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Olivia sat at her temporary desk in the busy police station, the hum of activity around her a constant white noise as she delved into the preliminary lab report for the recent fire. The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile glow over her cluttered desk strewn with papers and case files.
The report in her hands detailed the findings of the accelerant collected from the warehouse fire—confirming it was propane. As she scanned the document, her brow furrowed in concentration, her mind already piecing together the sequence of events.
She played around with the idea of a seemingly innocent act—workers barbecuing during the day just inside the loading dock, its large rolling doors open. The image of a group enjoying a casual lunch filled in one of her sketches from the scene.
She mentally reconstructed the site of ignition, picturing a stack of cartons toppling over onto a barely cooled grill, the collision sparking the chain of events. The stupidity fire, as she called it, was taking shape. As she absorbed the details, Olivia knew the lab report was merely the beginning. Confirmation would be found in the physical evidence she'd gather herself at the site.
She smiled at the picture that sat on her desk. A picture she carried everywhere. It was the last picture of her and her dad before he died. It was taken at Thanksgiving at her grandparents’ house. She stood beside him as he was carving an enormous turkey, her eyes wide as he handed her the large turkey leg. It was bigger than her head.
“About to put another one in the books, Dad,” she mouthed.
Olivia drove to the burned building. She began to meticulously document the scene, capturing the charred remains of the grill and the mangled remnants of the propane tank through her camera lens. Her forensic bag lay open, tools carefully arranged as she gathered evidence to support her theory.
Kneeling amidst the debris, she sketched the layout, taking precise measurements, absorbed in her task until a sudden presence jolted her senses. “Yeesh.” Startled, she whirled around, losing her balance, only to find herself wrapped in two strong arms. Jackson Reynolds, her rescuer, was standing there, a wry smile across his lips.
“What are you doing here?” Their simultaneous inquiries echoed in the air, a momentary standoff between them.
Jackson explained, “Checking for hot spots and making sure the area is secured. Don’t want kids or looters in here. Lots of inventory.”
“Just collecting evidence to prove the fire wasn't intentional. BBQ gone wrong.” She showed Jackson remnants of a rib bone and a steak bone in an evidence bag.
As they wrapped up their respective jobs, a surprising gesture came from the tension that had crackled between them. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized.
“Make it up to me by buying breakfast?” she asked.
Caught off guard by the reverse invite, Jackson hesitated for a moment, the edges of his lips twitching into a faint smile.
She watched him carefully. “Fine. Separate checks?”
Two
The bell above the door jingled cheerfully as Jackson and Liv stepped into the cozy café on Main Street. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greeted them, warming their spirits on the chilly morning.
After leading Liv to his usual booth by the window, Jackson slid into the red vinyl seat with a contented sigh, while she settled in across from him. As she perused the menu, the restaurant began to fill with the hustle and bustle of morning commuters and locals alike. The air buzzed with lively conversation, punctuated by the clatter of plates and the hiss of the coffee machine.
At a nearby table, a group of elderly gentlemen gathered for their daily coffee klatch, their laughter echoing off the walls as they swapped stories and debated the day's headlines. A young couple sat in a corner booth, stealing glances at each other over steaming mugs of coffee, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of a classic tune playing on the jukebox.
Behind the counter, the waitress—a curvy, middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense demeanor and a heart of gold, hurried back and forth, taking orders and delivering steaming plates of breakfast. Her banter with the regulars was quick and friendly, her warm smile lighting up the room as she greeted each customer by name.
“I love this place. Waverly Junction at its best.” As Liv placed her menu down, the waitress approached with a warm smile, her pen poised over her notepad.
“Well, well, well, if it ain't our favorite fire captain and a lovely lady I don't think I've had the pleasure of meetin' before,” she greeted with a twinkle in her eye. “The usual for you, Jackson?”
Jackson grinned and nodded. “I guess I’m that predictable, Betty. And for the lady, a cup of your finest coffee, please. And?—”
“I’ll have two eggs over easy with bacon, an English muffin, plus a small glass of juice please,” Liv ordered.
Betty’s eyes widened in recognition. “My goodness, it’s been a long time! Olivia Everhart? You’re Charlotte and Chuck's oldest daughter?”
Liv's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why, yes, I am. How did you...?”
Betty chuckled knowingly, tapping the side of her nose with her pen. “Your resemblance to your mama is uncanny.”
Liv couldn't help but laugh at the revelation. “Well, it's nice to meet you, Betty. And I must say, the smell of pancakes is making my mouth water. Can I change my order?”
Betty beamed with pride. “Well, darlin', we do our best to keep the folks of Waverly Junction well-fed and happy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get your orders in right away.”
As Betty bustled off to the kitchen, Jackson turned to Liv with a grin. “You don’t come in here?”
