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“Yup! I whipped up a batch of my famous flapjacks. I even threw in some chocolate chips.”
He sauntered into my kitchen and set the plate on the table with a flourish, the stack of pancakes wobbling slightly under the momentum. I noticed he was wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron over his faded band t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looking utterly at home in my space as if he belonged there.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, touched by the thoughtful gesture. It had been a long time since someone had cooked for me.
“I know, but what are fake fiances for if not to make each other breakfast?” He winked playfully, his green eyes twinkling with humor. “Now sit down and dig in before they get cold. I even warmed up the syrup.”
I settled into the chair across from him, the morning light filtering in through the windows and bathing everything in a warm glow. I cut off a bite of pancake, the chocolate chips still melted and gooey, and tasted. The fluffy sweetness melted in my mouth. “Mmm, these are amazing!” I mumbled appreciatively around the mouthful.
“Told you they were famous,” Dylan grinned, clearly pleased by my reaction. He casually leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, looking far too awake and chipper for the early morning hour. His eyes twinkled with satisfaction at having surprised me.
For a brief, blissful moment as I enjoyed the fluffy chocolate chip pancakes - my favorite - it felt like we were a couple sharing a cute domestic moment over breakfast.
As Dylan gathered the dirty dishes, I watched him, struck by how perfectly he fit into my little kitchen. I couldn’t remember the last time I had shared breakfast with someone like this. It left me with a peculiar feeling I couldn’t quite name.
“Earth to Avery,” Dylan said, snapping me from my thoughts. “You still in there?”
I shook myself back to reality. “Sorry, just got lost in thought for a second. Thank you again for breakfast. It hit the spot.”
“Anytime,” he smiled. “I should probably get going to the community center, but this was fun. We make a pretty good team, Dawson. See you there later!”
We walked to the front door together, and as I watched him head across the street to his house, I realized the lingering feeling was one of contentment. Even if it was all pretend, being with Dylan just felt right.
***
I hesitated outside the Pebble Point Community Center, suddenly feeling nervous. When Dylan had invited me to his safety presentation for local kids, I’d imagined a handful of fidgety youngsters half-listening as he dutifully covered fire hazards and emergency preparedness. But as I peered through the window, I was met with a scene that shattered my assumptions.
The room was packed with at least thirty children, eyes glued to Dylan with rapt attention. He easily commanded the makeshift stage area, enthusiastically showing proper fire extinguisher use with a prop canister. The kids hung on his every word, oooh-ing and ah-ing as he shared captivating anecdotes between fire safety tips.
I quietly slipped inside and found a seat near the back, pulling out my sketchpad. Dylan’s passion was magnetic—I couldn’t resist capturing the moment in art. My pencil danced across the page, sketching the enthralled youthful faces, Dylan’s animated gestures, and the makeshift stage strewn with props. He was in his element, every word and movement radiating an infectious enthusiasm. Here is the expanded text:
The children sat rapt, hanging on his every word and movement. Their eyes were glued to Dylan as he enthusiastically pantomimed stopping, dropping, and rolling across the makeshift stage. Every few minutes he’d crack a joke, igniting a chorus of giggles from his pint-sized audience. Their little faces lit up with delight, creased by wide grins and peals of laughter.One tiny girl in the front row was so tickled that she tipped backward in her chair, little feet kicking the air. Dylan smoothly caught the back of her chair, righting her again as the other kids laughed.
His rapport with the children was natural and unforced. He spoke to them as equals, meeting their curiosity with patience and humor. I noticed him subtly adapting his instructions based on their reactions, reading the room, and adjusting his tone and energy level accordingly. It was clear the kids adored him, and the feeling was mutual.
As I shaded and smudged, the scene came alive on my paper. I added playful details—a little girl’s lopsided firefighting helmet, threatening to slip over her eyes. A boy pretending his fingers were a fire hose, squirting imaginary water streams. Two boys whispered secretively in the back, stifling laughter as they drew mustaches on their safety pamphlets. One particularly rambunctious kid was using his rolled-up pamphlet as a megaphone, broadcasting an exaggerated play-by-play commentary on Dylan’s every move. Capturing these small, amusing moments amidst the overall enthusiasm made the sketch all the more endearing.
The last half-hour flew by in a creative blur as I immersed myself in bringing the scene to life on paper. The chatter of the kids and even Dylan’s soothing voice faded into the background as I shaded and smudged, fully engrossed in capturing the spirit of excitement and community.
A sudden eruption of applause jolted me back to reality. As I blinked and refocused, I realized the presentation was over. Kids of all ages swarmed Dylan, clamoring for high-fives and pictures with the star firefighter. He welcomed their enthusiasm with his signature easygoing charm, taking time to give each kid his full attention. He seemed completely unfazed by hissudden popularity as he smiled and chatted, complimenting their drawings and answering a barrage of questions.
I admired him as he patiently engaged with each child, validating their eager interest in the fire service. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of something deeper in Dylan, beyond just his handsome looks and natural charisma. Here was someone who genuinely cared about making a difference in people’s lives, no matter how small the gesture. The openness of his heart was like those wide bay doors, welcoming everyone without judgement.
As the crowd of kids eventually dispersed, I lingered, taking in this unexpected insight into what drove Dylan. With my finished sketch in hand, I was struck by how much depth and meaning it had revealed - both about him and my changing perceptions. Here was a man motivated by care and service, with those ideals woven into the very fabric of his character. Underneath his casual charm was a profound dedication to community and helping others.
And with each new layer revealed, I wanted to delve deeper, to truly understand the complexities of the man I’d judged so hastily upon our first meeting. Dylan Summers was more than just a handsome face in a firefighter’s uniform. He was a portrait of courage, compassion, and selflessness that I was only beginning to grasp, and that filled me with a longing to discover more.
I stacked the last of the folding chairs against the wall and glanced over at Dylan, who was coiling up the fire hose demonstration prop.
“Gotta say, I’m impressed,” I remarked, leaning against the now bare table that had held all his props and pamphlets just minutes before. “You have a way with kids. Who knew the infamous Dylan Summers had such a soft spot?”
Dylan chuckled, securing the hose coil. “What can I say? I love working with the little guys. Gets me away from washing the trucks and doing inventory back at the station.”
He lifted the heavy prop container effortlessly. I caught myself staring for a second too long at the way his arms flexed beneath his short sleeves.
“Come on, you can admit it,” I teased, trying to play it cool. “Under that suave ladies’ man persona, you’re just a big softie.”
Dylan shook his head with an amused grin. “Alright, you got me. But don’t spread it around, I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
