Fire Code

By Susan Oloier

Thirty-eight-year-old Roman Albrecht has a prestigious job as the fire captain at Gulf Coast station 13. But while his career flourishes, his marriage remains in tatters. Despite marital counseling, he finds it hard to forgive his estranged wife. When he responds to a 9-1-1 call about a baby delivery in a local diner, he thinks it’s a typical day. But then he meets Gianna Moreland, and his heart receives a much-needed jump start. Impressed by the twenty-four-year-old’s ability to remain composed in a stressful situation, Roman’s interest is piqued. But when she makes him laugh, he becomes entirely smitten. But can this tough firefighter find the courage to finally end his marriage and rediscover love with a younger woman?

Gianna Moreland’s goal is to own her own pastry business, not work as a waitress in a diner. Then her usual work day is rocked when a woman at her station goes into labor. While she and her co-workers wait for the fire department to arrive, she’s forced to deliver the baby. That’s when she meets fire captain Roman Albrecht. He’s rugged and handsome and older—so much different than her boyfriend, Butler. So when Gianna serendipitously runs into him near the beach in Fort Myers, she takes it as a sign. But when Gianna learns Roman’s married, her thoughts of newfound love are destroyed. Will her blossoming feelings for Roman be enough to hear the truth, forgive him, and open her heart to true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Oloier
• Release date: Apr 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005341619

Susan Oloier

Susan Oloier lives in Southwest Colorado with her husband and two sons where she skis when it's cold and hikes when it's warm.After working in both finance and teaching, with a single audition at an acting agency, Susan went back to her first love, which is writing. She has been published in national and regional publications, as well as online. You can find her lurking about on her blog at http://www.susanoloier.blogspot.com

Book preview

Roman

Roman Albrecht centers himself as the engine pulls up to the station 13 firehouse. As captain and first-commanding officer at the scene of the house fire they just successfully put out, he reviews things from start to finish for his report: his delegation to Kevin Orchard, lieutenant, for fire suppression; assigning Teagan Calderwell to EMS services. Both men handled their designated tasks well. But he keeps going over the sequence of events in his mind to keep it fresh, despite the chatter from the other firefighters in the truck.

I don’t know what you like about top golf, Teagan says to Kevin.

Mostly watching Ingrid’s hips sway as she tees up, he says while grinning.

Well…okay.

Brian Watts kills the engine, leaving the truck outside the garage. There’s a lot of clean-up for the guys to do while Roman fills out his report. But he doesn’t have to tell them any of this. They already know their roles by heart.

Daisy Allen steps out to greet them with the new probie in tow. She’s been showing him the ropes around the station during her final two weeks on the job.

How’d he do? Roman asks Daisy as if Mason Treadway can’t respond for himself.

Good. I showed him how to clean the johns.

They laugh, and Roman pats Mason on the back. Keep up the good work.

As the guys get the truck restocked and evaluate the equipment, Roman goes upstairs to start the boring aspect of his job: paperwork. But he stops in the kitchen first for a snack. He skips over the basket of fruit Daisy put out on the island and opts for something tastier—the bag of potato chips he had the firefighters pick up during their last grocery run. If he’s lucky, it’ll take him through his office duties.

The bag crinkles open as he sits down. He tries not to look at his growing waist line. He knows he’s supposed to keep in shape like the other firefighters do, but he’s approaching 40. Abdominal spread seems inevitable, doesn’t it?

He pops a chip in his mouth and checks his cell phone messages.

There’s only one from his wife, Luna—if that’s what you call the spouse from whom you’re separated. They’ve been apart for five months after 19 years of marriage. She took the house while he’s living in a rented condo.

In case you forgot, Alfred needs to get books for the upcoming semester. He said he’s called you a couple of times, but you haven’t gotten back to him. He needs the money right away. Your responsibility. Remember? Call me back. Better yet, call him back.

Roman heaves a sigh; his blood pressure climbs. He can feel it in his left arm, which always feels numb when he hears her voice. He’s not sure why Luna has to be so confrontational. Sure, they’re struggling with communication; they’ve slipped apart. But his son called once and texted another time only just this morning. He’s been working a more regimented schedule than she has, for goodness sake.

He crumples a piece of paper and hurls it across the room, then delves into the bag of chips. Nothing like stress eating, he supposes. Once he’s calmed down, he picks up the phone and gives his son a call.

Alfie, what’s with going to your mom about books? You know I’m working.

She asked me about them, he says. Said she was going to call you. Wasn’t my idea.

He takes a deep breath. At least his 19-year-old isn’t conspiring against him with his mom.

How much do you need?

About $700.

Whew.

If you can’t do it…

Roman thinks of the mortgage payment, the rental on the condo, including all the other bills he has to pay while navigating the rocky road of his crumbling marriage. It’s all so overwhelming.

I’ll transfer it to your account.

Thanks, Dad.

When he clicks off, his eyes comb over the contents of his desk. Everything is neat and organized, which is so much the opposite of how his mind feels. He straightens the #2 pencils in the cup holder and the paperwork from today’s fire, makes a couple of turns on his Rubik’s Cube, and picks up the framed picture of Alphie, Luna, and himself from a professional shoot at the park. He smudges through the light coating of dust over the glass, assessing it. It must have been taken five years ago. Alphie looks to be about 14. Luna would know. She’s so good at the specifics around each memory. He sets it back down, and his eyes skim over the calendar on his desktop. Specifically, he spies tomorrow’s date.

Oh…shoot.

Therapy.

Marital therapy.

It’s the only way we can make things right between us, she had said.

Of course, going means more money spent on something he doesn’t even know will work; and it’s something he’s not sure he cares about anymore.

He pinches his eyes closed and pushes all personal thoughts from his mind. He needs to get this done, especially since he’s off tomorrow. Spending part of his day with his wife and a counselor.

He sighs once more.

Chapter 2

Gianna

It’s the lunchtime rush. And with it, the clatter of plates and the cacophonous sound of people’s conversations blur into one synchronous hum.

Gianna Moreland pictures one giant hive. The customers and Wallflower Diner staff are the worker bees, pollinating, keeping the hive clean, and producing honey. Well, except for Butler Yates, who seems to be taking his sweet ‘ole time at the grill.

There’s the slightly sweet yeasty aroma in the room from her earlier baking. Now, it’s overpowered by the scent of grilled meat and maybe something a little on the fishy side. She wrinkles her nose.

Ignore it, she tells herself. Move on.

She steps behind the counter and lifts up her hanging line ticket from table two.

Come on, Butler, she says to the cook behind the opening between the counter and the kitchen, my table’s been waiting on this one for something akin to 10 minutes.

I’m working on it, babe. He gives her an air smooch.

She furrows her brow. She hates it when he acts like the billboard for their relationship. It’s bad enough everyone on staff knows they’re dating. No need to give the customers a show to boot.

She and Maddie, another server who holds a tray of platters, dance back and forth to get around the other.

Sorry, they say at the same time.

None of Gianna’s orders are up. It’s almost as if Butler is making her pay for last night. It wasn’t anything, really. They went out for drinks at Sand Bar, played some darts, and then he wanted to go back to her place. She’s told him a million and one times that it’s not a good idea since she lives with her sister and her five-year-old nephew. But he always seems to forget that little detail.

Well, my parents are home, Butler had said.

And so is my sister. Along with Kenzo.

We can be super quiet, he had said, nuzzling her neck, and she could smell the booze on his breath. They’ll never know.

She caught herself shaking her head. The last thing her nephew needs is another adult in the household having sleep-overs with strange men. Goodness knows, her sister does it enough for the two of them.

I have a headache, she had proclaimed. It was easier that way.

He had instantly pulled away from her. Fine.

Earth to Gia! Butler says, tapping on the stainless steel counter. Your order’s ready.

Oh. She drifted off much longer than she realized.

She takes the plates and scuttles them off to table two.

Sorry for the delay.

Both customers meet her apology with tight lips. She knows she won’t get much of a tip—if any. Thanks a lot, Butler.

The only good thing about the lunch rush (aside from the gratuities) is how fast it zooms by. Before they know it, Gianna and Maddie lean against the counter and sip burned coffee from earlier in the day.

That was…whew! Maddie says.

Gianna nods, her mind elsewhere.

You okay? Maddie glances back to the kitchen. Did you and Butler have a fight?

Naw, she says, catching the corner of his eyes on her.

Maddie looks at the pastry case. Your baked goods got wiped out.

Gianna smiles. They did, didn’t they?

They’re a hit around here. She raises her voice and directs it toward the kitchen. Better than Butler’s BLTs!

I heard that!

You were meant to.

Baked goods. Makes her think of how she needs to give notice. She looks around. Where’s Nancy?

Maddie scopes the place. Think she must be in the back. I heard her say something about inventory. Why?

Gianna’s insides tingle with nerves. She musters the courage to tell her friend the news. I’m giving notice, she says, lowering her voice so Butler won’t hear. He doesn’t know yet. She’s not sure when she plans to tell him. Maybe he’ll simply learn through osmosis. It’s not like they’re that kind of couple—close, soul mates. It’s more of a meh relationship for Gianna. He may even be part of the reason she’s taking the leap and leaving Wallflower.

What?!

Gianna drags Maddie away from the counter and off to the side where the bathrooms run.

I’m…starting my own business.

No sh… she catches herself and scans the few customers who remain, kidding. What are you going to do?

Baked goods. You know, cakes and cookies, pastries. That sort of thing.

Maddie looks puzzled. But you sell those here.

Yeah, she shrugs, but I don’t make much off of them. I sell them to Nancy at cost.

I don’t know what that means.

Doesn’t matter. Thing is, I’m actually going to do it. I’m giving my two weeks.

Butler rounds the corner and freezes. You’re leaving?

She lowers her gaze, and then lifts her eyes to meet his. Yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you.

Whatever. He says the word, but he’s clearly hurt. He pushes past her, brushing her sleeve in passing, and heads for the men’s room.

He’ll be okay, Maddie says. She moves in to hug Gianna. I’m happy for you.

Thanks.

So do you have a store or something?

No. I’ll start out selling them as cottage goods.

Maddie shakes her head. No idea.

At the farmers market. That way, I can bake at Pearl’s place. I don’t have to get a license.

That’s…

Butler steps back out, wiping his washed hands on his apron. He doesn’t even make eye contact, though both women watch him.

He turns back. You’ll be back, he says. You know that, right?

Gianna simply stares at him. She has zero response for his comment.

How’s that for support? she says to herself—to Maddie—once he’s stepped out of ear shot.

You’ll be great. You better go tell Nancy. Maddie seeks out Butler. I’ll make sure he’s okay.

Gianna nods. She should be jealous of this, right? Another woman going to console her boyfriend.

But she’s not.

In fact, it takes some pressure off.

Chapter 3

Roman

The room is supposed to look comfortable, like a living space. It has a floor rug and couch, two chairs positioned opposite of those, and homey pictures on the wall. Each side of the couch has an end table with lamps and boxes of tissues, fake flowers in a crystal vase on his side. But on the other half of the room, it’s evident this is just an office. The desk and computer are dead giveaways, along with the counseling books on the shelf behind the roller chair. The file cabinet alongside that.

There’s a slight smell of recently-burned incense, which Roman hates.

He sits on the same side of the couch he always does, holding a decorative pillow on his lap. He’s not sure why. It’s not for comfort, but it may be for defense.

Luna is on the other end and, already, she clutches a tissue within her fingers, kneading it to softness and eventually shreds. She’s littered the can with a couple of them already.

So what I hear, Luna, is that Roman appears to listen but doesn’t hear what you’re saying. Is that right?

He listens to my voice, but not my words. It’s like he’s tuned me out. Like I don’t matter anymore.

I…

Glenda holds up a hand to stop him, and he clams up. Just one moment, Roman. Let Luna finish her thought.

This always—always—gives her permission to continue to beat up on him. It’s like a two-to-one battle when he comes here. Is no one on his side? And he’s not to blame for the biggest infraction in their marriage—and yet he feels vilified.

I can’t even tell him about my day without him heaving a sigh or rolling his eyes.

I don’t…

The hand goes up again, but he continues anyway.

…roll my eyes.

See.

Glenda shifts in her chair to address Roman.

Do you feel as though you don’t hear your wife?

Your wife.

The