There had been a string of arsons in commercial buildings over the past few weeks. So far there had been no rhyme or reason to the fires, and thankfully, no one had been hurt.
But that could so easily change.
She, of all people, knew how quickly everything could shift trajectory.
“Most likely, but I’m not an investigator. I just put out the fires. We should probably eat now. No telling when we’ll get another chance.” Greer turned his head toward the bay door and yelled loud enough for those in the bay to hear him. “Who’s ready for some food?”
“Depends on who’s on kitchen duty.” Sam started after him into the kitchen portion of the open-concept room.
Greer turned around and walked backward. “Um, that would be me.” He smiled proudly.
Mason Greer was the station’s youngest firefighter at twenty-four. He was also the station health nut. That wasn’t a bad thing—health was important, sure. But some of the things he’d had them try had been a bit sketchy.
“I think I’ll pass on the swamp-water protein drink.” She followed Greer. “That slimy drink tasted like a dirt-covered rotten apple sprinkled with ash.”
She was more of a pizza and side salad kind of girl.
He rolled his eyes and passed into the kitchen. “Wheatgrass has antioxidants, is good for your immune system, and boosts energy.”
The dayroom, where she’d been sitting, was basically a living room. There was a couch, loveseat, and a couple recliners arranged in front of a television. A kitchen island separated the two portions, and the long dining table seated everyone if they all squeezed in.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather eat chalk than wheatgrass.”
“I got you, Sammy. You can have my bacon sandwich.” Dean stuck a half-eaten sandwich in her face.
She flinched back. Where had he come from?
Caleb Dean was the antithesis of Greer when it came to nutrition. His diet consisted of bacon and more bacon, and yet he seemed to remain fit despite the cholesterol clogging his arteries. He stood a couple inches taller than her, and while he wasn’t quite as muscle-bound as Holt, you could tell he worked out.
When it was Greer’s turn to cook, he tried to balance out the meal and make it healthier for his coworkers. He’d tried to sneak some turkey bacon onto Dean’s breakfast plate one morning. That had not been a great morning. For anyone.
Sam figured the balance between the two men was somewhere in the middle ground—where she tried to live. Just your quiet, average life.Nothing to see here.
She pushed the sandwich in Dean’s hand away and frowned. “Where’s the bacon? All I see is mayo.”
Greer looked over from behind the counter, where he poured some oil into a pan. “Dude. We’ve been back from the call all of five minutes. How do you already have a bacon sandwich?”
“It’s an emergency bacon sandwich. I always keep one ready to go. You know, just in case.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and took a bite of the sandwich, causing mayo to dribble down his chin.
“Exactly what kind of situation requires an emergency sandwich?” Greer crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s the point! You never know.” Dean slung his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “That’s why you’ve always gotta have one ready, right, Sammy?”
She shoved him away, and he finished the sandwich, licking his fingers like a little kid.
Sam gestured to the glob of mayo on his chin. “How does your wife put up with you?”
“She looks forward to his shifts.” Zachary Holt breezed in and sat on one of the stools around the kitchen island. The guy had light-brown hair that he usually kept covered with a ball cap, was six-two, and looked like he could crush bricks with his bare hands. Despite his scary appearance, he was a giant teddy bear. “That way she has some peace and quiet.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow. “With two little kids at home? Unlikely.”
Dean hopped up to sit on the counter. “She said the only way this marriage is ending is if one of us dies. And since she doesn’t look good in orange, she can’t kill me unless she figures out the perfect crime.” He shrugged.
“So instead, she feeds your bacon addiction, hoping you’ll have a heart attack one day,” Holt interrupted. “She’s in it for the death benefits.”
“You’re just jealous that I can eat what I want and still have this fabulously fit body.” Dean gestured to himself and sent Holt a kissy face.
“Barf.” Sam went to the coffeepot. If Dean was the antithesis of Greer, Holt was the military upgrade. His muscles had muscles.
