Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(10)

“Says the woman wrestling with a sign.”

Her face heated again. “It’s a big sign, and I have three more to hang up before my next class starts, so this is where I say thank you, then you go back to your world and I go back to mine.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said, as if that weren’t exactly what he’d decided to do a few minutes ago. So then why did the thought of coexisting in the same town with no interaction start a tingling of unease?

Because riling up the town’s biggest optimist was fun. It was like pissing off the tooth fairy.

“It’s what we both want,” she said, but her eyes were working double time not to look at his mouth.

So he winked. “Then you and that sign have a good day, sunshine.” With that Adam headed toward the firehouse. Three doors down he half turned and said, “And you might not want to watch my ass when I walk off. Wouldn’t want our two worlds to collide.”

“You’re so annoying,” she hollered.

“You’re so watching.”

He heard a gasp, then some fancy shuffling and what sounded like a huff, seconds before the banner hit the sidewalk and a frustrated “You wish” echoed down Main Street.

With a smile, he kept walking. Right past the flower shop and the party supply store and the urge to go back, until he reached the open bay of St. Helena Fire Station #1.

Built in 1912 and crafted from brick and hand-carved stone, the station was large enough to house two engines, an ambulance, a grass wagon, two support trucks, and a seven-man crew. Out back were spots for several search-and-rescue ATVs and the fire captain’s truck—which was empty.

Presently there was no captain on duty. Not an uncommon occurrence, since their captain worked four on and three off. Lucky for Seth, Captain Roman Brady was off today. Unlucky for Adam, the FNG had called him to fix the situation.

Adam shouldn’t complain—he’d been asking for more responsibility around the station. He’d committed the first few years of his career as a seasonal smokejumper, spending his summers fighting wildfires, and the rest of the year fluctuating between snowboarding in Tahoe and surfing in Mexico. Eight years back, he was hired on as a full-time firefighter, and he’d quickly moved up to an equipment apparatus engineer. Now Adam was ready again to move up the ranks.

The fastest way to lieutenant was to take on training rookie smokejumpers in no-man’s land. Check. Take additional courses and ace the lieutenant’s exam. Check and check. Handle things in the captain’s absence and prove he was ready for a promotion.

Adam was on it.

He strolled toward the kitchen, stopping right outside the doorway. Two guys were standing at the counter making dinner, while the other three sat on the couch watching the Giants game on the plasma. Seth sat in the armchair in the corner of the room.

“It’s at least a double D–sized ding,” Will McGuire said as Adam entered the kitchen—a place he frequented more than his own. “Which means whoever distracted you was way out of your league, freshman.”

McGuire was all lean muscle, young ego, and, until Seth had come on a few months ago, the station’s resident FNG. Coincidentally, up until a few months ago Adam had been the station’s resident smart-ass—excelling in ribbing, pranks, and making a party out of twist ties, tinfoil, and downtime. But that was before Cap had told him he was up for review in a few months, before Adam learned that if he played his cards right, a promotion was a possibility.

Even with his colorful past.

“Then explain how I got her digits,” Seth said, waving a piece of binder paper like it was the Holy Grail.

“Dude, you humped bumpers with the Cal State cheerleading team’s car and you only got one girl’s digits?” McGuire asked, dumping enough spaghetti noodles into the colander to feed a small country. “What kind of victory lap is that?”

“It was the dance team,” Seth argued as if that made it all okay. “And it wasn’t a victory lap. Besides, you were the one who sent me out in the first place to get bananas.”

“Is that what she wrote her number on? Your banana?”

The other guys laughed, and Adam could tell that Seth was two verbal jabs away from a swift smack to Will’s head.

Adopting his best don’t mess with me face, Adam strolled all the way into the kitchen.

“McGuire,” Adam said, and all the men looked up. He looked back, cool and assessing. “Remember the call we took where you came across that eight-foot python?”

The smug look cleared from his face, McGuire nodded. “The one in that attic?”

“That’s the one.” Adam’s smile said it was also the one where McGuire had pissed himself, and instead of making a big deal out of it, Adam had kept his mouth shut, because he knew this job was hard. Scary as shit. And sometimes they were bound to act human and screw up. Seth had screwed up dinging the engine, severely enough that his job might be on the line, and McGuire shoving it in his face was bad form.

“Yeah, I remember it.”

“So do I,” Adam said in his best lieutenant voice. “We done here?”

That was all it took. The men straightened, McGuire zipped it and went back to making dinner, while Seth pretended to watch the game.

Adam patted FNG on the shoulder and beckoned him toward the garage. They walked to the truck in question. Not a word was said as Adam circled the engine. Not a breath was taken when he studied the bigger-than-double-Ds dent in the back fender.