Jessica

I left fifteen minutes early for work Thursday morning and spent the extra time slowly trolling the streets around the school, carefully scanning the yards, streets, and neighborhood parks for the black-and-white puppy. She was nowhere to be seen. Animal control hadn’t spotted her yesterday morning, either.

I hoped she’d found her way home. Assuming, of course, that she had a home. She might not. She might have been purposely dumped at the school. It wouldn’t be the first time a disenchanted pet owner had been too lazy and irresponsible to take his or her dog to a shelter and instead had dumped it at a school grounds, hoping some sympathetic parent or teacher would take the abandoned pet home. Jerks. A pet was a commitment, a member of the family, and they should be treated as such.

I pulled into my usual spot in the faculty parking lot and turned off the engine. Taking a look at the building, I sighed. Yesterday had been a fun day, a hopeful day. Well, at least until I’d gone to the station and failed to see Louie DeLuca again. But maybe it was all for the best. Perhaps fate had kept me from making a fool of myself, or from getting hurt again. I grabbed my tote and went inside to begin another day.

My workday sucked. On an epic level.

A half hour into the morning, one of the boys in my class stepped up to my desk and told me he didn’t feel well. He proceeded to urp half-digested Fruity Pebbles all over me. After sending him to the nurse, I texted Patricia next door. She stood in the hall where she could keep an eye on her class and an ear on mine while I went to the faculty bathroom, tossed my soiled shirt and bra into the garbage can, and cleaned myself up as well as I could with water, soap, and paper towels. There was nothing more I could do about my pants or shoes, but the hooded nylon windbreaker I kept at the school in case of an unexpected rain shower could replace my shirt. Of course, I was bra-less, but it couldn’t be helped. At least the jacket was navy blue, so it would help hide my lack of undergarments.

When I went to the teachers’ lounge to eat my lunch, I discovered someone had pushed my bag to the back of the fridge to make room for their plastic container. My sandwich was smashed into an unappetizing, inedible mass.

As if these things weren’t bad enough, when I went to retrieve a large jar of glitter from the top of the storage cabinet in my room, the lid fell off, the entire contents dumping onto my head.

Lord, I can’t wait for this day to be over!

Finally, the end-of-day bell rang. Not a moment too soon. I could already taste the shot of butterscotch schnapps I planned to pour the instant I stepped into my apartment.

Once my last student left, I rounded up my things, locked my door, and headed down the hall. I pushed open the back door that led to the faculty parking lot.

Yes!

And no!

There on the sidewalk stood Lieutenant Louie DeLuca, looking excessively handsome and manly in a pair of nice-fitting Levi’s, tennis shoes, and a fitted T-shirt. And here I stood in the doorway, covered in glitter, dressed in an old windbreaker, and reeking of sour milk.

Our gazes met, and his lips curved up in a friendly smile. “Hello, Miss Bellingham,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice setting my nerves to quivering. “Animal control said they haven’t located that lost puppy yet. If you’re not busy, I thought we could drive around, try to find her.”

How sweet and compassionate of him to think of the little lost dog. This is a guy I could fall for.

I stepped tentatively forward, hoping he wouldn’t be repulsed by my appearance or aroma. “I’d love to look for the dog, but I have to warn you I’m a mess. It’s been a really bad day.” Until now.

He raised a brow in question. “How so?”

After I gave him the scoop, he let loose a whistle. “Wow. I never realized being a kindergarten teacher came with so many occupational hazards.”

“It’s not a job for wimps, that’s for sure.” Of course, I was being facetious. The risks of my job were nothing compared to storming into burning buildings.

“Let’s take my car,” he said, angling his head to indicate a Jeep Wrangler parked nearby, its vinyl top removed. It seemed the perfect car for a firefighter. Sporty. Adventurous. Red.

I followed him over. Before I could open the passenger door, he reached out to open it for me. My cheeks warmed at the gesture. I might be covered in more glitter than a stripper and be dressed in the least flattering jacket imaginable, but he was treating me like a lady.

While I buckled myself in, he circled around to the driver’s side and climbed in, fastening his belt as well. He cranked the engine, backed up, and drove to the exit of the parking lot. “Which way would you suggest we try first?”

I motioned to the right. “Last time we saw her she ran that way. Let’s go right.”

He hooked a right turn out of the parking lot. At the first side street beyond the school grounds, he turned again. We both kept our eyes peeled as he cruised slowly down the street. There was a golden retriever lying on the driveway in front of one house, and an orange tabby in the front window of another, but no Dalmatian puppy to be seen.

At the end of the street, he turned right again. We had no luck on this street, either. He continued to drive in rough circles around the school, going wider and wider with each round. Nothing.

As much as I wanted to find the poor pup, I had to admit that I was glad to have the chance to chat with Louie.

“How long have you been teaching?” he asked.

“This is my fifth year,” I told him.

“You like it?” he asked. “I mean, when you’re not dealing with sick kids and smushed sandwiches and getting bombarded by glitter?”

“I do. For a while I toyed with the idea of becoming an art teacher,” I admitted, “but with so many schools having budget problems and cutting out music and art classes, I figured being a grade-level teacher would provide more job security. The great thing about teaching kindergarten is that I can use art in many of my lessons. Plus there’s not a lot of detailed homework to grade.” I shrugged. “Of course, it’s a trade-off. With older students the classroom discussions are more interesting, and the kids are much more self-sufficient. But these little ones don’t give me attitude like the older ones sometimes do, and they constantly make me laugh.”

“I can imagine,” he replied. “My older brother, Mario, has two little boys. They’re four and two, and they’re always up to something. Quite a handful.”

“Mario,” I repeated. “That’s a solid Italian name. I’m guessing your full name is Louis?”

“No.” He cast a glance my way. “It’s Luigi.”

“Mario and Luigi? Like the Super Mario brothers?” I tried not to smile, but it wasn’t easy. My lips wouldn’t cooperate and I had to bite down on them.

Louie’s gaze flickered to my mouth. “Yep. Just like the Super Mario brothers. I’ll never forgive my parents for it.” The grin on his face told me that he’d already forgiven them.

He’d expressed interest in my career, so it only seemed right to show interest in his in return. Besides, I was curious. What makes a man risk his life on a daily basis for total strangers? Was it the physical challenge? The thrill of cheating death? A hero complex? Of course the answer could be as simple as pyromania. I hoped that wasn’t the case but, if it was, better to figure that out now. “What made you decide to become a firefighter?”

A pained expression crossed his face. Uh-oh. Did I inadvertently hit a nerve?