A Home for the Firefighter

by Amie Denman

  “Of course I am,” Brady said, his tone defensive. “I mean, that was always the plan.”

  “I know,” Ethan said. “I just thought you got a little distracted this summer.”

  “I’m back on track,” Brady said. This was the first step he knew he needed to take. His brother’s family was getting their own place, he was signed up for professional courses that would lead to a promotion and—he swallowed the pain in his throat—Kate was gone and she wasn’t coming back. He needed to make the right choice for himself.

  “It almost sold last week,” Charlie said, “but the buyers decided at the last minute they didn’t want to put any work into it, not that it needs a lot.”

  “I don’t mind the work,” Brady said. Physical work would keep him busy, keep his mind off the long summer days that had been filled with false promises.

  “Meet you over there about four,” Charlie said. “I’ll let you in, but I can’t stay long. Jane has a city council meeting tonight, and I get our daughter all to myself for the evening.”

  Brady parked in front of the house with the big tree and the blue siding, the one he’d seen with his brother and niece. He smiled thinking about the pink bedroom Bella had liked. Maybe he would leave it pink for when she came to visit. It could be a playroom for her.

  “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Charlie asked.

  “Ready to sign the papers,” Brady said. “I just want one more look.”

  “Go ahead,” Charlie said.

  Brady walked through each room, flipping on light switches, bouncing a little on the hardwood floors where there was a creaking sound under his feet. He turned on the kitchen tap, opened and closed cabinets and tested the view from the living room window into the backyard. He had known it when he first saw the place. It could be home.

  He tried to ignore the bittersweet feelings that crept in when he considered how much sunnier the rooms would be if there was someone there to share it with him, but he owed himself the fulfillment of a dream. He owed himself the chance to make this house a home.

  “I called the seller,” Charlie said, coming in from the front yard, “and told them they could expect a contract in the next day or two. Hope that’s okay.”

  Brady nodded.

  “I’ve got to get going,” Charlie said, edging back toward the front door. He tossed a set of keys and Brady caught them one-handed. “Lock up when you leave, and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow about that contract.”

  “Are you sure that’s okay?” Brady asked. “I can leave now if you want me to.”

  “No,” Charlie said. “Take your time. I’d trust you with my own house keys.”

  “Thanks,” Brady said, waving to his friend. He went into the backyard and stood over the pool, watching the water circulate a green leaf around its surface. Brady leaned on a tree and looked toward the house. His house—almost.

  A flash of movement inside caught his eye. Had Charlie returned? Brady shoved off the tree, but then he stopped dead. Kate Price opened the back door and stepped outside into the late-afternoon sunshine. She smiled hesitantly and looked uncertain—something Brady had seldom seen in her expression. Had she come to finally say goodbye for good?

  “I stopped by the fire station,” she said as she came toward him. Brady wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, but he had to let her say what she had come to say. Even if it was goodbye. He glanced up at the solid roofline of the house, trying to take courage from the tangible lines of it, the home that would be his soon. “Ethan told me where you were.”

  Brady nodded.

  “This is a nice place,” Kate said, stopping just in front of him so they were both in the shade of the tree. “Beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I’m making it official.”

  Kate bit her lower lip. “I set up my place in Florida. Moved everything.”

  Brady felt any glimmer of hope leave his body. “I’m glad you came back to say goodbye,” he said, even though he almost wished it hadn’t been at the house he was buying. He’d never stand under the tree and look at the back door again without wishing Kate would come through it.

  Kate put a hand on his cheek and her fingertips caressed the hairs just over his ear. The feeling was pure heaven and hell at the same time. If she was going to break his heart and leave, he should encourage her to do it fast. Rip off the bandage.

  “You know I left home because my parents treated me like a princess, right?”

  Why was she telling him this? He already knew her reasons for not getting involved and getting tied down. Unless...something had changed? He began to feel the tendrils of hope coming back even though he knew he should be cautious.

  “And you found out you made a terrible princess?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light until he could get his feet under him again.

  She dropped her hand and cocked her head at him. “Being perfectly dressed, coddled and groomed to be someone’s perfect wife was no life for me.”

  Brady lowered his voice to a near whisper. “What is the life for you, Kate?”

  “Making my own choices.”

  He nodded. “I know, and I do understand.” They were back to where they were, but at least he knew the stakes and knew he had already lost the game.

  She drew a deep breath. “Making my own choices also means deciding who I want to be with. Who I give my time and my heart to.”

  Brady held his breath.

  “I decide who I fall in love with,” Kate said.

  Brady put a hand on his chest. “If it’s not me, tell me right now before I pass out from lack of oxygen.”

  Kate smiled. “It’s you.”

  “You love me,” he said, not daring to believe it.

  Her smile vanished. “Don’t you believe me? Am I too late?”

  Brady pulled her close. She put her arms around him and laid her cheek on his chest.

  “Never too late. I told you I never give up on people. I love you, too, Kate.” He ran his hands over her back, relishing the feeling of her against him.

  She sighed. “You smell like tires and campfires.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  He kissed her temple and then his lips moved across her cheek and found her lips. Her lips were so tender and sweet under his, and he felt for the first time as if the place he was standing was home.

  “What changed your mind?” he asked. “When you left, I thought you were gone for good.”

  “Leaving Cape Pursuit and starting over in a new place didn’t come with the same thrill it used to. And it should have. I always move on, enjoy my freedom, am excited for the next thing. But this time, I realized I was giving up something I could never replace. I couldn’t give you up, Brady.”

  “I’m glad. You have no idea how much.”

  “I don’t know how this will work,” she said. “With you living in Cape Pursuit, and me flying—”

  “I don’t need to live here,” Brady said, shaking his head. “I told you last week, I finally figured out that happiness doesn’t have to have a postal address. I haven’t bought this house yet.”

  “But you need a house,” Kate said.

  “I need you,” he said, his hands cradling her cheeks.

  “But I need a house,” Kate said. “I’ve never had one of my own.”

  Brady was trying to keep up, but his head was spinning. Kate laughed. “I can’t work all the time. I’m going to go to airline school in Florida for a few months and get my training, and then I’m going to get the job I’ve always wanted.”

  “You should,” Brady said. “You deserve to go after your dream.”

  Kate smiled. “I don’t think I’m making myself clear. I’ll blame it on the fact that you’re a wonderful kisser and it distracted me.”

  “I could give you another sample of my skill
s,” he offered.

  Kate laughed. “Here’s my plan. There’s an airport an hour away in Norfolk where I can fly out of for work. I already checked. It won’t be international flights so I’ll miss out on that part of the scholarship, but I have enough tuition money, and I’m happy to stay in one country. All I’m missing now is someplace to come home to at the end of the day.”

  “Someplace to come home to,” Brady repeated slowly.

  “And someone.”

  Brady held her tight and felt her cheek flex against his. She was smiling.

  “Does this mean we’re definitely splitting the grand prize if one of us wins?” he asked.

  “We talked about it earlier this summer, but it will sure be easier if we’re together,” Kate said.

  “I love this plan,” he said.

  Kate looped both arms around his neck and reached up to touch her lips to his. “How about a tour of your new house?”

  “Our house,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and they went inside the sunny house with the sky-blue siding where the soft creaks under their feet were swallowed up by their laughter.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Charmed by the Cook's Kids by Melinda Curtis.

  WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM

  Wholesome stories of love, compassion and belonging.

  Connect with uplifting stories where the bonds of friendship, family and community unite.

  4 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!

  Charmed by the Cook’s Kids

  by Melinda Curtis

  PROLOGUE

  “NO ONE ATE my chef’s surprise.” Eight-year-old Camden Monroe sat alone on top of a picnic table at a Pennsylvania lakeside campground.

  “Well...” Rather than point out that benches were made for sitting and tables for eating, Grandpa Harlan joined him. He smelled of sweet coffee and cigar smoke, aromas Cam associated with adventure and laughter. “You must have some idea why they couldn’t stomach your breakfast.”

  “No.” Cam glared at the green gas cookstove and the large frying pan caked with burned eggs.

  “Ca-a-a-m...” Grandpa Harlan stretched out his name in a way that expected truths, not excuses.

  “The eggs might have been dry,” Cam allowed, gaze still caught on the frying pan.

  “Ca-a-a-m...”

  “Or overdone in parts.” Code for burned. Cam snuck a glance at his grandfather.

  The old man raised a white, bushy eyebrow.

  “I thought the extra cheese and salt would make it taste good.” Cam picked at a carved heart in the wood tabletop, but it refused to flake. It was harder than his burned eggs. “Better even.”

  He’d thought his two siblings and nine cousins would lick their paper plates clean. If they had, he’d have said, “Surprise!” and admitted the eggs weren’t perfect, but he’d have spoken proudly because he’d also have fixed his mistake.

  Wasn’t that what Grandpa Harlan was always preaching? Fix your errors? Take pride in your work?

  But nothing could fix those eggs. Or ease the taint of failure, a stink that was going to cling to Cam like the smell from a skunk. And he’d been so hopeful when everyone had scooped large portions from the frying pan.

  Because his cousin Holden was oldest, he’d shouldered his way to the front of the line and had been first to take a bite of Cam’s egg-and-potato scramble. He’d shouted a warning—“Abort! Abort! Abort!”—and then run to the trash can and tossed in his plate. It had landed with a thud as loud as thunder.

  Ten more jokes and thuds had followed.

  Only Grandpa Harlan had tried to finish his breakfast.

  Cam’s stomach turned in mortification.

  And he hadn’t even eaten his own cooking!

  “This is a lesson, Cam.” Grandpa Harlan drew him closer, lowering his voice as if his eleven other grandchildren were near and hadn’t run off to the diner down by the lake for breakfast. “You can’t cover up your mistakes. Do you understand?”

  Cam nodded. “Monroes always do their best.” It was something his father and grandfather preached.

  Cam had to be perfect.

  Or be the butt of Holden’s teasing forever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I’M NOT GOING to cook in a diner.” Top chef Camden Monroe crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

  When he was in his restaurant kitchen, this stance and stare usually brought those in his employ back in line. Pronto.

  But Cam wasn’t in his kitchen or even in a restaurant. He stood on creaky floorboards in the Lodgepole Inn in the center of remote Second Chance, Idaho. He stared at his older brother, Shane, and one of his younger cousins, Laurel, neither of whom backed off or even looked to be considering his statement as ending their discussion.

  “I’m serious,” Cam reiterated, holding his ground.

  “You usually are.” Shane had been in Second Chance for months. Since January. And in that time, he’d changed. Gone was the power suit, the crisp haircut, the Italian dress shoes. In their place? Khakis, a navy polo, penny loafers. Had his sharp ambition and drive for perfection been dulled, too?

  Cam silently vowed that wouldn’t happen to him. “Even if I did cook in the diner, my vote wouldn’t change.” Meaning his vote to sell Second Chance, a town they’d inherited from their grandfather. The town with the diner in question.

  “This isn’t about the vote,” Shane muttered unconvincingly. He led those in the family who were keen to keep ownership of their grandfather’s hometown.

  “We’re not asking you to change your opinion.” Laurel twisted her long red hair over one shoulder, and then rested her palm on her pregnant belly. She’d been in Second Chance just as long as Shane. Both were engaged. Both looked more relaxed than Cam had felt in years. “And we’re not asking you to open a restaurant here,” she said.

  Right. But Shane had asked him to contribute to the town before casting his final vote. Gee, as a chef, what could that contribution be?

  Cam’s scowl deepened. He imagined the expression was making permanent grooves in his face. “So the only thing you’re asking me to do is cook in a diner. Me. You know I’ve got—”

  “A Michelin star.” Shane’s gaze flickered upward as if he was considering rolling his eyes. “Never fear, bro. Everyone knows chef Camden Monroe is both talented and creative.”

  “Able to make exquisite meals out of nothing.” Laurel continued the flattery. She’d been doing that ever since Cam had grumpily entered the inn’s communal space this morning.

  And why wouldn’t he grumble? There was no espresso machine. He’d had to make coffee using one of those pod brewers. And drink it from a paper cup!

  He understood his relatives were mellowing as they settled down in Second Chance, but he’d thought they’d retain their standards for good coffee. He hoped they hadn’t lost their taste for good food.

  “Cam, your talent is why I want you to cater my wedding,” Laurel said soothingly. But her smile wavered, and her hands seemed to seek comfort as they cradled her large baby bump.

  Cam’s resolve broke, loosening the foundation of his scowl.

  “Who wouldn’t miss your cooking?” Shane drew Cam down from his proverbial pedestal, and they walked toward the Lodgepole Inn’s manager apartment and its small, antiquated kitchen. “But you need space to work your magic.”

  “Especially for more than a hundred guests.” Laurel followed closely behind them. “Thanks to my mother, what was going to be a quiet, private ceremony has become an event to include Hollywood’s movers and shakers. I’d never ask you to cater something like this from my kitchen.”

  Which was a good thing, since Cam would never agree to it, either.

  There might have been four feet of counter space in the inn’s main-floor apartment, not counting the sm
all table barely big enough for four. The stove looked older than he was. The microwave only had one setting. There was a battered Crock-Pot on the chipped Formica counter, a testament to the quality of meals prepared there. The kitchen was more appropriate for a college student than a wedding caterer.

  Prepare appetizers and a main course here? Cam shuddered.

  Maybe they’re right. Maybe Cam needed the diner.

  But there were obstacles to their plan. To satisfy more than one hundred people, he’d require at least a dozen feet of prep space. Assistants and servers. Adequate cold storage. Larger oven space. And those were just the obvious needs on his list.

  His gut knotted. All those wedding guests. All his family, including his impossible-to-please cousin Holden. The pressure to live up to high expectations—to constantly reinvent, to be the perfect chef, to make every plate a work of art—continued to mount. Knots tightened. Time slowed. Monroes always contributed to the bottom line.

  Contribution or no, it was a mistake coming here.

  But he’d given Laurel his word.

  “The kitchen at the Bent Nickel Diner is so much larger,” Shane said, oblivious to Cam’s near panic attack. “There’ll be plenty of room to bring in the tools of your trade.”

  “Yes.” Laurel slid her arm around Cam’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “And when Ivy tastes the breathtaking dishes you make in that kitchen, the Bent Nickel’s menu is sure to change. Ivy’s a smart businesswoman. She’ll recognize the profit potential in a menu upgrade.”

  Cam scoffed. Not only did they want him to cook for the wedding as if he had access to a gourmet kitchen, but they also hoped he could bring about change to the local diner’s menu?

  Impossible.

  The woman who ran the Bent Nickel Diner was the queen of kitchen shortcuts. He’d eaten there once on a previous visit, told her what he thought of her food, and she’d banned him for life. Ivy wouldn’t welcome him in her domain. She wouldn’t...