Passion Point Firefighters: Extended Collection by Hale Brynn

Author:Hale, Brynn [Hale, Brynn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-07-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

Archie

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I have BBQ in my blood. Hell, up until age eighteen I thought it was one of the world’s food groups—sweet tea, beignets, muffuletta, King cake, gumbo, crawfish, and BBQ. And then I went to college in Connecticut. And I was introduced to a whole different kind of culinary pyramid—hot lobster rolls, apple cider donuts, Greek pizza, and something called hasty pudding that’s a nasty-ass version of grits. At least to me.

My father lowers the city of Passion Point’s ViewPoint newspaper and shakes his head. “I thought you went to school to put out fires, not make them.”

I recognize the fire chief’s chuckle behind me. I turn and wave away the cloud of smoke, and not the good kind. The kind that says something went horribly wrong and I’ve probably ruined my chances at impressing the chief and any of my coworkers who I just started working with about four months ago.

But when the smoke clears, there’s only one person I want to impress.

Her.

The smoke gets into my eyes and I involuntarily wink at the angel that’s standing about twenty-feet away. She smiles back and my stomach tenses. Her big blue eyes flash and her bountiful chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. She’s adorable in a word.

Chief Holman crosses his arms across his chest. “Grimm, do we have a problem?”

My eyes don’t leave the woman behind him. “No. No, sir, temporary flare up.”

He looks over his shoulder and when his face returns his jaw is set. “You have a mission today, Grimm. BBQ—nothing else.”

His tone makes me straighten my back and lock eyes with him. “Of course, sir. BBQ today.”

“Brisket and ribs, and there’s no dessert on the menu. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.” I step back to my dad’s BBQ rig. “Great. Pissed off the chief early today.”

“Some things never change,” my father mumbles.

I look at my clock. I could put my ribs on now, the brisket’s been going for two hours, but I should really wait.

“Don’t do it…” my father warns from behind his newspaper.

I can’t tell if he’s talking about the ribs or the woman. I decide to wait another thirty minutes on the ribs and the woman will need more thought. I start up my classic boombox that used to be my brother’s. He gave it to me when his fiancée insisted he had too much shit. He did, but still…that boombox was something we had on every trip to PaPa and MeeMaw’s cabin on the lake. It was memories. And the mixtape that’s in it is pure country heaven.

Shania Twain. George Strait. Tracy Byrd. Alan Jackson. Dixie Chicks. Faith Hill.

They made those hot Louisiana nights bearable. Well, them and MaryEllen Rosehill. My first girlfriend, and the one that I thought I would marry. She decided being married to a fire fighter wasn’t glamourous enough and now she’s got herself a Texas oil guy on her arm and is flying off to Abu Dhabi and Bahrain and places that I’ve never even heard of.

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