt’s hand lands on my back. “We got you, bud. But if we’re looking for a new nanny, let’s not be too picky this time, eh?”

I raise a brow. “If we’re looking for a new nanny?”

“As her unofficial favorite uncles—”

“Very unofficial.”

“—I think we should all get a say in who looks after the station’s princess, so yes.”

Fletch snorts. “Yeah, just maybe don’t run them all through a full background check and psychological evaluation this time.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“You absolutely did that,” Colt says.

Ghost nods. “There was a questionnaire.”

“No.” I frown. “It was a form.”

“It was three pages,” Fletcher adds. “And you had sections.”

“Sections are normal.”

“You had a scoring system.”

“For consistency!”

Colt huffs a laugh. “You rejected one because she said she didn’t mind kids.”

I point at him. “Because that’s not an answer, that’s a red flag.”

“See?” Fletch gestures toward me with a sigh. “This is what we’re dealing with.”

Ghost shrugs. “He’s being thorough.”

“Correct. Because I’m responsible.”

“Mm,” Colt says. “You’re a lot of things.”

“You guys always this invested in my personal life, or is today special?”

“Always,” Fletch says easily. “We’re very supportive.”

“You’ll never escape us, bud,” adds Colt.

Ghost’s mouth twitches, and he nods while his soft eyes hold mine. I ignore them, and focus back on the table, swiping the rag across the clean surface one more time.

“Seven,” Ghost mutters.

I pause with a scowl, but the corner of my mouth gives me away. Same shit, different morning.

It’s not like I haven’t figured stuff out before. You learn fast when there’s no one else to pick up the slack.

Mom’s been gone long enough now that the edges of the loss have dulled, but the gap never really refilled.

Dad checked out well before she passed—he’s physically still around, but it never really made much difference.

He’s never been interested in me. So by the time I packed up and relocated to Maplewood with my girlfriend Stacey, he barely noticed or cared.

I got Stacey to agree to move out here. Thought a fresh start and small-town living away from the shit she’d been involved with in the city would fix things.

Loosen her attachment to the people, the habits, and trouble she always swore she was done with.

For a while, that’s exactly what Maplewood did.

And when Elle was born, everything changed. She made our life feel real. We were planting roots and making something special together.

But then came the rest…

I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, cutting the thought off before it can go any further. No point digging into it now. There’s nothing there I haven’t already gone over a hundred times.

But sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet and Elle’s asleep down the hall, I’ll pull up my phone and search the obituaries out of Toronto. Just to make sure.

“Ev.”

Colt’s voice cuts back in, sharper than before.

“Yeah, fine.” I sigh and chuck the rag back into the sink. “I’ll get it handled.”

He studies me for a beat, then nods once. Fletcher doesn’t.

“As I said, you gotta actually do something about it, otherwise you’re just waiting for a magical fix.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Shocking.”

He grins. “I’m committed.”

“Yeah,” Beck mutters. “To being annoying.”

Ghost nods. “He’s got a point, though.”

“Wow, Ghost.” I stare at him. “You piling on too?”

He shrugs. “You look tired.”

“I am. And I need you all to mind your business.”

“Not how this works,” Colt says lightly. “We’re bonded.”

From across the table, Beck’s chair scrapes against the floor. “If you’re all done solving each other’s personal lives, we’ve got equipment checks that still need signing off.”

Fletch spreads his hands. “I’ve done mine.”

“Then you can help someone who hasn’t.”

“This feels like a never-ending list of chores.” He points a finger at Beck. “Divvied out by our evil stepmother.”

“Yeah, yeah, off you go, Cinderella.”

My mouth quirks, and I shake my head as I follow the crew down to the bay.

Magical fixes don’t exist, not for this. But Elle needs more than a father running on fumes and a village held together by favors.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to figure something out.