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“What? It’s true. You did the face and everything.”
“I’m going to go hide in the fire truck and never come out.”
“You can’t. It has to stay ready in case there’s a call.” He looks genuinely concerned that I don’t know this.
And Luke, who has watched this whole exchange like it’s the best thing to happen to him all shift, finally takes pity on me. Sort of.
“Okay, okay.” He’s fighting a smile and losing. “Whoever had the idea. It was very sweet.” He looks right into my soul, still holding the cupcakes, giving me no way out. “Shall we?”
He tips his head toward the station.
The inside of the station smells like coffee and rubber and something faintly smoky underneath, and the second we walk in, Bo transforms.
He goes loose and bright and completely at home, because this is his dad’s world and he knows every inch of it.
“Okay, that’s the engine, you already saw that.” He’s off, walking backward so he can face me, narrating. “That’s the ambulance but we call it the medic. That’s the pole. We are not allowed to slide down the pole, it’s for emergencies, I’ve never slid down it. One time I asked eleven times and the answer was still no.”
“Eleven times?”
“Yep.” He points up. “That’s the second floor where they sleep, but Dad says his bunk is lumpy and he’d rather be home. That’s the kitchen. That’s where me and Grandma left the cookies that time.” He stops, and considers the box in Luke’s hands with fresh strategic interest. “We should put those in the kitchen. That’s the rule. Treats go in the kitchen and then it’s a free-for-all.”
Luke sets the box on the counter and flips the lid, and it’s like ringing a dinner bell. Two guys materialize out of nowhere. A third leans out of a doorway, sees the box, and abandons whatever he was doing mid-sentence.
“Cupcakes,” says the biggest of them, already reaching. “Baker. Who brought cupcakes?”
“Olivia brought cupcakes,” Bo announces before I can be modest about it. “And me. It was mostly her, though. She’ll say it was me, but it was her.”
“We’re not doing this again, buddy,” I say mildly.
“I’m just being accurate.”
“Anyone who brings cupcakes is a friend of mine.” One of the men says.
Bo, meanwhile, is on a mission. He digs through the box inspecting each one before finally pulling one out and handing it to his dad.
“This one’s yours. It’s the best one.”
Something moves across Luke’s face and he takes the cupcake from his son’s hands like it’s made of glass.
“Thanks, bud.”
“You have to eat it before Wade sees it.”
“Too late,” says a guy who is apparently Wade, mouth full.
Wade finishes his own cupcake. Then he looks at me. Then back at Luke. Then at me again, and his face splits into a grin.
“So,” he says, to the room but really to Luke. “This is her.”
“Wade,” Luke warns.
“No, I’m just putting it together.” He gestures at me with the cupcake, delighted. “This is why he’s been walking around here for two weeks whistling like a Disney movie.”
“Eat your cupcake, Wade.”
I don’t know what to do with my face. Luke catches it, the color it’s turning, and he shakes his head. But he doesn’t deny any of it. That’s the thing. He could. He could brush it all off. He just looks at me across a fire station kitchen with a half-eaten cupcake and lets his whole crew watch him not deny a word.
Luke walks us out to the car.
