Chapter 1 #2
Three hours later, every inch of the grid has been photographed, seventeen samples collected for lab analysis, and that moment with Aiden replayed no more than a dozen times.
Okay. Maybe two dozen. But who's counting?
My phone buzzes with a text that makes my stomach plummet through the concrete.
Captain Lindstrom: Chief's office. Now. Bring Gentry.
The walk back to Engine 19 feels like a march to the gallows. His crew performs equipment checks with the careful attention of people trying to look busy while their lieutenant is otherwise occupied.
Aiden's bent over the pump panel, and my eyes have absolutely no business tracking anything about how his turnout pants fit.
Professional. I'm a professional.
"Gentry."
He straightens immediately, and something in his expression suggests he's been dreading this interaction as much as I have. "Pritchard. Everything okay with your evidence collection?"
"We're being summoned." The phone screen glows with doom. "Chief's office. Now."
Color drains from his face. "Both of us?"
"That's what 'bring Gentry' usually means, yes."
His hand runs through dark hair, leaving it mussed in a way that's unfairly attractive. "Any idea what this is about?"
"No clue, but given our luck, it's probably not a commendation for inter-departmental cooperation."
Despite everything, his mouth quirks up at the corner. "We haven't been that uncooperative."
"We were literally yelling at each other three hours ago."
"Loudly discussing." One eyebrow rises. "With passion."
"That's not better."
The drive to headquarters passes in silence except for radio chatter and my internal monologue of doom. Engine 19 follows in my rearview mirror, Aiden's jaw set in a tight line that suggests his thoughts aren't much cheerier.
Fire Chief Carmen Rodriguez's corner office overlooks downtown Copper Ridge—a constant reminder of the responsibility resting on her shoulders. The fact that she's standing when we enter, rather than sitting behind her imposing desk, triggers every alarm bell in my head.
"Sit."
Not a request.
We sit. Aiden smells like smoke and that distracting cologne. Filing that under "things that don't matter."
"Either of you care to explain this?"
Chief Rodriguez turns her computer monitor toward us.
My stomach doesn't just drop—it evacuates the building, the state, possibly the continental United States.
The video shows our confrontation from an angle that transforms it into something out of a romantic drama. There's Aiden reaching for me. Me pulling away. Him catching me as I stumble. That moment of eye contact that apparently lasted long enough for Maria Santos to add a slow-motion effect.
The caption reads:
When work becomes romance
#CopperRidge #FirefighterLove #WorkplaceRomance
The view count climbs past twenty thousand as we watch.
"Chief, this is completely—" My voice comes out three octaves too high.
"Misinterpreted," Aiden finishes. "We were having a professional disagreement about safety protocols."
"A professional disagreement." Chief Rodriguez's skepticism could fuel a conspiracy theory convention. "That's what you call this romantic chase scene?"
"Romantic?" The word cracks like I'm thirteen again. "There's nothing romantic about—"
The office door bursts open without a knock.
Hazel Park bounces in like a caffeinated hurricane, teal-tipped black hair catching the fluorescent lights. Multiple devices clutched like weapons. Energy levels suggesting either five espressos or actual magic.
"Chief Rodriguez, you have to see these metrics!" Hazel's enthusiasm could power a small city. "This video is absolutely crushing it. We're trending! Trending!"
A tablet slaps onto the Chief's desk with the confidence of someone who's forgotten we're in trouble.
"Look at this engagement rate! Twenty thousand views in three hours, and the comments are pure gold." Hazel scrolls at auctioneer speed. "'Finally, real chemistry between first responders!' 'These two need their own reality show!' 'I ship it so hard I need a coast guard license!'"
The climbing numbers look like readings from a hazmat situation. "Ship it? What does that even mean?"
"It means they want you two together." Hazel bounces on their toes.
"The department's official page has gained five hundred followers just this morning.
Five hundred! Do you know how hard organic social media growth is in the municipal sector?
Usually, we're lucky to get ten likes on a fire safety post! "
"Hazel—" Chief Rodriguez starts.
"Oh, and the Mayor's office called. They want to know if you'd consider public appearances together. The community engagement angle is 'absolutely fantastic'—I'm quoting here."
Aiden and I exchange glances that definitely convey mutual horror but apparently read as "longing" to Hazel, who actually squeals.
"See! That right there! The tension! The unspoken communication! This is exactly what our social media presence needs."
"We're not together." My courtroom voice. The one that makes defense attorneys flinch.
"We can barely tolerate each other," Aiden adds. He doesn't sound as convinced as I'd like.
Hazel waves this off like a minor detail. "The audience doesn't know that. And honestly? The enemies-to-lovers trope is huge right now. This could completely transform community engagement with fire safety education."
Chief Rodriguez leans back, studying us with the expression of someone weighing very unexpected options. "Show me those numbers again."
As Hazel launches into a presentation complete with graphs, projections, and hashtag analytics, my eyes find Aiden's. He's staring at the screen with intensity usually reserved for incident reports.
When he catches me looking, something passes between us. Shared recognition that we're about to get swept into something neither of us knows how to control.
"Here's what's going to happen." Chief Rodriguez's tone suggests a decision we're definitely not going to like.
"You two are going to make some public appearances together.
Nothing romantic—just professional collaboration that happens to photograph well.
We'll let people draw their own conclusions. "
"Chief—" The protest dies before it fully forms.
"That's an order, Pritchard. The department needs positive publicity, especially with budget reviews coming up.
If the community wants to see you as some kind of power couple, we're not going to correct them.
" Her stare could melt steel beams. "But I expect complete professionalism.
This is about community engagement, not actually engaging with each other. Understood?"
"Yes, Chief," we mumble in unison like chastised kindergartners.
"Hazel will coordinate your appearances. First one is this weekend—Riverside Park safety demonstration." Chief Rodriguez's expression softens slightly. "I know this isn't ideal. Consider it practice for thinking on your feet." She straightens, signaling the end of the conversation. "Dismissed."
Filing out of her office with Hazel practically vibrating beside us, I catch Aiden's eye. He looks as shell-shocked as I feel.
"This is insane," I mutter when we reach the hallway.
"Absolutely insane." He pauses. "Although..."
"Although what?"
That grin appears—the one that probably started this whole mess. "At least we know our chemistry is convincing. Even when we're arguing."
"We don't have chemistry, Gentry. We have combustion. The dangerous, explosive kind that requires a hazmat response."
"Isn't that still technically chemistry?" His eyebrow quirks.
The glare I shoot him has less heat than this morning. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe the absurdity finally sinking in. Or maybe because when he smiles like that—genuine, not for cameras—something in my chest does a flutter that I'm absolutely not examining right now.
"This weekend," Hazel interrupts, consulting their phone with invasion-planning intensity. "I'll send details. Coordinated outfits would be great—nothing too matchy-matchy, but complementary colors. Blues and greens photograph well."
"Coordinated outfits?" The words come out faint.
"Trust me, it makes a difference. Oh, and practice standing closer together. The body language in the video was great, but intentional proximity reads even better on camera."
Hazel bounces off down the hallway, leaving Aiden and me in awkward silence.
"Intentional proximity," he says finally. "That's a new one."
"This is going to be a disaster." My back hits the wall with a thud. "I investigate fires. I don't perform for cameras. I'm not a trained seal."
"Hey." His voice goes surprisingly gentle. "We'll figure it out. Just a few appearances, some photos. How hard can it be to pretend we don't irritate each other?"
Looking up at this infuriating man who's somehow become my fake almost-boyfriend in the span of an hour, the answer comes easily. "On a scale of one to ten? Probably about a twelve."
But he laughs—really laughs, not the practiced chuckle reserved for public events—and for just a moment, maybe this won't be a complete catastrophe.
Probably wrong about that. But standing in the fluorescent-lit hallway with Aiden smiling like we're co-conspirators instead of reluctant partners, pulling this off almost seems possible.
Weekend. Riverside Park. Fake relationship for the cameras.
I pull out of the parking lot, Aiden's face still framed in my rearview mirror—that infuriating smile, those impossibly broad shoulders, the way he looked at me when he steadied my elbow.
My phone buzzes. Hazel's already sent a detailed itinerary with color-coded time blocks and a mood board for 'couple aesthetics.'
I'm so screwed.