I stretch out one of the sleeves and try to maintain a straight face. “I think this green would really bring out your eyes.”
“Really?” He arches a brow and cocks his head, casting a dubious glance in my direction.
“What? You don’t like your nutcracker costume with sequins?”
“Of course, I do,” he says with an amused grin. “But the mustache ruins it. Makes it way too over-the-top.”
“Oh,that’swhat ruins it?” I plunk the hanger back on the rack with a laugh, and we set off in pursuit of a small tabletop tree with dozens of ornaments attached. I gingerly trail my fingers along a pink unicorn, a hamburger, a turtle with dove wings, and a tiny record player.
“Did you see this?” He shows me one of a gift box with a small puppy inside. “It looks like Ron’s dog. How’s she doing, by the way? Is she a handful?”
“She’s got lots of energy. You know how puppies are.” I leave out the cat humping and penchant for destruction. I don’t want him to think I’m complaining. “Maybe I’ll get that for him as a little get well present.”
He places the trinket in my hand. “I think he’d love that.”
I return my focus to the ornaments until I find a tiny fire truck and pluck it off the tree. There’s a button on the side that I press, which causes the lights to blink. “Look at this one.”
“How cool is that?” He reaches for it, and our hands touch, sending a shiver vibrating through my body. “I should get it for the tree at the fire station.”
“It’s perfect,” I say as we continue browsing.
“What made you decide to become a firefighter, anyway? Was it something you always knew you wanted to do?”
“Yeah, since I was eleven,” he answers. “I was actually in Loving when I realized that was what I wanted to be when I grew up.”
“Really?”
“I was here with my grandpa that summer, and one night he started having chest pains,” he begins. “I got scared and called 911. By the time I heard the sirens coming around the corner, Grandpa had collapsed. His heart had stopped beating. When the firefighters arrived, one of them jumped off the rig and ran inside. He did CPR and ultimately saved his life. Because of that firefighter, I got another ten years with my favorite person.”
Tears blur my vision. I know first hand what a beautiful gift time can be and how devastating it is to lose it.
“After that, I just knew I wanted to be like them one day, and now, here I am.”
“That’s incredible, Oliver,” I say, “but don’t you ever get…scared? Running into burning buildings and all?”
I picture him bursting through a window to save someone, flames coiling around him like poisonous snakes. It’s admirable and brave, but it’s also terrifying. As great as Oliver seems, his job is a hard-line for me. One I won’t dare cross. Too many things can happen, even when someoneisn’tputting their life on the line, let alone when they’re sprinting toward burning buildings.
“I can’t even tell you the last time I saw a big fire. Yours was the first fire call I’ve been on since I moved here,” he says with a shrug. “The majority of what the fire department responds to is medical,especiallyin small towns. Where I moved from was even smaller than Loving.”
My mind replaces the image of Oliver surrounded by flames with one of him helping animals stuck on rooftops, little old men who tumbled down the stairs, or women who’ve gone into labor.
My brows shoot up. “Wait, really?”
He nods. “Before yours, I think the last fire I responded to was a couple years ago on Thanksgiving. This old-timer started a grease fire while frying up his turducken.”
“Was he okay?”
“Oh yeah. The turducken, not so much,” he says. “Though, if you ask me, those things are weird anyway. They’re just so…meaty.”
“I think that’s kind of the point.” I chuckle. “What do you say we check out so we can continue our tour?”
We head outside, and the scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes fills the air as we get closer to the sleek white “Antonio’s Cucina” sign.
“Oh wow, that place looks fancy. It smells amazing.” He peers into the window, where a few patrons are dining. “You ever been?”
My breath catches in my throat. Antonio’s is a sweet little Italian spot known for its warm, homemade bread and shareable pasta dishes. It has an intimate vibe and is the kind of place that books out months before Valentine’s Day.
“I have,” I answer. “It’s been a while, though.” With my ex, Daniel, about a month before my dad passed, and it hadn’t exactly gone well. I’d had a rough day at work after having to tell one of my favorite patients that her beloved dog with cancer was out of options. I wanted to cancel our date night, but he insistedwe go. When I broke down and cried into my linguine, he told me I was humiliating myself.
