Chapter 32 Patton
PATTON
The Pinewood structure fire took three hours to contain and left me smelling like acrid smoke and failure.
I’m back at the station now, filing paperwork with hands that won’t quite stop shaking. Not from the fire—I’ve fought worse. From what we couldn’t save.
The house is gone. Everything inside it—photos, heirlooms, the entire life someone built—reduced to ash and twisted metal. Only the shed and a child’s swing set in the backyard survived.
The report I’m filing is like a memorial to what was lost. But even it could go up in smoke. It’s a peculiar feeling when you lose a battle against an enemy that didn’t mean to cause harm. After all, fire is used to cook, provides heat and light, sustains life, and yet it also destroys.
“You okay?” Scotty appears beside my desk.
“Fine.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
I don’t look up from the incident report. “My face says I need to finish this paperwork.”
“Your face says you’re taking this one personally.” He leans on my desk. “We did everything we could, Mav.”
“Wasn’t enough.”
“Never is.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But we saved the family. Four people walked away with their lives because of us. That counts.”
I know he’s right. Doesn’t make everything else easier to swallow.
My phone vibrates with a text from Winnie.
Winnie: Heard about the fire. Are you okay?
Just seeing her name on my screen loosens the knots inside.
Me: I’m fine. Long night.
Winnie: Do you need anything?
Me: Just you.
I send it before I can overthink it, and her response comes immediately.
Winnie: I’m here. Whenever you need me.
“You’re smiling at your phone,” Scotty observes. “That’s new.”
I grumble at him.
“Is that Winnie?”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He chortles. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
I do. And it terrifies me.
The next week is a rush of preparation. The bakery’s grand opening is on Saturday and every waking moment is consumed by last-minute details, including hanging the menu board and other signage, preparing the coffee station, and managing the point of sale program.
But Winnie marks every moment of it.
She stops by the bakery with the final permit, which should be a moment to celebrate. Instead, she stays to help arrange tables. She texts me photos of display case trays she found online. She shows up with a hug before work because she knows I’ve been here since dawn.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her.
“I know.” She hands me a coffee because the company providing our brewing units forgot to pack the filter baskets, which are now on back order. “But I want to.”
“Why?”
She looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “Because this matters to you, so it matters to me.”
And just like that, I’m falling harder.
We hustle in the coming days, baking well into the night, and are back early the next day for the grand opening.
On the upside, the guys and I are adapted to working late shifts, so the odd hours aren’t anything new.
Though we’ve taken Scotty and Hayes off baking duty.
The Lumberjack overcooks everything. Handsome leaves everything underdone.
Saturday morning arrives with unseasonably warm weather and a clear sky. Yet my nerves are like charcoal briquettes.
“You look like you’re about to blow a gasket.” Scotty assembles the custom pastry box sticker dispenser.
James adjusts the ‘Crush Cakes’ banner above the door.
“Feel like it too.”
“It’s a bakery opening, not a five-alarm fire.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you reorganizing the napkin dispensers for the third time?”
Because if this fails, I lose everything. The building. Captain Kendrick’s legacy. The future I’m trying to build—for me, for the crew, for this town.
And maybe, if I’m being honest, for Winnie too.
“They’re crooked,” I mutter.
Austin appears with Oreo, our Dalmatian, wearing a red bandana for the occasion. “Doors open in five minutes. Everyone ready?”
Hayes adjusts his apron. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”
James straightens the stack of pastry boxes. “The Crush Cakes look good.”
“They look amazing,” Austin corrects.
The confidence in his voice steadies me. We’ve worked too hard for this to fail. The old firehouse has been transformed—exposed brick, modern lighting, the original brass pole gleaming. Crush Cakes fill the display cases in every flavor we perfected.
I inhale the scent of vanilla and butter and determination.
Austin’s lips ripple with a smile as if he’s holding something back. Please don’t let him badger me about Winnie or the bet right now. Instead, he says, “Dare I say we’re going to crush this.”
At that, we burst into laughter, and at exactly ten a.m., we unlock the doors.
The town floods in.
Within an hour, it’s clear the opening is a success.
People love the concept. Love the story behind it. Love that their firefighters are serving them Crush Cakes with the same dedication they bring to saving lives.
I watch from behind the counter as the crew works together seamlessly—Austin charming customers, James explaining the Crush Cake origin story.
Reese is in the back, baking and making sure we never run out of anything.
Hayes and Scotty manage the steady stream of orders.
This is what the captain wanted. A family. A legacy. Something that lasts.
“Lieutenant Cross, you did good.” Mayor Barbie shakes my hand. “Captain Kendrick would be so pleased.”
The words lodge in my throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “The Crush Cakes concept is quite fitting, considering I had a crush on him.”
“You did?” I’m not sure what to say, but I glimpse Winnie, documenting everything for Huckleberry Hill Parks & Rec social media.
She wears a fitted, light red sweater, cream pants, and cute little sneakers that make her look like springtime personified, and every time our eyes meet across the bakery, I remind myself to take a breath.
She understands why this matters as she captures the details—the brass pole as kids take rides down it, the crew laughing together, and the satisfied faces of customers tasting their first Crush Cake.
“This is amazing,” she says, appearing beside me.
“It was a team effort.”
“You’re the captain. You should be proud.”
“We’ll see if people come back.”
“They will.” She snaps a photo of the display case. “Trust me. This place has that special something.” Her eyes flit to mine.
“Something special, huh?”
“Absolutely.” She grins up at me and links our fingers together. “A bakery run by hot firefighters? You’ve basically created a Hallmark movie.”
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “You think I’m hot?”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I think you’re—”
Oreo barks loudly and takes off running … with a Crush Cake in his mouth.
“Oreo!” Austin yells. “Drop it!”
The dog does not drop it.
What follows is a three-ring circus of chaos. Oreo weaves between customers, leaving frosting paw prints on the floor, shoes, and, oddly, a little kid’s balloon. The entire crew chases him, which only makes him think it’s a game.
He runs straight to Winnie and then stops short, sitting at her feet, tail wagging, presenting the mangled cake like a gift.
Even the dog loves her.
Winnie crouches down, laughing as Oreo pants happily, frosting covering his muzzle like a beard. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”
“He just stole merchandise.”
“He has excellent taste.” She scratches behind his ears, and Oreo leans into it with pleasure.
I take a photo because I can’t help myself—Winnie in her red sweater, laughing at a frosting-covered Dalmatian who clearly adores her.
Just like I do.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
I’m in love with her.
The realization hits like a sledgehammer. I’m not falling anymore. I’ve already fallen.
“You okay?” Winnie looks up at me, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah. Just—” I clear my throat. I give my head a shake, wondering if a wire came loose from stress and lack of sleep, but is that anything new? No, it’s what motivates me, what I thrive on.
The afternoon crowd thins around three, and the crew gathers in the back to celebrate.
“The line was out the door,” Hayes says.
James adds, “We sold out of everything and have special orders for next week.”
Austin claps me on the shoulder. “You did it, brother. Captain Kendrick would be proud.”
The words should feel good. They do, but a nagging feeling of guilt draws me out of revelry.
The bet.
I need to tell Winnie before someone else does. Before things between us go further.
But then Grandma Joyce and Grandma Judy arrive at the back door, both carrying Tupperware containers.
“Boys!” Joyce announces. “We’ve been discussing your menu.”
“You need brownies,” Judy adds. “Crush Cake brownies.”
Barging in, they set their containers on the counter, revealing their competing brownie recipes.
“Mine have a cream cheese swirl,” Joyce says proudly.
“Mine has salted caramel drizzle,” Judy counters.
“Cream cheese is classic.”
“Salted caramel is sophisticated.”
Within minutes, half the guys have chosen sides. Team Joyce versus Team Judy. The debate gets heated—fitting, I guess, since we’re firefighters talking about baked goods.
Silver Sam, the oldest resident in town, materializes and says the spirits in the building appointed him judge, but only if he can taste the contenders. He tries both brownies and then goes for seconds as if the free samples of Crush Cakes we gave out today didn’t quite satisfy his sweet tooth.
“Well?” Joyce demands.
“They’re both—” Sam pauses dramatically. “Tied.”
“Tied?” Each of the older women explode in a fit of nitpicking and faultfinding.
“For the sake of peace,” Sam adds quickly.
Oreo, who’s been quietly watching from his bed, barks. I’m not sure if he’s suggesting a rematch or that brownies have no place in this bakery.
“We sell Crush Cakes and coffee,” I say firmly.
“Why not add our brownies to the menu?” Judy asks.
“You should open a brownie bakery,” Hayes suggests.
“Is that even a thing?” Joyce asks.