All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

“I THOUGHT THERE would be a pole,” Clay said, looking up at the ceiling of the firehouse.

“A challenge in a one-story building, although there is a two-story fire station in town.” Charlie led the way through the engine bay. “Honestly, they’ve done away with poles. Too many injuries.”

“People slipping down the pole too fast?”

“No. People falling through the floor. These days, if a station is two stories, we take the stairs.”

“Hard to be a superhero on stairs.”

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Tell me about it. I had to turn in my cape last week.” She stepped through a doorway. “Administrative offices are that way.” She pointed to the left. “Our living quarters are this way.”

He followed her toward the living quarters. When he’d called Charlie to tell her he would be coming by to drop off his application, she’d offered to show him around.

She’d already explained the various pieces of equipment, including the difference between the engine and the Quint. Like most towns in America, the majority of the station’s calls were about something other than a fire. Many involved medical emergencies, including car accidents. Here in Fool’s Gold, more than a few were about things like Mrs. Coverson’s cat.

“Self-explanatory,” Charlie said, pointing at a large open area with several sofas and a huge flat-screen TV. Behind the sofas was a big dining-room table and behind that was the kitchen.

“The paid firefighters work twenty-four hours at a time so we take our meals here. As a group, we’re responsible for our own breakfast and lunch.” She walked into the kitchen and pulled open the door of a jumbo-size freezer. Inside, dozens of casserole dishes were neatly stacked and labeled.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Our glorious community at work. Thanks to the Casserole Brigade, there’s a steady supply of dinners provided to all the stations in town. Precooked and ready to just thaw and heat. A few times a month, we’ll get a call and someone will come by and cook us dinner. We also have a barbecue out back where we can grill hamburgers or steaks.”

“Nice setup.”

“It works.”

She returned to the engine bay and pointed to another door. “Sleeping quarters, bathrooms and showers are over there.” Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“What?”

“Some guys assume they’re communal showers and get excited at the thought.”

Clay pictured a brief flash of Charlie in the shower and found himself surprised by his own interest, not that he would tell her that. “I’m pretty sure I can control myself.”

She didn’t look convinced, but moved on anyway. “Come on,” she said, heading back to the engine bay. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

Five minutes later, they were seated at the kitchen table. They each had a mug of black coffee. Charlie’s blue eyes were thoughtful as she studied him.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Fool’s Gold is going to be my home for a long time. I want to be a part of things.” While he found the Haycations interesting and looked forward to the challenge of starting a business, he was going to have too much time on his hands. He was done with college and in a place where he wanted to put himself out there. “I’m used to people not taking me seriously.”

She nodded slowly. “I would have mocked you before. It must be difficult being so special.” She shrugged. “I’m starting to get that maybe there’s something to it. You’re going to have to work harder than everyone else.”

“I’m good with that.”

“You’re really staying? You’re not going to complain it’s too difficult and head back to New York?”

He grinned. “I already sold my apartment. Nothing to go back to.”

“You have friends there.”

“I have friends all over the world.”

He sensed she was asking about something else entirely, but he couldn’t figure out what. If she was a different kind of woman, he would wonder if she was coming on to him. He was used to invitations. Most of the time he ignored them. When that was impossible, he gently said no.

He was thirty years old and he was willing to admit his heart had died along with Diane. There had been women. A night here, a weekend there. But it wasn’t the same. The need for sex was biological. He didn’t want anymore. Didn’t need. Everything worked, but no one appealed.

He leaned back in his chair and reminded himself that this was Charlie. If she wanted him in her bed, she would ask. Or at least offer to arm wrestle him. She didn’t play girl games. He respected that and her. He also found the idea of Charlie in bed intriguing. More so than any other offer had been in a while. Not that she was offering. But if she did...

“I’ll do my best to make sure they give you a fair shot,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Thank you.”