Page 7 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

One of the older kids, maybe ten or eleven, was studying me with serious eyes. “What do you do?”

My brows knitted in confusion. I made a point of looking down at my uniform. I was wearing the standard navy blue T-shirt and work pants, along with my boots. The T-shirt should have been the giveaway. It clearly said Calton Hill Fire Department.

“I’m a fireman,” I said, trying to be kind.

“No, like what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m nozzleman mostly,” I replied.

“And what’s that?” he asked, not trying to be annoying but edging close to the line anyway. It wasn’t his fault the holidays had me feeling grouchy, though.

I took a breath and smiled. “I’m the guy that holds the nozzle—the end of the hose.”

Tony stepped up and patted my shoulder. “See these muscles? That’s why he’s the nozzleman.”

The kid frowned. “Why?”

“It’s not easy to drag those hoses,” Tony explained. “And controlling the hose when you’ve got a hundred and fifty gallons per minute pumping through a hose? It’s no joke.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a lot?”

“A hundred and fifty gallons per minute doesn’t sound like much until you’re trying to wrestle with it,” Tony continued, demonstrating with his hands. “That water comes out at about a hundred PSI—pounds per square inch. Cooper here has to aim it exactly where it needs to go while the pressure tries to knock him on his butt.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the colorful explanation, Tony.”

“It’s like trying to hold on to an angry snake that weighs two hundred pounds and really, really wants to get away from you,” Tony added, grinning at the kids that had gathered. “Plus, you’re wearing about forty pounds of gear, there’s smoke everywhere, it’s hotter than heck, and you can barely see two feet in front of you.”

The kid nodded slowly, like he was filing this information away for later. “Do you like it?”

The question caught me off guard. Do I like it? It wasn’t something I thought about much anymore. “Yes. It’s my job. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“But you look mad,” the little pigtail girl said.

Matt snorted. “He loves it. He just pretends to be grumpy.”

“I don’t pretend anything,” I muttered, but the kids had already lost interest in my personality flaws.

“What is PSI?” another kid asked.

“Do you know what a Great Dane is?” I asked the kid.

He frowned. “The dog?”

“Yep. Imagine trying to walk five of them at one time. They’re all pulling on the leash and trying to get away.”

The kid nodded.

Tony laughed. “Good analogy, but don’t let him fool you. It’s more like two dogs.”

I rolled my eyes. “How would you know? You’re always the guy behind me.”

Matt stepped in. “Who wants fire department stickers?”

I watched Matt hand them out, making each kid feel special, asking their names, joking around. This was his element. He lived for this stuff.

A small hand tugged on my sleeve. “Are you a hero?”

“No. I’m just a fireman,” I told the little girl. “But that’s kind of you to ask.”