I tap the milk pitcher lightly on the counter at Baker’s Buns, each thud popping another bunch of air bubbles. It’s during times like these that I’m grateful for the escape this part-time job offers. God, do I ever need to put some distance between me and those two smoldering hot men. They’ve been working at the fire station for weeks, and it feels like I see them everywhere. If I don’t bump into them at work, I end up seeing them as I drive by their house on my way home. We’re better off keeping our distance, but fate doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

All the air escapes from the surface of the milk, and a smooth, shimmery gleam remains. Taking the cup of espresso, I tilt it slightly and pour the liquid down the mug’s side. The coffee’s cream rises to the top, propelled by the heavier milk. With the coffee an inch away from the cup’s lip, I quickly jerk the pitcher backward. What’s left is a white, milky heart surrounded by the top layer of brown espresso. My heart shaped coffee art piece is almost ready for serving, so I swirl the pitcher around to keep the same consistency, then use the last of the milk to draw an arrow through the heart.

My magnum opus for the hour is done. I have a satisfied smile on my face as I set the cup of latte on a saucer and hand it over to one of our daily regulars. The older man lifts the cup to his face and inhales the aroma. “No one makes them like you do, Ember. And I’m not just talking taste. It’s a thing of beauty, darling. This latte is too darn pretty-looking to drink.”

I give him a nod as I wipe down the espresso machine’s steam wand. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t head back to his seat right away. Instead, he juts out his chin at me, and the loose skin on his neck jiggles a bit. “I keep saying you have real skills, young lady. You should be using them somewhere besides a hole-in-the-wall coffee and bake shop.”

“I’m still working the day job,” I tell him. “And if I took work somewhere else, I wouldn’t get to see you.”

“Don’t you worry. I’d find a way to get my hands on your caffeinated creations. Your cakes, too. What’s it going to take to get you out there doing your own thing?”

“Do you have twenty or thirty thousand dollars I can borrow?”

His thick eyebrows raise, and he whistles loudly through his rounded lips. “That much?”

“Maybe more. I’d need a custom setup, complete with a commercial kitchen for baking, plus the storefront to sell to customers.”

“You’ll get there. I’ve got no doubt in my mind that once you set up shop, before you know it, people will come from all over Reno to buy from you.”

“Thanks. Here’s hoping.”

He gives me one last smile and shuffles off with his latte. As he saunters off, I can’t help but think of his words as I finish wiping down the machine. On most days my dream to own my own wedding cake business seems a million years away. I’ve been saving for a while, but sometimes it feels like I’ll never get there. It’s hard to walk away from a stable, full-time city job with a good salary and fantastic benefits. But that’s what I’d have to do if I want to start my own thing. What I have to do is keep pushing forward. I’ve already committed myself to this goal. I may be in my forties when I eventually give it a try, but if that’s how long it takes to make a move, then so be it.

Deciding not to dwell on something that far out in the future, I turn my focus to my coworker, Vicky. She helps out with the Saturday morning rush, and her husband, Jeff Boon, is one of the firefighters working for my dad.

“Hey, you want to share an espresso shot with me? I’ll be too buzzed if I have a whole cup.”

She’s standing a few feet away, behind the cash register, but she doesn’t answer. Her arms are folded across her chest, staring wide-eyed at the flat screen TV mounted high on one wall. This particular channel she’s watching is a twenty-four-hour news station. At the moment, it’s covering a local factory fire.

“Is that one of our trucks?” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs.

By ‘our’, I mean her husband, Jeff, and my father. Dad doesn’t attend every emergency call, but anytime more than one of his station trucks are dispatched, he drops whatever he’s doing to provide leadership and coordination on the scene.

And now, Hammer and Deuce can be out there too. I shouldn’t include them in my definition of ‘our’, but then again, I should. They’re part of the crew. On Dad’s team. His second family.

“It looks bad,” she whispers.

“No,” I quickly tell Vicky when the chime above the entrance dances and a woman in sunglasses comes in. “Not that bad. They can handle this.”

After serving the woman her order, I take the payment and turn back to Vicky. It’s like she didn’t hear a word I said. She stares at the TV, biting down so hard on her bottom lip it’s only a matter of time until she draws blood. It’s the first time I’ve seen her standing still since she started working here. She normally spends the entire shift serving, cleaning and stocking like a she-devil.

“I’ve seen way worse,” I tell her.

Her eyes slowly drift to mine. “Yes?”

I lean my back against the counter and nod. “You and I both know my dad’s been Chief since forever. He’s seen it all. Trust me. This one looks manageable.”

“I guess.” She drops her arms but nervously twists the wedding ring on her finger and turns back to the TV. “I’ve been on edge about Jeff lately.”

“Why? He’s got a good few years under his belt. Why start worrying now?”

“I’ve always worried, but…well, things are a little different now.”

“Different how?”

Another customer walks in before she gets a chance to answer. Vicky shuffles over to them and takes the order, so I head to the back to check on the last batch of muffins we’ll make before getting started on the lunch menu items. As I check the oven, Vicky pops her head through the swing door.

“Don’t tell anyone about this yet.” She glances down toward the floor, then rests one hand over her flat stomach, caressing it tenderly. “Can you guess why now?”

“Wait. You don’t mean…”

“I do!” She smiles. “Thirteen weeks along and counting.”

“Oh my God, you’re pregnant! Congrats Vicky!”

“Thanks. We’re really excited. My mother says I should wait until around the four-month mark to let people know, but I figured I’d better tell you.”

“I’m so happy for you! And I get it now…why you’re stressing about Jeff.”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be okay. Try not to worry. The fire station’s back to its full staffing complement now. No more killer overtime or overworked firefighters.”

She gives me a wink. “And I’ll be cutting back on the espresso. I can’t afford to pass on the extra jitters to the baby.”

“Good point.”

“By the way, Mr. Ross wants one of the chocolate chip muffins that just came out of the oven.”

“Coming up.” He drives in from halfway to Truckee every Saturday for his fix, so we try to give him whatever he wants.

“Cool. I’ll let him know.”

Vicky goes back to the customer counter, and I grab the oven mitts and turn the muffin tray upside down over the wax paper I laid out. A minute later I carry the tray of hot muffins out front to serve a pleased Mr. Ross and a few new customers who arrive around the same time. The mini-rush is cleared within a few minutes, at which point Vicky starts a new pot of brew beside me.

“How are the new guys doing?” she asks.

“Huh?”

“The transfers. Hammer and Deuce, I think. Jeff rarely talks about work, but he mentioned their names, probably because the department isn’t used to transfers coming in from out of state. And two of them at the same time, not just one. That’s a big deal for the team.”

Their names send a pleasant shiver through me. I’ve only had a real conversation with them once since they started working, and it was barely five minutes long. They know what’s at stake, and so do I. We all need our jobs. Sex isn’t worth losing gainful employment, no matter how hot and insanely satisfying—though I’m not sure how much longer I can keep denying what’s in front of me. I mean, neither of them show up here at the shop anymore since that one time. But I see them at work, then I see them at their place, working all hours to get that house in order, or figuring out the farm operations.

And there I am, wishing there was a way for us to have another escape from reality like they suggested that first time. But that was before. It’s too risky now, and just not worth it to take another chance.

On top of all that, Dad doesn’t want me dating a firefighter. He’s never explicitly said it, but it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines he drops constantly. The older I get, the more of a point he makes about maintaining professionalism at work. Now, as I close in on my mid-twenties, I see the glances he sends my way if I even seem like I’m enjoying a conversation with any of the single firefighters at work.

Vicky taps on my shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

“What?” I say absently without turning around.

“The guys. Hammer and Deuce.”

I turn to look at her. “What about them?”

“I asked how they’re doing, but what I really should be asking is how you’re managing.”

“Managing with what exactly?”

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, tilting her head so far to one side that some of her long, dark hair slips out of her hairnet. “You can’t fool me,” she whines, tucking the hair back in. “You’re banging one of them, aren’t you? Either that or you’re fixing to do it.”

That’s precisely the kind of rumor that needs to be quashed immediately before it takes root.