Myra Bradford sat staring out the café window as she nibbled on a raspberry muffin. Across the street was her small home town's fire station, and right now some of the men were outside washing down the fire engine.
Myra grinned as a buff blond grabbed the water hose and sprayed the guy next to him. In retaliation, the now soaking wet, the African American threw a soapy sponge, hitting the blond guy right between the eyes! She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
"A bunch of overgrown kids is what they are, and yet we depend on them to put our fires out."
Myra turned to look at her longtime friend and waitress Betsy.
"I suppose they are, but I would imagine they need to blow off steam sometimes," Myra said.
"Mm...I suppose you're right," Betsy agreed as she also watched them. Then turning her gaze from the window, she asked, "More coffee?"
Myra shook her head. "Better not. I need an early start today or my chapters aren't going to make it to the editor on time."
She was a best-selling author with six books under her belt and working on another. Some days all she did was write, but she always made time to come see her friend and have a cup of coffee.
Lately though, she struggled with lingering longer then she should over her coffee because of the firefighter who'd caught her eye. She had found herself watching, hoping for a glimpse of him every morning.
This morning she'd caught a peek of his bulging arm muscles as he washed the cab of the truck.
"Can't make the editor mad, or next it will be the publisher, not even for the eye candy I'm guessing," Betsy drolly said.
Myra's eyes snapped from the window, which they'd drifted back to, back to her friend. "Sorry...?"
Betsy laughed. "I'd stare too, but my boyfriend wouldn't like it."
Myra looked down, and whispered, "I can't seem to help it. He's just...?"
"Cute? Handsome? Gorgeous? Drool worthy? Sexy? Take your pick," Betsy teased. "Which one is he anyway?"
Myra turned back to the window. Her eyes moving right to him. "The big bear of a guy on the latter."
"Ah, I should have known," Betsy murmured. "The tallest one out there."
Myra sighed, watching the big guy's shoulders flex with his movement. "Yeah, well, I can't help it. At five feet, eleven and a half, I always look for a tall guy."
Betsy chuckled as she turned to leave saying, "Well, he'd make you look short...er I'll admit."
Myra snorted at her five feet four-inch friend and finished her coffee before standing up. To bad she was to shy to talk to the guy.
What would a children's book writer have to say to a fireman anyway?
Two day later, Myra was back in her usual booth. She'd missed the day before due to her having to meet up with her editor. The meeting had gone well, and now she was ready to find bliss in staring at her favorite fireman!
Taking a sip of her now cooled coffee, she frowned. Her fireman seemed to be missing and the rest of them weren't their usual boisterous selves.
Turning, she called out to Betsy as she passed by. "Hey Betsy?"
Betsy turned a walked back. "Finished that cup already?"
"No," Myra answered. "I was just wondering if you knew where the big guy was?"
YOU ARE READING
Myra Bradford is a writer of children's books. Derick Caldwell is a fireman. Thinking they have nothing in common, Myra is content to watch Derick from a distance, never speaking to him. When Derick ends up in the hospital, will Myra take the next s...