Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the way her eyes light up as I tell her about my first big fire, the adrenaline rush of racing to a call. For now, I let myself believe that this is normal, that I’m just a guy having coffee with a beautiful woman he’s interested in.
I’m not the stalker outside her window memorizing every curve of her body.
But as Chloe laughs at one of my jokes, her phone buzzes on the table. She glances at it, and that worried frown returns.
“Everything okay?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just work stuff. Nothing major.”
I nod, wanting to press further but knowing I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care this much about a stranger’s problems. But Chloe isn’t a stranger to me, even if I am to her.
“So what do you do?” I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t know this information even though I do.
“I’m an influencer. Sales, I guess you could say. For jewelry brands.”
“That sounds interesting.”
She shrugs, a wry smile playing at her lips. “It has its moments. Not as exciting as running into burning buildings, I’m sure.”
I chuckle, trying to downplay my job. “Trust me, it’s not all excitement. There’s a lot of waiting around, cleaning equipment, and paperwork too.”
“Well I win there. I don’t have paperwork.” Chloe leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “But still, you must have some incredible stories. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen on the job?”
I pause, considering. There are so many stories I could tell, but I’m wary of coming across as an arrogant jack ass, as some firefighters love to do. I’ve never been one to do so just to get in some girl’s pants, and yet here I am now. But this is my chance to impress her, to keep her interested.
“Well,” I begin, “there was this one time we got called to a house fire. When we arrived, we found out it wasn’t just any house—it was a hoarder’s home.”
Chloe’s eyes widen. “Oh no, that must have been awful.”
I nod, remembering the chaos of that night. “It was like navigating a maze of junk, with smoke licking at our heels. We had to create pathways just to move through the house. Junk everywhere. Everywhere. And the smell . . . I can’t possibly describe the smell of burnt hoarder house.”
As I continue the story, I watch Chloe’s reactions closely. She gasps at the tense moments, laughs at the absurd details, and nods sympathetically when I describe the homeowner’s distress. It’s intoxicating, having her full attention like this.
“Wow,” she says when I finish. “That’s incredible. You guys really are heroes.”
My face heats once again at her praise. “We’re just doing our job,” I mumble, suddenly self-conscious that my face keeps changing colors from white to red to white to red.
Chloe shakes her head. “Don’t downplay it. What you do is amazing.” She pauses, then adds with a grin, “Although I have to say, I’m a little disappointed there weren’t any cats stuck in trees in that story.”
I laugh, grateful for the moment of levity. “Oh, we wouldn’t be true firefighters if we didn’t rescue a cat in our day.”
“I knew it!”
“Well, if it’s cats you want, I’ve got a doozy for you,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially. “Picture this: a three a.m. call about a ‘large animal’ stuck in a tree. We show up, expecting maybe a raccoon or a possum. But no—it’s a full-grown mountain lion.”
Chloe’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was,” I chuckle. “This beast, who actually was some eccentric guy’s pet, had escaped and gotten itself stuck about thirty feet up an oak tree. And let me tell you, it was not happy to see us.”
“What did you do?” Chloe asks, completely enthralled.
“Well, first we had to call animal control. But they were short-staffed and couldn’t get there for hours. Meanwhile, this cat is getting more agitated by the minute. We couldn’t leave it there—someone’s pet could’ve wandered by and become lunch. Hell . . . we could have become lunch.”
I pause for dramatic effect, enjoying the way Chloe leans in closer, hanging on my every word.
“So, there I am, inching up this ladder with a tranquilizer gun borrowed from a local vet. Heart crashing against my chest, palms sweating—because one wrong move and I’m cat food. I get within range, take aim, and . . .”
“And?” Chloe prompts, eyes wide.
“I sneeze. Loudly. The mountain lion, startled, loses its footing and starts to fall. I manage to get off a shot, but now I’ve got a hundred and fifty pounds of semiconscious, very angry cat plummeting toward me.”
Chloe gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, what happened?”
I grin, savoring the moment. “Let’s just say I gained a newfound appreciation for airbags that day. My team had set up a jump cushion, just in case. The cat and I both landed on it—thankfully, on opposite ends.”