Page 7 of Honeyfires

"Why devastated?"

"Because then you'd be the kind of person who does CrossFit."

"I'm not."

"Good." She looked visibly relieved. Like this had been a genuine concern. "What then?"

"Most people guess construction."

"Most people aren't paying attention." Her eyes made a slow, considering tour of my shoulders, my forearms, back up to my face. I felt it like a lighthouse beam in a storm. "Something outdoors. Something that requires actual strength, not gym strength." She tapped her chin. "Search and rescue?"

"Closer than construction."

She sat up straighter. "Oh, this is the second game tonight." She studied me with the focused intensity of someone who had gotten Rilke right and had not forgotten it. "You're tan, but not beach tan. Desert tan. And you still smell like—" she leaned in, just slightly "—smoke. Even after what I can only assume were multiple showers."

I said nothing.

"How many showers, Petra?"

"That's not relevant to—"

"How many?"

"The number of showers I took is not—"

"More than two?"

Silence.

"More than three?"

"The smoke gets into things," I said with considerable dignity. "It's a known phenomenon. It's not a reflection of anything personal."

She was delighted. She was so delighted she had to press her lips together to contain it. "Firefighter," she said. "Final answer."

The silence lasted exactly one second.

"Library science," I said. "You people are genuinely terrifying."

"So this means the embroiderer of your leather jacket—"

"Miller."

"Miller. He's a fireman?"

I nodded.

She laughed, delighted. "Firefighting is a noble profession. I'm on a date with a firefighter."

"Helitack crew forewoman, specifically."

Those cornflower eyes went wide. "Helitack. You fight fires from a helicopter?"

"I mean, we rappel down from it, but—"

"You rappel." She set her mug down. "You rappel out of a helicopter. Into a fire."

"That's the general sequence, yes."