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 nod and make my way to the drink table, selecting a cup of spiced apple cider. The warmth of the mug seeps into my hands as I take a sip, the sweet and spicy flavors dancing on my tongue. I turn back to observe the room, feeling more at ease now that I’ve settled in.
A young woman approaches me, her curly hair bouncing as she walks. She’s wearing a festive green sweater with tiny reindeer prancing across it. “Hi there! I’m Melissa, Tom’s wife. You must be Jack’s new girlfriend?”
Girlfriend? Um . . . how do I? I don’t even know what we are.
“I’m Chloe,” I answer, hoping that’s enough.
Melissa shakes my hand enthusiastically. “Oh, we’ve all been dying to meet you! Jack’s been so secretive, but we could tell something was different. He’s been smiling a lot more lately.”
Butterflies flutter in my chest at her words. “Really? That’s . . . that’s good to hear.”
I catch a glimpse of Jack in the kitchen. He’s laughing with his colleagues, a dish towel slung over his shoulder as he pulls a golden-brown pie from the oven. The sight of him so at ease, so in his element, makes my heart swell.
Melissa follows my gaze and smiles knowingly. “They’re quite a sight, aren’t they? All that masculinity crammed into a kitchen.” She laughs softly. “But don’t let the tough guy act fool you. These men are some of the most caring, compassionate people you’ll ever meet.”
I nod, still watching Jack as he carefully places the pie on a cooling rack. “I’m starting to see that,” I say.
Melissa and I continue chatting, and I instantly warm to her bubbly personality. She introduces me to a few other wives and girlfriends, and soon we’re all swapping stories and laughing together. It feels good to be included, to be part of this tight-knit community, even if I’m not quite sure where I fit in yet.
As the evening progresses, the aroma of roasted turkey and savory sides fills the air. Jack calls everyone to gather around the long tables that have been set up in the center of the room. I find myself seated between Jack and Melissa, with children excitedly squirming in their seats across from us.
Captain Rodriguez stands at the head of the table, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed and his kind eyes sweeping over the gathered group. He clears his throat, and a hush falls over the room.
“Before we dig into this wonderful meal,” he begins, his voice warm and rich, “I’d like to say a few words. First, to our newest guests,” he nods in my direction and a couple of others, “welcome to our fire station family. We’re glad you could join us tonight.”
Jack’s hand squeezes my knee under the table, and I can’t hide my smile.
The captain continues, “As we celebrate this holiday season, I’m reminded of how fortunate we are. Not just for the food on our table or the roof over our heads, but for the bonds we share. This job isn’t easy. We see things that most people never have to face. But we face them together, and that makes all the difference.”
There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. I glance at Jack, seeing a mix of pride and solemnity in his eyes.
“So tonight,” the captain raises his glass, “I’d like to propose a toast. To family—both the ones we’re born with and the ones we choose. To the loved ones who support us, worry about us, and welcome us home after every shift. And to those who couldn’t be with us tonight, whether they’re working or watching over us from above. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” The room echoes with the sound of clinking glasses and heartfelt responses.
As we begin to eat, the conversation flows easily. I listen to stories of daring rescues and comical mishaps, of sleepless nights at the station and unexpected acts of kindness from the community. With each tale, I gain a deeper understanding of the world Jack inhabits.
Halfway through the meal, the station’s alarm suddenly blares to life. The firefighters, including Jack, immediately push back from the table, their expressions shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant.
“Sorry, duty calls,” Jack says, leaning in to place a quick kiss on my cheek. “Save me some pie?”
Before I can respond, he and the others are rushing toward the bay. The remaining guests watch in respectful silence as the engines roar to life and pull out of the station, sirens wailing into the night.
I turn to Melissa. “So what do we do now?”
She shrugs. “You can wait here and see how long it takes for them to come back. Some will leave knowing it’s a crap shoot. It’s up to you.”
“How long do these calls take?”
“Could be half an hour, or it could be hours.” She glances at their half-eaten plates. “At least they got some food in them this year. Thanksgiving they all had to rush out the door right as the turkey was being carved.”