Ella isn’t just smirking.

Ella isn’t just smiling.

Ella is beaming.

Ella is beaming at me.

My chest feels tight and enlarged at the same time. I want to tell her to keep smiling and never stop because it’s so beautiful but fear if I dare make her aware that she’s showing such pure and undiluted happiness, it may cause me to never see it again, and that would be a travesty. One I’m not willing to risk.

I turn to Hayden and find him with a nearly matching expression and lift my hand for a high five which he delivers with a shout.

“Let’s do this!” I call, taking Hayden’s bag from him. “There are still some boxes lying around, so you guys have to kind of watch your step, but let’s go through the house.” I hold a hand up to signal for them to climb the steps.

“How are things going with the new house?” Ella asks as she places a hand on Hayden’s back and follows him up the stairs.

“I’ve decided I’m never moving again,” I tell her, opening the front door for them. “Unless I hit the lottery and can pay other people to pack, move, and then unpack everything I own.”

She laughs, and I crane my neck, needing to see her expression as the beautiful sound flows from her lips. She’s looking to Hayden as he laughs along, though his was delayed, confirming he’s only laughing because his mom is. I want to give him another high five for being a good kid.

“Your TV is huge!” Hayden cries.

I’m already regretting having invited them inside. Ella is likely comparing my house to a college dorm room as they step into my living room which gives them a clear view of the kegerator and pool table that serve as my dining room furniture, and the oversized brown leather couches that have never seen a pillow or whatever in the hell those fancy blankets are called that people work tirelessly at making messy and unchoreographed. If I want a blanket while watching TV, I pull one off my bed and use it. I’m sure she also wouldn’t be impressed to know that I’ve never hung a curtain or owned a bedroom set. My bed sits on the metal rails it was sold on, and my mother bought my bedding, but I definitely shouldn’t tell her that.

I shake my head to dispel thoughts of my mother, my bedroom, and Ella co-mingling, and hear Hayden excitedly point out all of my gaming equipment, and feel the blood drain from my face. Ella may not be impressed about multiple aspects of my house, but she is going to think I’m a complete child now that she sees that one of the few things I’ve actually unpacked is all of my gaming shit and surround sound equipment.

“This place is awesome!” Hayden continues. “You have all the best games! Mom, do you see how many games he has?” If she hadn’t, she has now.

“It’s too nice outside to be in here. Let’s go get warmed up!” I open the French doors that lead to my backyard to prompt them to stop staring at the stuff that is likely having Ella comparing me to her own child and go back outside where I can hopefully prove some of my manhood back.

Ella goes to the sideline of the yard and sits on the grass with her back against the wooden fence. My yard is comprised of fifty percent weeds and fifty percent grass at this point, and there isn’t a deck or chairs or anything else to help prove that I’m an adult ready to live on my own yet. However, she doesn’t hesitate to pull out her computer and prop it on her legs.

“Sorry about the rough conditions,” I tell her. “I’m really hoping to get a lot of work done to the yard so it’s ready for summer.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “It’s a nice, big space. And you got lucky, you have a level yard. Few houses in this development have flat yards.” Ella leans her head back to look up at me. “What are you thinking of doing back here? Maybe I can steal some of your ideas. I’ve lived in my house for five years and have only managed to get it fenced.”

I was expecting her to laugh or call me on a bluff after witnessing my house, but her blue eyes are wide as she patiently stares at me. “I want to put a big deck all the way across so I can access it from the back door or the master bedroom.” I nod in the direction of the door off my bedroom. “And create a railing that has bench seats all the way around and then stairs down the middle. Over here,” I point toward the far end of my yard, “I’m going to put some pavers down and have a patio set up for grilling, and build a big in-ground fire pit and seating over there.” I turn, facing the far end of the yard, farthest from my room. “And then get some landscaping done and lay new grass.”

“Your backyard is definitely going to beat mine now until forever.” Ella chuckles, then looks across the expanse of my yard and back to me. “But I think that sounds really awesome.”

“Will you be able to teach me to pitch like Roger Clemens?” Hayden asks, causing me to tear my attention from memorizing his mother’s carefree expression.

“Depends,” I say. “Can you teach me to hit like Babe Ruth?”

“I thought you were going to teach me?” he asks.

“What?” I drag out the syllables, feigning shock.

“I had to do all my homework to come over here. You really do know what you’re doing, right?” Hayden’s eyes grow round with caution, looking me over like my knowledge of the sport will be apparent.

“Depends,” I tell him.

“On what?”

“Are you a good listener?”

He nods.

“Sorry. Is that a yes?”

He nods with more vigor, and his smile begins to break through.

“I can’t hear you?” Leaning closer to him, I place a hand behind my ear.

“Yes!” he yells.

I smile. “Great, ’cause I like to talk.” With a wink, I turn and gather one of the five new baseballs I picked up after leaving their house this morning. I hadn’t known if they would actually come but had hoped they would. Being around them for breakfast was a nice change of pace. I didn’t feel like I had to be anyone special or compete with anyone to say the funniest thing or defend myself about why I was in the newspaper again.

In fact, for most of the time I was there, I was able to sit back and watch Ella and Hayden interact. I learned that Hayden loves baseball, and when he talks too fast, he begins to stutter. And I learned that Ella eats one thing on her plate entirely before moving on to the next, and that when someone speaks, she gives them her full attention, even when it was Hayden telling her about what had happened in the cartoon while she finished cooking. Every detail she listened to carefully. I knew because she’d clarified several points with him.

Tossing the ball into the air, I acclimate myself to its size and weight. “Do you know what’s special about a fastball?” I ask, noticing that Ella has moved her focus from her computer to us.

Hayden shakes his head. “It’s really fast?”

I nod. “It is fast, and when you throw it, the ball spins from the bottom to top.” I slowly move the ball with my hands to give him a visualization. “We call this backspin. But a curveball goes the opposite way. When you pitch a curveball, your ball is going to rotate from top to bottom so that the leverage is on the front of the ball rather than the back.

“The key to a really great curveball is your grip.” I hold the ball to show him exactly where his fingers need to be. “See how my index finger isn’t touching the ball? I’m going to use it to point to exactly where I want my ball to go. And see how my middle finger is along the bottom seam while my thumb covers the back seam here?” I point out the details with my left hand. “When I throw the ball, my middle finger is going to lead my hand, and my index finger is going to direct the ball. Are you ready for it?”

Hayden nods with more enthusiasm as his thoughts of this being worth doing his homework fade into the afternoon heat.

I show him my grip again and then jog back several feet to create some space. I play baseball all the time with the guys at the station, but I’ve never thrown a ball around with a kid, and it makes me really nervous as I weigh the ball in my palm and consider the damage it could do if my aim isn’t accurate or I throw it too hard.

“Ready?” I ask again, ensuring his focus is solely on me.

“Ready!” he sings.

I wind the ball back, and as I step forward with my weight and release the ball, I cringe. I shouldn’t have thrown the ball. I should have just had him throw it.

This was a mistake.

What am I doing?

He’s going to break something!

Hayden catches the ball in his mitt, his smile stretched so wide I can’t help but cheer not just for him, but for successfully playing catch for the first time in twenty years.

I look over, hearing the same laughter that had demanded my attention only a few moments ago, and see Ella with her face reflecting the sunlight.

* * *

The next day I’m at the fire station. The daily newspaper sits on my bed with a permanent marker mustache, unibrow, and horns completing a picture of me.

I murmur a dozen profanities followed by a deep sigh.

“You know, I think we’re out of rocky road,” Peters says with a laugh.

“This doesn’t count,” I exclaim. “This is a profile picture. No news stations were even there last night, and I wasn’t on duty.”

“Probie will take care of the heads if you get rocky road and buttered pecan.”

I don’t hesitate to accept the offer, though I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. “Deal.” Ten bucks to avoid cleaning a bathroom that ten guys and the public uses makes this a steal. Peters laughs, likely happier about giving Probie another task than getting his way. I’m pretty certain that the years Peters spent in the role as the newest member of a squad must have really sucked, because while the rest of us sling jokes and enjoy playing the occasional prank on whoever is our current probie, he often takes it so far one of us has to intervene.

“Lance is cooking pulled pork tonight,” he says, peeling off his T-shirt to replace it with a navy blue one that has our station number, four, inside of our badge on his left shoulder. “You think we should get potato salad or coleslaw to go with it?”

“Do you want me to help pick out your clothes or give you some hair advice next? Maybe share some waxing tips or paint your nails?”

Peters winds his fist back. I don’t move to avoid his blow to the stomach, knowing I deserve it. With the contact, I laugh to hide my wince because even though Peters is on the shorter side, and we tease him relentlessly for his small hands, he can wind it up and deliver a pretty solid hit. “My vote’s for potato salad.”

“Mine too,” Gaines says as he drops a duffel onto his bed. “Cabbage makes me gassy.”

“Air makes you gassy, Gaines.” Peters isn’t lying, and the fact makes all three of us laugh.

Once the captain wraps up our shift meeting, informing us what occurred with the previous shift, complete with another copy of the paper that has my picture plastered across the front page from last night’s incident with Hayden, and details our designated posts for the next twenty-four hours, we dive into our chores. Since my bathroom duty had been passed on to Probie, I move outside to help clean the trucks. It’s my favorite task, and with the weather turning nice, I’m glad to be outside before the humidity makes it uncomfortable.

“Looks like you missed a spot.” Kane licks his thumb and rubs it against the shiny red paint, creating a gross film over the cleaned area.

Frowning, I grab a cloth and wipe it clean again. We become part of a brotherhood when the commissioner reads our names and pins us with our official badges, but there are a few of my brothers in blue who I can barely tolerate. Kane often walks that line with a toe pointed toward the side that has me avoiding and ignoring him.

“Did you like that portrait I drew of you?” Lance asks as he slides into the seat next to mine. Lance is our senior on shift. Retirement is less than a year away for him, and I don’t think anyone can tell if he’s growing anxious because of all the free time or fearing the fact—him included. Personally, I’m not ready for him to go. There are men on the squad like Gaines who have been on duty for over twenty years but refuse to take a leadership role, and then there are people like Lance who avoid conflict and confrontation and naturally take charge of situations. In addition to providing sanity at the station, Lance is the best cook we have and a wealth of knowledge, having completed more trainings than nearly all of us combined, and having responded to thousands of calls.

“You didn’t get the eyebrow right.”

“Eyebrow!” Lance slaps his knee and barks a laugh that makes his eyes close because it’s entirely genuine. It’s another thing about him I’ll miss.

“Yeah, you drew it so it only hits the middle of my forehead. This thing nearly goes to my hairline. Give me some credit.”

“You aren’t nearly as pretty as everyone thinks,” Muppet says with a grin that makes my teeth clench. Kane annoys me, but Muppet is the epitome of annoying, nosy, and useless, and that’s putting it mildly. Usually when I think of how to describe the man, I feel a little guilty because even for my Italian background, the words are colorful.