Chapter Three Mateo
The first thing I learn about Noelle Meadows is that she glares at Christmas decorations like their very existence is a personal affront to her.
The second thing I learn is that she apparently doesn’t sleep.
I’m not a professional investigator, nor do I consider myself much of an idea guy, but I’m inclined to wonder if those two facts are connected.
People who hate Christmas usually have a good reason to. I’ve read A Christmas Carol. And by that, I mean I watch the Muppets version at least once a year during the holiday season.
Typically, those aforementioned reasons are pretty tragic.
Wes, for example, while not an outright Scrooge, always lacks enthusiasm for Christmas whenever it comes around.
Part of that is because he has a difficult time being enthusiastic about pretty much anything, but another part of that is because he’s spent more than one miserable and devastating Christmas in an overseas warzone.
So, I avoid teasing him about it. Because it’s also basically the same reason that Wes struggles with insomnia.
But Noelle isn’t a veteran. She must have been through something difficult in her life, though. Something that would build barriers to universal joys like the holidays. Something that would turn the seemingly simple vulnerability of being able to sleep through the night into an impossible conquest.
Then again, it’s probably none of my business.
It’s just that I’m a man with eyes and a brain and a dick, and she is easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. All wild red hair and piercing green eyes that kind of make me feel like they’re drilling right into my skull.
But, like, in a good way.
She’s hot. And smart. And a little mean.
And totally my type.
Which means that I’m spending way too much time and energy on trying to figure her out. It’s a habit.
The morning after her arrival at Station 23, I find her sitting alone at the kitchen table, surrounded by enough paperwork and documents to mimic a full-blown federal investigation.
A mug of coffee sits forgotten beside her laptop, probably gone cold a while ago.
Judging by the shadows beneath her eyes, she’s either been awake since I ran into her and Wes during my cookie run, or she’s naturally blessed with the ability to look annoyed with every single aspect of life before the sun even has the chance to drag its ass all the way up into the sky.
Honestly, either seems possible.
Outside, fresh snow blankets the neighborhood. Lights twinkle from stoops and window boxes in the buildings across the street. The station smells faintly of coffee, cinnamon rolls, and diesel fuel.
But Noelle looks like someone has sentenced her to life imprisonment. Which, to be fair, is how she seems to feel about being assigned here. I’m so used to spending the majority of my life at the station that I forget it’s not normal for people to feel at home in firehouses.
Even so, she’s incredibly dedicated to her career if she’s willing to handle the inconvenience of it all. I have to admire that.
I pour her a fresh cup of coffee, replace her cold one with it, then pour my own mug and settle into the chair across from her.
She doesn’t look up.
I wait, but it’s like I’m not even there.
Finally, I clear my throat loudly. “Good morning.”
Without lifting her eyes from the screen, she says, “Statistically speaking, that’s debatable. Most mornings are not good. They are just mornings.”
A grin immediately tugs at my mouth. Feisty and deadpan at the same time. I have a feeling most people might mistake Noelle’s attitude for hostility, but I know better. Hostility is loud. It wants a reaction.
This kind of behavior… it’s just who she is.
“Excellent,” I say. “Our investigator is in a terrible mood. I’m sure that means today is going to be fun.”
At last, she looks up. Green eyes slice me in half. I cobble myself back together again in the blink of an eye and smile.
She looks entirely unimpressed with me, but there’s a gleam in her that tells me I’m not totally intolerable.
“Nothing about that statement makes sense,” she informs me. “My investigation does not coincide with how much fun you do or do not have during your workday.”
So serious. It’s cute.
“Well, that’s because you don’t know where we’re going yet,” I say.
Her eyes narrow with suspicion so automatically that I’m sure she isn’t even aware of it.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” she responds.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not going anywhere. You might go somewhere and I might need to go somewhere else, but we are not collaborators in any regard, Mateo.”
“So, actually, there’s a funny story—”
“I don’t like funny stories.”
“You’ll love this one.”
“Doubtful.”
I laugh.
Across the room, Danny glances up from his newspaper. Noelle doesn’t notice but he gives me a look. A look that says, I’m a wise old man and I know what you’re up to, kid. I won’t stop you, but I also won’t come to your rescue if you make a fool of yourself.
Daring to push one too many buttons, I reach forward and press my fingertips against the back of her laptop, shutting it halfway. “Get your coat, Meadows.”
“Pardon?”
“Get your coat.”
“Yes, I heard you.” She rolls her eyes. “I am working.”
I shut her laptop fully and grab it. The look she gives me would probably kill a weaker man. Fortunately, my survival instincts are exceptional.
“Work with me. I think it will help the case.”
“Mateo…”
Another smile forms on my lips at the sound of my name in her mouth. She’s already fitting in so well here, already exasperated with the nonsense I take such great pride in sowing.
“That’s my name,” I sing, swiping her laptop away entirely.
“Give me my computer back, please.”
“No.”
She stares.
I smile.
It turns into a glare.
I only smile bigger.
Eventually, she exhales through her nose. The sound carries the weight of someone reconsidering several life choices. Or maybe her entire career path. Perhaps every single decision and circumstance that led her to this moment.
“Listen, I know you’re here to prevent another arson—”
“Investigate a potential arson in connection with three previous alleged arsons—”
“Yes, yes,” I cut her off. “But, in order for you to save a firehouse, you have to understand why we’re worth saving in the first place, no?”
“You are worth saving because you provide an essential emergency response service to the community.”
“So did all the other stations that burned down. And how far has that basic fact gotten you, Meadows?”
She frowns at me. It’s less like disapproval and more like confusion.
Really, I’m talking out of my ass. I just don’t want to run this errand on my own, but the rest of the crew has their own assignments.
Plus, she’s really pretty. And interesting.
On top of all that, I think I know how to make her feel more comfortable here, which definitely couldn’t hurt the investigation.
I stand up. “Come on. Trust me.”
“Where are we going?”
“A toy run.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “The charity thing?”
“If you want to be so banal about it, sure.”
The corner of her lip twitches. “Nice SAT word.”
I grin. “Thank you. And yes, it’s for charity. It’s not a life-saving mission, but it’s important.”
“I’m not interested in being involved in your public relations strategy,” she replies breezily, snatching her laptop back.
That gives me pause. She says it like that’s all it could ever be. Like the only reason we would want to bring toys to children in need during the holiday season is because it makes us look good.
Is that really what she thinks of firefighters?
“Come on,” I say. “It’s not PR. It’s fun.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m not interested in assigning belief value to your subjective statements. I am interested in doing my job, Mateo Ruiz.”
“And what if getting more involved in the day-to-day of a New York City firefighter will help you do your job, Noelle Meadows?”
She heaves a loud sigh, clearly reaching her limit. Shoving back her chair, she shoves her laptop into her bag and glares me down from across the table.
“Fine. Take me on this fucking toy run.”
I beam. “That’s the fucking spirit!”
Five minutes later, she’s climbing into the passenger seat of Engine 2 making room for herself between boxes of donated toys.
She doesn’t say anything as we pull out of the station, but she does let out another loud sigh when she spots Cap and Wes observing our departure.
“He always watches us pull out,” I say, tipping my head back toward Cap. “Runs a tight house. Last guy he had to let go didn’t take it quietly—Danny still won’t talk about it.” I flick the blinker. “Anyway. You’re gonna love this next part.”
Honestly, the annual toy run is my favorite day of the year. Not because it’s a relatively easy task that requires almost no manual labor and lets me drive one of the trucks around town without the pressure of emergency response crushing down on me.
It’s actually kind of chaotic. But it’s the sort of chaos that reminds you why this job matters in the first place.
It’s simple enough, and Noelle doesn’t need to ask questions as I explain the process on our way up into Harlem.
She stays in the truck as I drop off the boxes at the usual shelters, health centers, and other affiliated organizations.
Still, she doesn’t put up a fuss when it takes me a while to get us to the next location because I’m too busy being buried under a mountain of kids who are eager to touch the shiny red fire engine.
Around ten-thirty, we are down to the last box, which will be dropped off at a small children’s shelter high up near the tip of Manhattan.
The building is old. I already know that the elevators barely work, because I highly doubt they’ve been repaired since last Christmas.
The hallways smell faintly like cooking oil and ancient carpet, but I’ve timed the drop-off to accidentally coincide with nap time, so there are no gaggles of children rushing after me on my way back out to Noelle.
But when I look toward the truck, she’s not in there.