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Chapter One
Elyssa
Iknew it was coming.Thequestion.
Walking into the fire station, I nod to a few of my team members, saying hello to a few others. I was happy to be back here, but I knew the instant I closed my locker and headed to the main room I would be hounded by my friends and colleagues.
“So,” a singsong voice says from behind me. The word is said so innocently that I can’t help but smile as I shake my head.
“Were you watching the door or something? Jesus, Bayramov. I’ve not even put my backpack down.”
“I wasn’t watching the door,” he scoffs, coming up to walk beside me. “I could hear you stomping your way in here. The date must have gone bad if you’re still in a sour mood.”
“I’m never in a sour mood.”
“Tell that to your face then.”
I huff a laugh, poking an elbow out to jab him in the side. “Rude,” I say, unable to hold back my amusement. “And not that it’s any of your business, but no, the date didn’t go well.”
“What was it this time?” Bayramov asks as he plops into a reclining chair in our main room, his hands interlocked and resting on his chest. He looks like we’re about to begin a therapy session. All he needs is a little notebook to write all my diagnoses down in.
The image gives me a chuckle. While Bayramov is a good friend and one of the people I trust with my life on the team, I hated retelling all my bad date stories to him.
For one, the man had been happily married to his high school sweetheart for over ten years and had no idea what the dating scene was like these days. Besides what he saw on TV, in movies and on social media, he had no concept of the hoops everyone had to jump through in order to just get a first date.
It was exhausting. Rewarding sometimes—I’d had a few good hookups—but nothing that ever lasted long-term. I also never dated the men in the town I lived in. That was too awkward. I didn’t mind driving thirty minutes past our town limits if it meant I never had to see the guy again after the date went downhill. Which they usually did.
Bayramov makes a humming noise, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“It was…it’s hard to explain. He just didn’t make me feel anything.” I get a raised eyebrow and his hands motion in a “give me more” gesture. My head falls back and I look to the ceiling, asking for patience and help with finding how to describe to him what I was feeling.
“There was no…magic, you know? No spark. He was cute, he was funny. He talked about his family and didn’t make any condescending remarks when he found out I was a firefighter but…I just didn’t feel anything.”
My head tilts forward, back to meet Bayramov’s gaze. He’s gone serious.
After a long silence that makes me feel a little embarrassed about what I just confessed, Bayramov nods, the knowing look on his face falling into a look of sad understanding.
I fear I know exactly what he’s thinking of.
Bayramov and I had gone to the same high school, but he was a couple years older than me. Growing up in a small town meant you knew everyone and knew everyone’s business. Which meant he knew and was probably remembering the gossip about my one long-term crush and its anticlimactic ending.
I try not to think about him too often. If I do, I find myself falling down a dark rabbit hole and imagining scenarios that will never happen. The “what if” game isn’t something I ever won. I liked having both feet planted in reality.
That didn’t mean his face didn’t pop up in my mind every now and then. It didn’t mean that there weren’t nights I dreamt about him. Those did happen on occasion. And when they did, my glued-together heart would crack in a new place.
But that just made me stronger, right?
I push all the feelings down, hating that his image, the mere memory of him, could still conjure intense emotions. And not all of them were sadness and rejection.
Pulling myself out of that toxic line of thinking, I redirect my attention to Bayramov.
“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t need your pity. I’m good.” He opens his mouth, but I don’t want to hear what he has to say right now. “I’m great even. I was just testing the waters and seeing what fish were out there. It didn’t work, so I’ll try again. Move on.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“As long as you’ll keep trying,” he says, rising from his chair.
I give him a nod, but even I don’t believe it. After three back-to-back uninspiring dates, a break sounded nice. Maybe it was time to focus more on me, find a new hobby or spend more time with family.
My older brother, who is the town’s chief of police and the biggest grump I’ve ever known, miraculously fell in love recently and got engaged. I’d been absolutely floored when I’d shown up for our family annual Christmas potluck party and found him making out with a woman in the kitchen. If he could find someone to love him—especially someone as great and hilarious as Willa—there had to be someone out there for me too.
