I laugh. His protectiveness toward Win, delivered so gruffly, is as endearing as it is hilarious.
Joel raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re being a touch overdramatic?”
Ben runs toward us, shouting, “Mommy, I need to go potty!”
As I bend to pick him up, Murph looks at Joel and doesn’t say a word. His pointed stare is the biggest "I told you so" I’ve ever seen.
“What’s so funny, Mommy?” Ben asks, scrunching his nose.
I shake my head and stop laughing. “Nothing, baby. Let’s get you to the bathroom and back to having fun, huh?”
Over the next hour, Murph relaxes and eventually starts to enjoy himself, even joining in with some of the games.
We sing happy birthday to Harry, watch him open his presents, and eat too much food. Except me. I do not eat too much food. I focus on taking pictures and enjoying this party because one wrong bite, and this party is over for me.
It’s a day full of sun, fun, and lots of happy, hilarious moments, but it’s so exhausting that I’m not the only one walking through the front door yawning hours later.
We nap when we get home, then spend the rest of our weekend relaxing and doing housework, though Win, Joel, and Murph make it their mission to have me do as little as possible.After dinner, we wind down each night with a movie in the living room before bed.
It’s as close to perfect as any weekend can be, and I’d happily sign up for more of the same.
Chapter 14
Joel
Eyes narrowed, I stalk around the firehouse table on a bright afternoon, sunlight flooding the room through the open shutter doors. “No walking around shirtless. No dirty jokes. And I especially don’t want to see any of you flirting with Rose. Best. Behavior. Only. This is too important for any of you to fuck up.”
Four men look from me to the fire chief. My older brother, Noah, is holding the clipboard and called this meeting to discuss the annual firehouse breakfast coming up to raise money for new equipment. Right before I hijacked it, that is.
He raises a dark-blond brow at me. “That everything?” His voice is dry, and his dark-green eyes, identical to mine, are expressionless, but there are definitely going to be questions after this meeting.
I consider whether I covered everything, then I point to the man on my left. “Dylan, you have the smallest head out of all of us. I need your helmet.”
“What the fuck, man?” Dylan glares, running a hand over his shaved head as if to reassure himself it can’t bethatsmall.
The rest of the guys chuckle, and even Noah cracks a smile.
Alas, I am not talking shit.
His wife, Lauren, was the one pushing him to get a haircut. And not the same one that made him look like a '90s boy band reject. Maybe he thought going short would get her off his back for a good long while. Nevertheless, he shaved it all off, and his head’s looked like a kiwi ever since. No one’s said it to his face, but we’re all thinking it.
My older brother Noah is the fire chief, while Dylan, Callum, and I, all full-time, rotate as shift supervisors to keep our skills sharp. Callum is the most experienced in medical emergencies. Oscar and Silas, the two other men here today, are volunteers and slightly older. They usually work evenings and weekends because both have full-time jobs. The one thing that unites all of us, full-time and volunteers, is that we all signed up to help whoever needs it.
“The helmet is for Ben,” I explain once the laughter has died down. “I’ll give it right back to you after.” We have yellow plastic ones that we give to the kids to take home after a visit to the firehouse, but I want to make this extra special for Ben.
“Fine,” Dylan says reluctantly. “But I want it back clean. Kids are cool, and all that, but their hands are always sticky, and I’m not running into a fire wearing a sticky helmet if we have an emergency.”
“I’ll clean it right after,” I promise. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
I’d known he’d say yes. Any of us would have. We remember our first visit to the firehouse as wide-eyed kids with dreams of being firefighters one day.
“That’s it,” Noah says after glancing at his clipboard. “You know your tasks.”
My brother’s favorite slogan is: “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”
We know to stay busy, or there’s usually hell to pay. I might be his younger brother, but I’m not immune to punishment for slacking. No one is.
The men get to their feet and head toward the two fire trucks we have parked in their assigned bays in front of the open metal shutters, ready to load up and ship out when the alarm sounds.
