Page 21 of Love Bound

Thank God for Laurel. She's how I find out stuff.

"Okay. But we still need to talk," says David. "If you work here, you work under me." He gazes at her. "No pun intended, but this isn’t going to work if you bring your baggage."

I turn back to his computer and insert the flash drive with the pictures loaded on it.

Their baggage bag is full—bursting.

"I think I can let that go," she says.

"Really?"

"Yes," and she meets his gaze.

Funny, because this morning she was reliving getting kicked off the soccer team in high school all over again. David had been her coach and he would not have a girl on the team. He never said it, but the outcome remained.

The computer screen winked and photos of the terrible fire populated.

"Why don't we compromise and walk around, and I'll show you what we did to accommodate you?" he says.

I’m sure he means a separate dressing area and bunk.

"You mean to update your facilities?" she challenges.

I feel—rather than see—his shoulders sag a little. "Yes. Excellent point," he says.

I hit the print button and slowly the gruesome pictures begin to stack. Luckily, my sister and the chief finish the tour and have their walking interview all without the siren going off.

"We'll get you sized for gear," David says, opening the glass door to where I’m planted at his computer. He glances at me. "You done?"

"Almost," I say. Trying to reach a perfunctory tone in the fire report is tough. The pictures are heartbreaking. I know David will edit out any of my pathos if need be.

"I make my own," she says. "That’s what we do." She means smokejumpers—they make their own gear.

David actually breaks into a grin. "Well, here you won’t have to do that. You're five-six, one twenty—"

"Two. One twenty-two," she says.

"We’ve got two respirators to choose from," he tells her.

"I've got my own, thanks."

"I'm done," I say, even though I'm not. Standing, I continue to type the last bit.

"We're going to need that printed and signed," David says, hands on hips. "And we'll see you here Monday to meet up with the guys."

"Yes, sir," she says.

"I told you, we're not going there."

"Yes. Chief."

"Not that either."

"Captain?" Her question is so coy.

"I go by Keller."

Devon shrugs. "So, not Davey anymore?"