Chapter 5
WINNIE
As the night sky lightens, my phone beeps with the kind of notification that makes my stomach drop. My eyes burn as I tap my phone’s bright screen to see the message from the bank with an account balance alert, telling me it’s fallen below the minimum threshold for free checking.
I stare at the numbers, still half asleep in Grandma’s guest room. The quilt she made—once colorful and now faded with fabric squares in yellows, reds, and oranges—suddenly feels too heavy.
I transferred the last chunk of my savings to Sorrentino’s Restaurant yesterday. Three thousand dollars that was supposed to be my emergency fund. Except my family is the emergency, and I’m the only one who seems to understand and be willing to do something about it.
The restaurant is failing. Not dramatically and not all at once, but like a slow leak that no one notices until an inch of water fills the bottom of the boat.
I’m an optimist, but this is undeniable.
Fabrizio is holding everything together while trying to get his stand-up comedy career off the ground. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad are in denial.
The problems include competition from newer or chain Italian places in Reno, along with location issues—they’re just far enough off the main strip to lose foot traffic. They keep planning special menus they can’t afford and have somehow convinced themselves that this is just a temporary downturn.
Meanwhile, Dad’s health hasn’t been great, which means he’s not managing things like he used to.
Mom has been handling his appointments while also botching the books.
Thanks to time spent abroad that resulted in her falling in love with an Italian and learning the language, however, she’s not quite fluent in math.
The business got away from them. Somehow, I’m the life raft. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it afloat.
I check my balance again on the app. I don’t pay rent. Grandma won’t hear of it, even though I’ve offered a dozen times. But I do have living expenses like insurance, a phone bill, and other adult responsibilities. I have enough for that, gas and groceries for two weeks if I’m careful. Then what?
I’ll figure it out. I always do.
My phone buzzes again with a text from Fabrizio.
Fab: Ma was still up when I got home, telling me about the special Valentine’s Day menu with cuts of steak they can’t afford. Can you call her later?
Great. Perfect. Exactly what I need on an already busy day.
I drag myself out of bed and through my morning routine on autopilot.
Shower. Coffee. Bible. I wear a second-hand blouse and a pencil skirt that fits looser than it should.
I miss my parents’ cooking. At this point, I’d eat pasta for breakfast. Day-old spaghetti with Dad’s marinara is the best. I dare anyone to disagree!
By seven thirty, I’m in my car, driving toward the municipal complex with a travel mug of Grandma’s strongest coffee.
I pass the old firehouse on Main Street. The brick building looks sad in the early morning light with scaffolding around one side and construction materials stacked near the entrance. A hand-painted sign that says Bakery and Café Coming Soon! stretches above the main bay.
I wonder if Patton revised the forms and if they’re on my desk. Possibly.
I’m not being petty by making him fix every tiny error before I approve them. I’m doing my job. There are rules for a reason, and I’m not going to bend them just because Lieutenant Grouchy Face makes me feel like a fly landing on his baked goods every time I try to be helpful.
I wonder if the way he looks at me is because he truly abhors me or if there’s something else.
He rattled me last night. How he stood in my doorway, hulking with his wide, muscular frame and a distinct expression of disapproval and distaste, like I personally designed the zoning regulations just to inconvenience him.
Before Mayor Barbie interrupted our face-off, we were so close. His gaze dragged over every inch of me. He smelled like cedar and woodsmoke. Campfire memories and comfort.
Ugh.
Although my rebellious body has other ideas, I tell myself I am not at all attracted to a man who clearly hates me.
I pull into the parking lot and grab my bag. Time to be the capable, cheerful Parks & Rec director everyone expects me to be.
Smile and wave, Sorrentino. Smile and wave. My days of being Miss Nevada are long gone and so is the heartache over all of the things that could have been. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The massive frosted glass garage bay doors of the new fire station attached to the municipal complex hang open. I catch glimpses of movement—the crew prepping equipment, the Dalmatian sniffing around, likely looking for snacks.
But no sign of a burly firefighter with kaleidoscope hazel eyes that make it so that I can never quite tell what he’s thinking, full lips that often wear an amused smile like he’s laughing at me or none at all—I can’t decide which is worse—and a massive frame that could probably lift a bus off the ground in an emergency situation.
I breeze inside to my office. It’s as silent as when I left late last night.
But not for long. Soon, Mindy sits at her desk, typing furiously.
Thomas—our resident data nerd with his collection of superhero figurines—waves without looking up from his spreadsheet.
Pauline, the maternal presence who keeps us all fed with homemade cookies, sips gingerly from a mug of tea.
“You look tired, dear,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what my daughter says right before she has a breakdown. Seems to happen once a month like clockwork.”
I frown. “I’m not having a breakdown.”
“Yet.” She pats my shoulder and returns to her desk.
Frowning, I get up to refill my coffee and make some photocopies. It cannot be helped, I glance through the glass wall into the office opposite mine. It’s empty, vacant. Much like Patton’s heart.
I wait while Thomas tinkers with the perpetually broken copier and Mindy slides next to me, leans against the counter, and releases a forlorn sigh like a woman in one of the Regency novels my friend Peony likes.
She says, “Austin hasn’t called or texted.”
“He’s probably been busy.”
“I’m afraid he’s not interested.”
“There are other fish in the lake.”
“Like trout?”
I shrug. “Bass, salmon, mountain whitefish.”
She gazes into the middle distance. “Let’s take a morning roll call of eligible men in this building. There’s Austin ‘James Bond’ James. Smooth with the ladies, once escaped a car fire like an action hero, and currently not flirting with me.”
I take a sip of coffee, wishing the immediate thought of Patton when the subject of men comes across my mental dashboard didn’t make my brain scramble. I did not order eggs for breakfast, thank you very much!
She continues, “Then we have Scotty ‘The Lumberjack’ Hodges. Not specifically because he’s outdoorsy, but because he looks like he spends a lot of time chopping wood. He has a one hundred percent success rate at saving the family cat during fires.”
“Legend,” Thomas whispers reverently.
“James ‘Dean’ Sutton. Brooding, mysterious, possibly navigating some rocky relationship stuff.”
“He’s off-limits.” I became good friends with his wife, Peony. While I’m not exactly sure of their status, Mindy will not be venturing into those waters.
“Then we have Reese. He’s unattached.”
“Possibly,” Thomas pipes up. “There are rumors that he had a very merry kissmas.”
I say, “Peony describes him as a real Tigger of a man.”
“Like from Winnie the Pooh?”
“Energetic, slightly chaotic. He’d need an Eeyore to balance him out and you are not a grump, Mindy, making for an incomplete pairing.”
“Let’s not forget about ‘Handsome’ Hayes Hanson. The rookie. Baby face. As cute as can be.”
Thomas adds, “Questionable decision-making skills. I heard he once tried to put out a grease fire with glitter.”
“He’s learning,” Pauline calls from her desk.
“That would make you a cougar,” I tell Mindy, since she’s a few years older than Hayes is.
“And finally,” Mindy says with dramatic flair, “Patton ‘Maverick’ Cross. Lieutenant. Intimidating. Possibly carved from granite. Definitely has a tragic backstory.”
“More like Patton Potato,” I mutter. “Mush for brains.”
Mindy gasps. “You’re so mean to him!”
“He was mean to me first.”
“He’s not mean. He’s … intense.”
“He’s insufferable.”
Through the glass, I catch movement. Patton stands in the hall talking to Austin.
He’s wearing his uniform—navy polo, tactical pants, boots.
He looks exactly like a rogue chef carved a spud into a competent, controlled, completely closed off, chiseled beast of a man, like a renaissance artist revealed him from a block of marble. That works too.
My breath hitches.
He turns, and for a second, our eyes meet through the double glass walls separating our departments.
I look away first.
“You’re blushing,” Mindy says.
“I’m not.”
“Your face is red.”
“It’s the coffee. It’s hot.”
Thomas chuckles. “Sure.”
Mindy waves her hand in front of her face. “He sure is hot. But that’s not the point. When the two of you are in a room together, it goes up in smoke.”
I wince, thinking of Tacos & Trivia night, which was more of a dumpster fire. Not wanting to be grilled about whether I understand how the audio works on my phone, I say, “Don’t you both have work to do?”
They scatter, giggling like teenagers. I sink into my desk chair and pull up my email, determinedly not looking across the hallway where Patton is definitely not looking back at me.
Probably.
Statistically, it’s unlikely.
Realistically, it’s impossible.
My phone rings. It’s my grandmother.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“Winnie, dear. The pipe under the kitchen sink is leaking again.”
My mental to-do list, already groaning under the weight of permit reviews and budget reports, not to mention, now planning the Fireman’s Ball, gains another item. “I’ll look at it after work.”