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“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a good plan. I hope your friend the chief is home, or this will be the first tailgate party a Power has ever hosted.”
“Thank you,” I whisper and squeeze his thigh.
“Thank you.” Will lifts my hand and kisses each of my knuckles.
The firehall is alive with party energy. Takeout containers cover the entire eighteen-foot-long table in the meeting room on the main floor. That’s where most of the action and people are. We can hear them from the smaller room upstairs that’s home to a big-screen television, a pool table, a couple of couches, and a kitchenette.
The TV/pool room has one way in—up an enclosed stairwell—so we only have one guard with us, which is good since that leaves space for ten firefighters to relax without being cramped.
Sophie, the chief and my friend, and her husband Nick are taking shifts between hanging out with us and being responsible parents, not leaving their sleeping toddler home alone.
It’s Nick’s turn to have fun, and he’s cleaning up at the pool table. Turns out there’s something the great Will Power can’t do—and that’s drop a ball in a pocket.
If anyone knows who Will is, they’re hiding it with perfection. I told Sophie he just wanted a night where he could be like everyone else, and she let the men and women of the department know that’s how they should treat him.
The guys are crude, the way guys can be when sticks are being swung and balls are the center of attention.
“I hope you’re a better stick handler away from the felt, Power,” Nick teases.
“Nick, cut my man some slack. Will hasn’t had to handle his stick since I met him,” I say.
All the guys groan in discomfort.
Lynn steps up to the table and drops a ball in a pocket. “Someone want to start the generator?” She pauses, looks around the room, then says, “Because it looks like the Power’s going out tonight,” Lynn bows to applause.
I clap along with everyone and notice that the security guy’s scowl has relaxed and he’s not above joining the mockery of his boss.
The huge screen is streamingBackdraft, a classic firefighter movie starring Kurt Russell and William Baldwin. It’s obvious the whole crew has seen the film before since lines are yelled in time with the actors’ deliveries, and each time a fire scenario gets something wrong, the room erupts in jeers and calls of “Drink, motherfucker!”
The happy, relaxed energy is contagious. The easy way these volunteers, who may not be friends outside the department, get along when they’re here is why I love small towns and Lily Valley, in particular. In my perfect world, I’d have a small house and a big piece of land to garden here. With a greenhouse just like Mr. Bernard’s.
A chorus of hoots and hollers erupts from the pool table. I look over to see Will bow and return his stick to the cue rack.
“Thank you, gentlemen and ladies, for not giving a rookie even one ounce of opportunity to look good in front of his girlfriend. You all suck.” He’s laughing. They’re laughing. I’m laughing.
Will drops onto the couch beside me as a new team of four rack the balls.
“Having a good time?” I ask, knowing the answer by the deep smile on his face.
“The best.” He pulls me tight against his body, and I snuggle into him.
“Can you see why I love it here?”
“It’s like everyone in this town is a variation of you and your easygoing energy,” he says.
“I think it’s called authenticity.”
He raises his brows, and I realize I might have just suggested he doesn’t live with authenticity. “I’m sorry. I suspect it’s a lot easier to be yourself when nobody’s judging you.”
“Or when they’re judging you to betheworstpool player they’veevercompeted against—and they’ve played with drunken Santas and kids who need a stepladder to see over the table.”
“Ouch.” I chuckle.
“I like seeing you in this environment. It suits you,” he says.
“It suits you better than chrome and concrete, too, you know.”
