Page 1 of Sparks with the Firefighter

CHAPTER 1

Flyer Pinned to the Message Board at Lumberjills Cafe in Lumberjack Lagoon

Lumberjack Days are back! And this year… We honor our heroes.

Every dollar in the bucket goes straight to building the Carl Hunting Memorial Fire Station on Main. For over a hundred years, Lumberjack Lagoon has run on volunteers, a phone tree, and whatever Peony Pointe could spare. Mutual aid is a beautiful thing. But it's time we came into our own… and you can help!

Timber Logging is matching every dollar we raise.

One dollar from you. Two toward a town that's lumberjack strong.

STILL WANTED: YOUR LUMBERJACK LOVERS

We are entirely too close to this event to be missing our stars. Do you know a couple who embodies everything it means to live in Lumberjack Lagoon? Our perfect pair is hardworking. Loyal. Committed. And in love.

Our fabulous duo will be:

Featured on every poster in town

Front and center at the opening ceremony ribbon cutting

Judging our contests

And more

Nominate your favorite lumberjack and lumberjill to be the face of this year's Lumberjack Days.

Nominations close this week. Drop your slip in the box at Lumberjills Coffee or call Jules Oakes and let her know. Don't be shy y’all. Somebody's got to do it. Lumberjack Lovers to the front!

CHAPTER TWO VIVIEN

The sign goes up crooked and I squint at it from the sidewalk with one hand shading my eyes.

The vinyl lettering is pink and bubbly against the white background. There's a little paw print where the apostrophe should be, because the man at the post office told me that Lumberjack Lagoon responds to paw prints.

"It's a good sign," I mumble to myself. "Professional. Legible from the street."

It's the kind of sign a bank looks at and thinks low risk and that’s exactly what I was going for. It's also two degrees off level, and I leave it that way for six whole minutes before I climb back up the stepladder.

The first sign I ever made was hand-painted on a piece of barn wood I found behind my ex-husband's shop. It was ugly as sin, but it was mine. Every letter had a different height. The last G in grooming leaned like it had somewhere better to be. I was so proud of that lopsided thing I took a picture of it in three different kinds of light.

I don't know where that girl went.

"There we go." The bracket bites in. I press my thumb against the corner until the whole thing sits square. "Straight now."

I climb down and Main Street does what Main Street does on a Tuesday in June, which is not much. Two logging trucks negotiate their way past each other with about four inches to spare and a lot of opinion from one of the horns. Somebody's dog is tied outside the hardware store, collecting pets from every single person who passes. The whole street smells like sawdust and the mineral tang coming up off the lagoon.

Next door, the bay doors are open on the half-built firehouse. Somebody's running a saw. The sound stops. Starts. Stops again. It’s a simple life and that’s exactly what I signed up for.

"Mom." Drew is in the doorway to the back room with a granola bar he did not ask permission for. "Mom, is it going to be a real fire station over there? Looks too small.”

"It might be small, but it’s going to be real."

"Because right now it's just a building with a truck in it, but if it's a real one then there's, like, a pole. Do you think they’ve got one in? Are there going to be bunk rooms or…" He takes a breath. "I'm going to go check it out." Drew takes a step toward the door.

"Negative. Back room, bud. I'm almost done here and then we can do whatever you want."

He hesitates in the doorway, then lets out a huff big enough to move his hair. "I'm bored. I want to get outside already. Why can't I just be out front?"