Firemen's Nanny

1 - Sylvia

1
Working at my mom's restaurant was a constant source of frustration for me. The thick Sicilian accent that accompanied her shouts from the back prep-room only added to my irritation.

"Sylvia!" she called out, her voice piercing through the bustling atmosphere. "Timer's going off!"

"I heard it!" I responded, my tone strained as I handed the customer their change. Lowering my voice, I assured them, "Your pizza will be out soon."

Another customer entered through the front door, but before attending to them, I quickly pressed the button on the oven timer to silence its incessant beeping. With a swift motion, I grabbed the massive pizza blade and opened the oven door, bracing myself against the surge of heat that hit my face. Beads of sweat formed on my temple and forehead as I scooped the steaming pizza out and placed it into a cardboard box.

I never intended to work here. It was merely a temporary solution during high school, an easier alternative to finding my own job. And then, after college, I found myself back home, guilt pulling me into this place that held memories of my father, long gone.

A year had passed, and I was still trapped within these walls. Tony's Pizza, a name that once represented my father's legacy, now felt like a lingering reminder of his absence.

"Thank you, enjoy the pizza," I said to the first customer, handing them the box. Turning to the new arrival, I greeted them with a forced smile. "Welcome to Tony's Pizza, what can I get for you?"

As I took the woman's order, the phone rang twice. My mother, busy prepping pizzas in the back, answered it. Once I finished jotting down the woman's request, my mom poked her head around the corner.

"Delivery," she informed me. "Pizza will be ready in five."

I couldn't help but groan. Deliveries were the bane of my existence, a necessary evil that often exposed me to the unsavory characters lurking in the shadows. The kind of creeps who made inappropriate jokes and thought they were being clever. No wonder most pizza deliverers were men.

Our restaurant still clung to the old-fashioned method of handwritten orders, each one clipped to a wire above the prep area. I grabbed the slip for the delivery and scanned the address. The street name was legible, but the house number was a mere jumble of scratches.

"South Henderson..." My heart skipped a beat. "On the corner?"

There was one place I actually enjoyed delivering to: the fire station. Not just because they were heroes, saving lives from burning buildings, but also because the guys at the Riverville firehouse were... well, let's just say they were easy on the eyes. A serving of eye candy with extra sauce, please.

But my mom shook her head. "Not on the corner. Six twenty-three." She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "A few blocks south."

I cursed under my breath. We usually received an order from the firehouse on Friday nights, but tonight seemed different. Perhaps they were changing their routine.

"Why can't Dan take the order?" I asked, already anticipating my mom's response.

"Dan is still out on the last delivery," she replied impatiently.

"Because he stops to smoke on the way back," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

She shot me a disapproving look.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll go."

Mom mumbled something in Italian as I hurriedly made my way to the car. Despite the sweat clinging to my skin from the kitchen, there was no time to change. I carefully placed two pizzas into a heat-insulated transportation container and loaded them into my car.

Riverville, California, was a charming town just outside of Fresno. Situated in the middle-ground between sprawling suburbs and farmlands, it had its own unique allure. The delivery address was a mere five-minute drive away, thanks to Riverville's conveniently close proximity. The house sat one block off the main road, its lights shining brightly despite the absence of cars in the driveway.

I knocked on the door, and a scrawny kid, no older than twelve, answered. "Delivery from Tony's," I announced.

"About time," the snotty little brat remarked. Behind him, a group of pre-teen boys snickered amongst themselves. "Don't we get it for free if it takes you forever?"

I mustered a polite smile and glanced at my watch. "It took me precisely six minutes and forty-five seconds to arrive. Your total comes to twenty-five dollars even."

The kid handed me two twenties, and I retrieved a ten-dollar bill and five ones from my pocket as change. He snatched the money and the pizzas before starting to close the door.

"You know, I work for tips," I reminded him.

He sneered. "Shut up, boomer."

"Boomer? I'm twenty-four!"

"Whatever." With that dismissive retort, he slammed the door in my face.

Yeah, it was definitely going to be one of those nights.

Driving back to the restaurant, my mood soured not only by the rude customers but also by the unfortunate reality of my job. The weekends were always the busiest, leaving me with little time for anything else. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights were spent toiling away in this place, slowly wearing me down.

When I walked into the restaurant, my mom was busy ringing up customers. "Another delivery," she informed me.

I groaned. "Dan still isn't back?"

"He's back, but I saved this one for you," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

I rushed to the back and glanced at the order slip.

South Henderson.

Firehouse.

I suppressed the urge to do a celebratory fist-pump. "How long until their order is ready?"

"Two minutes," mom replied without turning around.

I hurried into the back bathroom, frantically trying to make myself presentable. I wiped away the sweat lingering on my neck, then retied my ponytail a little tighter to prevent any loose strands. A red sauce stain adorned my left breast, so I dabbed at it with a wet paper towel.

"Let's go!" mom called out impatiently.

I darted out of the bathroom, grabbing the food from the prep table. Though I still didn't look exactly how I wanted to in front of the firehouse guys, I was at least somewhat presentable.

"Don't take forever this time," my mom reminded me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She smirked as I hurried out the door.

2 - Sylvia (1)

2
I sat in the car, hastily applying makeup as I made my way to Fire Station 31. It was a rare moment of gratitude for every red light I encountered, as it afforded me a few extra moments to perfect my appearance.

The firehouse, located on the corner of South Henderson and Jackson Street, seemed oddly numbered as Riverville only boasted a population of six thousand and this was the sole station in town. Parking carefully in front, making sure not to obstruct the driveway, I noticed that the large firehouse doors were wide open. The two vibrant red fire engines gleamed under the lights, and between them sat three firemen, engrossed in watching a baseball game on a small laptop screen. Their smiles broadened as they turned their attention toward me.

I was never one to buy into the concept of a "happy place." You know, the kind of place people tell you to escape to in your mind when you need a pick-me-up or some relaxation. "Feeling stressed at work? Just go to your happy place!" But if I had to choose one, it would undoubtedly be the firehouse. The guys always greeted me with joy, though that was probably because I brought them delicious food. However, it wasn't just the generous tips they left that put a smile on my face. Spending a few precious minutes with the Riverville firemen had an inexplicable effect on me, brightening even the darkest of days.

And let's not forget that these guys were more than just nice; they were stunning. They exuded strength and muscle, like oversized teddy bears. Among them, Miles caught my attention the most. His towering height and broad shoulders made it seem effortless for him to lift me with a single arm. With an aquiline nose and a silky puff of dark hair, his full lips widened into a welcoming smile, while his warm, bright green eyes radiated charm.

"Sylvia!" Miles exclaimed joyfully, his charisma filling the room like a blazing fire. "Right on time. We're starving."

I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my chest as he addressed me by name. I knew him, of course, but I wasn't sure if he knew me beyond being the girl who delivered their pizza.

"If you're starving now, you should've ordered an hour ago," I responded smoothly. "Your Friday order usually comes in around five o'clock. You're slacking tonight."

"Got a call," Robert Hall, the Captain, chimed in. Despite holding a position of authority in the firehouse, everyone called him Robert. He was even larger than Miles, clean-shaven, and carried an air of quiet intensity. While not unfriendly, he was a man of few words. It seemed to be his nature.

"Oh? Anything exciting?" I asked, intrigued.

"Carbon monoxide detector went off at Jan Karsh's place," Aiden Howard interjected. While the other two were full-time firefighters, Aiden was a part-time Probationary Firefighter, juggling his duties with college classes. He brushed back his blond hair and grinned. "Turned out to be a false alarm. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, unloading the food onto the table next to the laptop. Two large pizzas and an aluminum tray of pasta. "Dig in while it's hot. Mom added some extra meat sauce to the pasta, just how you like it."

"You're a sweetheart," Miles said appreciatively, even though I hadn't been the one to prepare the meal. Suddenly, my cheeks flushed red, feeling as though I had stepped too close to the pizza oven.

I tilted my head, pointing at his thin beard. "Did you guys run out of razors or something?"

Aiden burst into laughter, and even Robert let out a chuckle.

"Very funny," Miles replied, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't think firefighters were allowed to have beards," I commented, genuinely curious.

"That used to be the case," Aiden explained with a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. "But modern respirators are positive-pressure systems. They provide a constant flow, ensuring no smoke gets in, even if there isn't a perfect seal."

"Can't let it grow too long, though," Robert grumbled. "And I find it ugly as hell. Might as well wear a ferret on your face."

Miles rolled his eyes, suggesting that this wasn't their first debate on the matter.

"Well, I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "I kind of like it. The thin beard suits you."

Miles focused on opening the container of pasta, but a small smile played on his lips.

"Don't let it go to your head," Robert dryly remarked. "She's just trying to flirt with you."

Even with the dark beard adorning Miles's face, I could see his cheeks reddening. It only made my own blush deepen. Aiden turned away, pretending not to notice.

To change the subject, I gestured toward the laptop. "How's the game going?"

"Giants are up four," Miles replied.

"Damn," I muttered, disappointed.

All three of them frowned at me.

"Don't tell me you're a Dodgers fan," Miles asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

I winced awkwardly. "My grandpa lived in Brooklyn after immigrating here. My family has been Dodgers fans since before the team moved to California."

Robert grunted disapprovingly.

"I thought you were cool," Aiden playfully glared at me. "But now I'm not so sure."

"You definitely lost some cool points," Miles added.

Despite their teasing, I couldn't help but beam. I hadn't realized I had any cool points to begin with.

"Watch this at-bat," Aiden insisted, gesturing with the hand not holding a slice of pizza. "Posey's going deep. I can feel it."

I scoffed. "Against Kershaw? No way."

"You would be a Kershaw fan," Miles remarked.

"Of course I am. He's not just the best pitcher on the Dodgers—he's the best pitcher in the league."

"Maybe in Little League," Aiden retorted, rolling his eyes. "He's past his prime. Ohh!"

Aiden jumped up, shouting in excitement as Buster Posey, the batter, crushed a ball toward left field. It soared high and deep... only to curl foul at the last possible moment.

2 - Sylvia (2)

“See that?” Aiden chided me. “A few feet away from a grand slam.”
"A grand slam, just a few feet away," Aiden playfully teased me.

I chuckled, recalling my father's words, "A foul ball is just a long strike."

Instead of returning to my seat, Miles joined me in front of the screen. "Busy night tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know how Fridays are," I replied. "But once the dinner rush ends, it should be slow until we close at nine."

"Ah, cool," Miles responded. "I get off my twelve-hour shift at nine too."

I glanced at him, sensing something more behind his comment. It couldn't have been a mere coincidence. Was he hinting at something?

Was he going to ask me out?

He turned his intense emerald gaze towards me, rolling a pizza crust between his fingers. He opened his mouth, ready to speak...

...And then the firehouse siren blared.

With practiced ease, the three men sprang into action. They hurried to the lockers, swiftly donning their gear. Miles tossed on his thick fire jacket and grabbed the rest of his equipment, heading towards the fire engine. Robert and Aiden followed closely behind.

"I'll take care of putting the food away in the kitchen!" I shouted over the blaring siren.

"Thanks!" Aiden acknowledged, giving me a thumbs-up.

Before the engine could speed away, Miles abruptly jumped out of the passenger seat and dashed back towards me. His face flushed with adrenaline, his eyes wide.

"Hey, uh, when we get off, do you want to grab a beer or something?" he asked hastily.

I stumbled over my words, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation amidst the chaos of the siren. "Yeah. I'd love to."

"Miles!" Robert's voice boomed. "Move it!"

"I'll pick you up at your restaurant!" Miles called out, flashing me a final grin before rushing back to the fire engine.

In a daze, I watched as they sped out of the station, their flashing lights illuminating the street.

3 - Sylvia

3
I couldn't help but smile as I watched the fire engine disappear down the main street of Riverville. There was something exhilarating about witnessing the brave firefighters rush into action, their gear clattering and sirens blaring. But my smile was mostly because I had a date with one of them.

Shaking off my stupor, I packed up the food I had brought and made my way inside the fire station. As I walked past the rows of bunk beds and the communal bathroom, I finally reached the kitchen. Without wasting any time, I turned the oven to the warm setting and placed the aluminum tray of pasta inside.

The pizza posed a bit more of a challenge. I didn't think the firefighters would appreciate me putting cardboard directly into the oven, so I found two baking trays in the cabinet and carefully transferred the slices. After covering both trays with aluminum foil, I placed them in the oven. Now, they would have hot food waiting for them when they returned, and the temperature was low enough to prevent any accidents. Just to be safe, I scanned the bottom of the oven for any stray crumbs or loose food. Better safe than sorry.

Grabbing a notepad, I quickly scribbled a note about the food and left the station. Before heading out, I paused at one of the bedroom doorways. There was a bunk labeled "Young," which I assumed belonged to Miles. Next to his bed, there was an art easel holding a blank canvas and a box of paints on the floor. I couldn't help but wonder if it was Miles's or if it belonged to the bunk next to his, labeled Howard. Aiden Howard, the blond probationary firefighter.

"I shouldn't be snooping," I muttered to myself, then hurried out to my car parked in the garage.

When I got back to the restaurant, my mom immediately complained about the delay. "What took you so long? There's another delivery waiting!"

"Sorry! The guys got a call and had to run, so I packed their food up for them." I collected the waiting delivery order and paused. "Mom, I have a favor to ask. Can I get off fifteen minutes early?"

"Early? Why?" she barked from the kitchen.

"I kind of... have a date."

Her head slowly peered around the massive pizza oven. "A date? With who?"

"Miles Young. One of the firemen."

A huge smile spread across her face. "My daughter is going out with a fireman!"

I groaned. "Mom, it's not a big deal."

The little Italian woman opened the oven and inserted a pizza. "Not a big deal, she says to me!" She closed the oven and whirled toward me. "Now you will give me grandchildren!"

"Jason and Maurice already gave you a grandson," I pointed out. My brother-in-law and his partner had adopted a little boy named LeBron.

"They only have one," Mom said, beaming. "I want more. Give me all the grandchildren to love!"

"It's just one date. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Mom wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the counter to greet a customer. "Welcome to Tony's Pizza. My daughter has a date with a fireman."

I rolled my eyes and hurried out to make my next delivery.

The rest of the night was a blur of activity. I had two more deliveries, and after the last one, I swung by the house to grab my hair straightener and change into clean jeans and a blouse. Finally, around eight-thirty, the dinner rush died down. I went into the back room, cleaned myself off as best as I could, and changed into my new clothes.

As I was straightening my hair, I heard the front door open at eight-fifty.

He's early, I thought frantically. I wasn't ready yet—I needed more time! But when I poked my head out from the back, I saw a college-aged guy standing at the counter.

"Welcome to Tony's Pizza," I called out, putting down my straightener and approaching the counter. "We're closing in ten minutes, but..."

"That's okay," the guy said, looking a bit stoned. "I need four extra-larges. Two pepperoni, one meat-lovers, and one Hawaiian."

I groaned inwardly. Technically, we accepted orders until nine, but for an order this size, my mom would need my help.

"Four extra-larges," I said, quickly writing it down on an order sheet.

My mom came stomping out of the kitchen. "No! We are closing!"

"Uhh." The stoner guy looked at his phone. "But it's, like, not even nine. And your website says you close at nine."

"The website is not the owner!" Mom scolded. "I am the owner! And I am telling you we are closing early! My daughter has a date!"

"Mom..." I hissed.

The stoner groaned. "Ugh. Chill out. I'll go to Pizza Hut."

"I could have helped you with the order," I told my mom.

She made a dismissive gesture.

"I know we need the money," I said. "We have to purchase a better grease trap for the flat-top and replace the fire extinguisher we used in February."

"Money, schmoney," Mom replied. "Your date is more important."

"I don't think Miles would approve of us putting off fire safety expenses."

She pulled my head down toward her and kissed my forehead. "You haven't been on a date in too long. It is important."

I appreciated her enthusiasm, but I couldn't help feeling a little guilty about turning away business. And her excitement was putting unnecessary pressure on the date itself.

Finishing up my preparations, I waited by the cash register, drumming my fingers on the counter while scanning the street outside. I hoped that every passing car would be Miles, even though I had no idea what he drove aside from the fire engine. I highly doubted he would pick me up in that, but it would certainly be a funny sight.

Finally, a grey pick-up truck pulled into the parking lot and parked facing the door. "Okay, bye!" I called to Mom.

She came running out of the kitchen and kissed me goodbye. "Have a good time! And think grandchildren!"

I could feel her eyes on me as I walked out of the restaurant. I was only twenty-four, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Kids didn't factor into the equation for a long time, if at all. One thing at a time, I reminded myself as I stepped outside. Tonight's date was the focus.

4 - Sylvia (1)

4
Miles descended from his truck, a vision of rugged charm in his faded grey T-shirt and well-fitted jeans. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were on full display, leaving me breathless with relief. I had opted for a casual look, unsure of how to dress for the occasion.

"You look beautiful," he complimented, opening the passenger door for me.

"I look like I spent ten minutes getting ready in the restaurant bathroom," I replied, self-deprecatingly.

"Must be one hell of a bathroom, then," he retorted with a mischievous grin.

I couldn't help but smile to myself as I climbed into the truck. The faint smell of smoke lingered, not the scent of cigarettes, but something more evocative. Miles closed the door behind me and made his way to the driver's seat.

"So, what's the plan?" I inquired. "You mentioned grabbing a beer?"

He started the truck and turned to face me. "I've got an idea, but only if you're cool with it."

God, he was sexy. Miles' smile had an intoxicating effect on me, especially when it was directed solely at me. It made me want to agree to anything he had in mind. However, there was a hint of hesitation in his voice, as if his idea was something out of the ordinary.

"It depends on what it is," I responded cautiously.

"There's a movie I've been wanting to see for a while now, and it's only playing in theaters for another week. It's the one with Emma Stone and Timothy Chalamet, and they serve beer at the theater..."

I blinked at him in surprise. "The new rom-com? Seriously?"

His smile faded slightly. "If you don't want to see it, we can do something else..."

"No! I definitely want to. I'm just surprised that you do. I would have pegged you as an action movie kind of guy."

He draped his arm across the back of my seat and turned to look back while reversing. "I deal with fires all day. When I'm off-duty, I want something lighthearted."

I chuckled. "Hey, no judgment here!"

There was no theater in Riverville, but we were only twenty minutes away from Fresno. During the drive, Miles shared stories from his day at the fire station, including a call they received about a small kitchen fire that hadn't escalated.

We bought beers and snacks from the concession stand before entering the empty theater. Miles seemed pleased by the lack of an audience.

"Perfect," he remarked as we settled into seats in the middle. "I can make comments without worrying about annoying anyone else."

I squinted at him playfully. "Wait a minute. You're one of those people who talks during movies?"

He sat down and raised the armrest divider between us. "What's wrong with that?"

"I demand absolute silence during movies," I retorted. "Even during comedies. No laughing allowed."

Miles raised a dark eyebrow, leaning closer to me. "I guess this isn't going to work out."

"At least we figured that out right from the start!" I joked, stealing a handful of popcorn. "Now I don't feel guilty about mooching off your snacks."

He laughed at my silly remark, and I couldn't help but grin. Miles was surprisingly easy to be around, unlike my usual self when faced with an attractive guy. There was an inexplicable ease in his presence, and it felt strangely comforting.

But in a good way.

The previews played, and the movie began. Without the divider between us, Miles stretched his legs out and made himself comfortable. His knee was barely an inch away from mine, radiating warmth. He was a big, burly man, and every time he reached for popcorn, his elbow brushed against my arm.

I took a long sip of my beer, grateful for the dim lighting that concealed my blush.

Like most rom-coms, the movie followed a predictable path. It was a second-chance romance, where two high school sweethearts reunite after ten years as adults. The first twenty minutes were filled with tension and awkward encounters between the protagonists.

"I don't know what she's thinking," Miles whispered, not so softly. "I wouldn't take him back. Not after what he did."

"But he's changed!" I whispered back.

He shook his head skeptically. "No way. He's just putting on an act for her. Deep down, he's still a bad boy."

"Girls like bad boys," I pointed out.

"Only if they can change them."

"She's going to change him!" I playfully insisted. "Just watch!"

"She's going to end up hurt again..."

Miles expressed his disapproval throughout the movie. Every time the female lead smiled, he grunted in disagreement. When the male lead uttered something cheesy, he snorted.

"You're starting to sound like a buffalo," I teased.

Miles responded by emitting an exaggerated animal noise, somewhere between a groan and a cow's moo. I burst into laughter, nearly spitting out the last gulp of my beer.

"Another?" he asked, reaching for my cup.

"Yes, please!"

I savored the sight of his strong, chiseled frame as he descended the stairs to get more beer. He returned a few minutes later.

"What did I miss?" he inquired, handing me another plastic cup of beer.

"They just had sex," I deadpanned.

His eyes widened in disbelief. "No way!"

"Yep. It was scorching hot. Emma Stone even showed full-frontal. And you missed it."

Miles let out a sigh. "I'm going to need both beers to drown my sorrows." He reached for my drink.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, swatting his hand away.

Instead of retracting, he deftly slipped his hand between my legs, snatching my box of M&Ms. He didn't actually touch me, but the cardboard scraped against my inner thigh as he took the box and poured some candy into his large palm.

A naughty thrill coursed through me.

It had been a while since I felt anything like that, even if it was innocent. Sometimes, the smallest gestures carried significant meaning.

"Please?" I said, referring to his lack of manners.

He chewed on the candy, glancing at me mischievously. "Please, what?"

I mimicked the proper question he should have asked. "Please, may I have some M&Ms?"

"Sure, but there aren't many left." He tipped the box over, allowing a single piece to slide into my palm. He gave me a silly grin.

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