Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

“Tell me again why you’re baking a pie crust at nine in the morning?’

Henry frowns and turns to look at the clock on the stove.

“It’s five o’clock in the afternoon,” Henry says, “which means it’s….ten in the evening in London.”

“Oh,” Bea says, her voice dropping over the line, “we’re not in London. We’re in Sydney.”

“When did that happen?”

“I’m not quite sure. Last I knew, we were in Madrid.”

Henry’s frown deepens. “Are you all right?” He asks seriously, and Bea scoffs.

“Yes, of course! It’s simply jet lag and ten-pm call times, that’s all.”

“If you’re certain.”

“I am. The rest of the band doesn’t even drink around me. It’s all green tea and those fizzy drinks that are supposed to be good for your gut.”

“Those things are a scam, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Bea says. “But seriously, the hardest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do is Kombucha.”

“Okay,” Henry tells her, “I believe you.”

“Well, thank you very much,” she says sarcastically. “Now, back to the pie. What is the reason?”

“It’s for work.”

“Did you change professions without telling me?”

“It’s for a staff potluck,” Henry explains. “Before the Thanksgiving break. We’re all supposed to bring something.”

“And how did you end up with pie?”

“Well, they asked me what I could bring, and I said pie.”

“And why did you say that? You’ve never successfully baked anything in your entire life.”

“That’s not true, I made pancakes one time.”

“You burnt pancakes one time.”

“You ate them.”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you they were bad. Why not buy one from the shop?”

“I can’t do that, not when everyone else was talking about their grandmother’s green bean casserole recipe or their mother’s famous dinner rolls. I’m afraid if I show up with something store-bought, they’d run me out of the country.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“They seem to take Thanksgiving very seriously here,” Henry tells her. “And I must admit I find the whole thing somewhat charming—as long as you don’t look too closely into its history.”

“It is a bit rancid,” Bea agrees.

“Certainly, though the community aspect of it now—everyone coming together and sharing their favorite dishes…”

“Is pumpkin pie your favorite dish?”

Henry looks down at the crust he’s been kneading for ten minutes. According to the recipe, it’s supposed to look buttery and flakey, but instead, it looks like a soupy mess.

“Not at the moment, no, but I’m confident I can rally, and everything will be fine. How difficult can it really be?”

“Not any more difficult than packing up and moving to a new country, and you’ve excelled at that.”

Henry makes a noncommittal noise. “I really should be giving this pie my full attention, and it sounds like you should be getting back to sleep.”

“We have a flight to catch in thirty minutes.”

“My god, where are you off to now?”

“Unsure,” Bea tells him, “but I’ll be sure to call you when we get there. Send me lots of photos of your pie! I’m dying to see it.”

“I will. Travel safe.”

“Promise, love you.”

“I love you, too,” Henry gets out before the phone beeps and the call disconnects, his home screen flashing back to a photo of David when he was a puppy.

Henry sighs and looks down at David sitting at his feet, his tail wagging and nose in the air, hopeful that a scrap of food will drop onto the floor.

“I’m not sure you would even eat this, love,” Henry says as he pokes at the crust. “Maybe it’s best we start over.”

Sometimes, it feels like that’s all Henry ever does–like he’s continually picking up the pieces of his life after a series of false starts.

At his brother and grandmother’s insistence, he wasted two years in business school, learning about stakeholders, marketing strategies, and global trade. After he graduated, he was expected to join Philip’s accounting firm, get married to a suitable woman, and have plenty of babies that would help carry on the Mountchristen-Windsor bloodline.

Instead, he blew it all up over Christmas dinner—coming out in one breath and admitting to dropping out in the next. He stood up, defiant, and stormed out with Bea on his heels, telling him how proud she was. Then he threw up in their grandmother’s perfectly manicured hedges.

Bea didn’t let him mope for long. She helped him apply to every university within a hundred-mile radius with a decent English program. With all her charm and charisma, she trained him to nail the interview with Oxford, who expected more out of him at twenty than they would’ve at eighteen. When he was accepted, she put forth her inheritance to help with tuition, claiming she’d get it all back and then some when her band was selling out the O2 Arena six nights in a row.

When he was accepted, he poured everything he had into his studies. He felt like he was already behind the rest of his classmates, and he had to prove his brother and gran wrong while also making Bea proud. Failure was not an option.

He fell in love with the idea of teaching and mapped out the next five, ten, and fifteen years of his life. He wrote nonstop and tried not to despair when his first draft was rejected and then again when his second was too.

He graduated, first with his bachelor's and then with his master's. He was employed as a teaching assistant while he worked on his PhD, and he finally caught the attention of a publisher. He adopted a dog, an anxious beagle puppy with sad eyes and unending loyalty and love. He found a job teaching poetry at the University of London around the same time his book was released, and he felt like he had done it—really made something of himself.

He was so caught up in everything good happening to him that he didn’t see how Bea was slipping away. He thought nothing of her band mates and how they’d stay out late partying. It didn’t raise a red flag when she’d have more conversation with him while drunk than sober.

He didn’t realize how bad it was until he was picking her up off the pavement in an alley behind a club in London.

She needed help, the kind that wouldn’t come from their brother or gran and their mother….he was all she had. She was all he had, just like always.

Rehab clinics were expensive—at least the good ones were—and difficult to get into.

He found a good one in Liverpool, overlooking the sea. He paid for it with his book earnings and took the five-hour train ride to visit her every weekend.

It didn’t feel like enough, though. There was an overwhelming sense of guilt in living his life in London while she was hundreds of miles away. She had given so much to him. He owed his life and all of his successes to her. She deserved more.

So he found a flat on the Mersey, left his job at the university, packed up his belongings, and started fresh.

He lived comfortably off the advance from his second book and spent his days working on his third between long walks with David and chats with Bea.

She moved in with him after she completed the program. He gave her the bigger room with more natural light and walked her to her meetings twice a week. He waited in a coffee shop around the corner, sipped Earl Grey, and people-watched, daydreaming about the life he left behind and the one he hoped to find someday.

Bea’s recovery wasn’t linear, but Henry’s support was unwavering. She made new friends and joined a new band with people who encouraged her instead of enabling her, and Henry went to every show, no matter how long the drive or how late the start time.

He was genuinely happy being her biggest fan, but Bea could see right through him. She could tell that something was missing, that he missed teaching.

But his position at the university had been long filled, and nothing else nearby seemed to suit him. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do until Bea reminded him that England wasn’t the center of the universe.

“Well, this looks much better, doesn’t it?” Henry asks David as he lays the new crust carefully into the pie plate, chunks of chilled butter still visible in the dough.

David, seeming to accept he won’t get a snack, heaves a bored sigh and trots into the living room.

“Thank you so much for the support,” Henry says sarcastically before he sets the plate in the oven to bake and begins to work on the filling.

Applying for the job at Georgetown University had been both thrilling and terrifying. He felt like he was twenty years old again, interviewing at Oxford, thankful it was a Zoom call so they couldn’t feel his sweaty palms.

He almost turned the offer down when he got it, but Bea read him the riot act, telling him that she was an addict, not a child, and treating her like one was offensive and demeaning. She could take care of herself; she had to, and he could still be there for her from across an ocean.

There wasn’t much he could say about that, so he replied to the email and found himself a real estate agent.

He loves where he’s ended up, in this charming neighborhood a mere five-minute walk from campus. He loves the fenced-in yard for David and the built-in bookshelves in the study. He even loves the kitchen, even though this is the first time in the six months he’s been here that he’s used it for anything other than boiling water for tea and microwaving leftover take-out.

The real estate agent had been so excited to show it to him, telling him how perfect it would be for entertaining as if Henry was someone who entertained. In reality, he’s someone who smiles politely while his coworkers discuss their plans for the weekend with their partners while praying they don’t ask him what he’s doing because he’ll have nothing to say. He’s someone who’s always been a bit lonely, and he’s beginning to accept that; that’s how it’ll always be. He’s putting all of his hopes on this stupid pumpkin pie, thinking that it could turn things around if he impresses his coworkers. He doesn’t think he’ll find love at work, but perhaps he could at least find someone to call a friend.

Henry sniffles as he cracks the second egg into the bowl with the canned pumpkin and sugar. He wipes his forearm across his face with a shake of his head. He hasn’t cried over this since he was a child, and even in the privacy of his own home, it’s still embarrassing.

He sniffles again, frowning when the smell of smoke overwhelms his senses. He spins around, horrified to see black smoke seeping out of the oven.

“Oh bloody-fucking-shit,” he mutters as he yanks the oven door open, and smoke billows out. “Shit, shit, shit,” he chants, panic rising as he coughs into his elbow. He can’t see any flames, but where there's smoke…

He spins around, frantically looking for a pot holder, hopeful he can reach into the abyss, pull the pie plate out, and dump it in the sink, but he comes up empty.

“Fuck,” he swears while David barks from the doorway, his feet tip-tapping against the hardwood anxiously. “It’s okay,” Henry tells him, “really, I have it under control and there’s nothing to be concerned—.”

The sharp trill of the smoke detector cuts him off, and David goes flying into the living room, tail tucked between his legs.

Henry sighs and grabs his phone off the counter and quickly dials 9-1-1.

“9-1-1,” the operator says as Henry starts after David, “What’s the nature of your emergency?”

“I can’t be certain,” Henry begins, “but it’s entirely possible that there’s about to be a fire in my kitchen.”

Henry really should have stayed in England.

He should’ve taken the first teaching job he could find—no matter the grade or subject—and treaded water until someone in the English department at the university retired or quit or was fired. He would’ve waited a lifetime to avoid the humiliation of standing on the sidewalk while sirens wail in the distance and his neighbor’s porch lights turn on one by one.

The door of the townhouse directly next to his opens, and Mrs. Hartley steps out. Henry seriously considers making a run for it, but he’s only in his house slippers, and David, who is still shaking in his arms, absolutely hates being out in the dark.

“Henry, honey,” she starts as she tightens her robe around her waist, “is everything okay?”

Mrs. Hartley is at least one hundred and thirteen years old. A widow, she spends most of her time with her black and white cat named Louis, who is at least half as old as she is, who she walks on a leash around the block once a day, and who hisses at David whenever they happen to cross paths.

Still, Mrs. Hartley is quiet and sweet and was the only one to welcome him to the neighborhood with a bundt cake. If he really had to think about it, she might be the only friend he’s made in America, which kind of makes him want to cry all over again.

“Everything is just fine,” he tells her as he takes a few steps up the sidewalk so she can hear. “It’s just a little misunderstanding.”

A fire truck turns onto the street, laying on its horn as the lights on the roof flood the surrounding buildings with red. Henry winces and pulls David tighter against his chest.

“Is that for you, honey?” Mrs. Hartley asks, and Henry sighs as the firetruck slows to a stop in front of his place.

“Yes, but it’s really nothing to worry about,” he tells her. “You should go back inside. It’s getting cold out.”

Mrs. Hartley doesn’t go inside, but Henry turns his attention to the firefighter who’s making his way over.

He’s older and handsome, and when he takes off his helmet and tucks it under his arm, Henry can see gray streaks running through his hair.

“Captain Luna,” he says as he holds out his arm and Henry has to shift David onto his hip so he can take it.

“Henry Fox,” he tells Captain Luna. “This is my house.”

“Dispatch says there was a kitchen fire.”

“Yes, maybe. It’s possible,” Henry says. “I was baking a pie, and I guess I lost track of time. There was quite a bit of smoke, and I figured….” He trails off as another firefighter catches his attention.

He's younger than Captain Luna, and his profile looks like it was cut from marble to resemble that of a Greek god. He runs his hand through a riot of thick, dark curls before he puts his helmet on, and even from a distance, Henry can tell that his eyelashes are unfairly long. The muscles in his back and shoulders flex beneath his shirt when he pulls on his jacket—DC FIRE & EMS in reflective fabric stitched on the middle of his back and CLAREMONT-DIAZ on the bottom.

“You figured?” Captain Luna asks, shifting to the side to block Henry’s view.

Henry clears his throat and nods. “I figured that it was better to be safe than sorry, and I called 9-1-1.”

“You did the right thing,” Captain Luna tells him. “Smoke inhalation is no joke. Are you having difficulty breathing? Have you been coughing? Do your eyes or throat burn?”

Henry shakes his head. “I wasn’t in there for that long. I don’t even remember if I turned off the stove. Christ. I’m very sorry.”

“Accidents happen,” Captain Luna says with a hand on Henry’s shoulders. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Captain Luna steps back just as the first firefighters are making their way up the front steps, the devastatingly handsome one in the lead.

“The kitchen is on the right,” Henry calls when he reaches the top step. “Down the hall and to the right. Just follow the smoke, I suppose.”

Hot Firefighter smiles and then says something to the firefighter behind him before they both pull on their respirators and open the door.

The radio on Captain Luna’s shoulder crackles to life, and he smiles reassuringly at Henry before he reaches for it.

“Hang tight,” he tells Henry. “It shouldn’t be long.”

Henry nods and sets David down, then leads him away from their nosey neighbors, some of whom are intently watching with glasses of wine in their hands.

True to Captain Luna’s word, the firefighters reemerge barely ten minutes later, Hot Firefighter with his gloved hands filled with the charred remains of Henry’s pie.

“You’re the homeowner, right?” He asks, and Henry nods, too stunned by seeing his beauty up close to say anything. “There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that your smoke detectors work, and the fire was contained to your oven, so your house is safe—a little smokey—but safe. Bad news is that you’re gonna need a new oven and another….whatever these used to be,” he says as he holds up his hands.

“I believe that used to be my potholder,” Henry says as he picks it up, “I was wondering where that had gone.” He winces. “I must have forgotten to take it out of the oven when I preheated it.”

“It was way in the back,” the firefighter says. “That’s probably what caught first.”

“And it took my pie crust with it,” Henry says sadly as he grabs the pie plate. “It really was a beautiful crust, the only good thing I’ve ever made, and I don’t even have proof of it.” He glances up at the firefighter’s confused face. “It was a test run for a Thanksgiving potluck at my job. Now I’m sure what I’ll do.”

“If you made it once, I’m sure you can make it again…just…with a new oven.”

Henry sighs.

“Also,” the firefighter continues, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look around your kitchen, and I didn’t see a fire extinguisher.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I don’t have one.”

The firefighter’s brows pinch together, and Henry scrambles for an excuse.

“I haven’t been living here for very long, really,” he starts, “I’m still settling in.”

“When did you move in?”

Henry breaks eye contact. “Six months ago,” he admits, and the firefighter hums. “I’ll get one right away.”

“Two,” the firefighter corrects. “At least one on each floor and if you’re not sure how to use one there’s plenty of videos on YouTube or, you can stop by the firehouse and I’d be happy to show you. We’re the firehouse on Dent, can’t miss us. Just ask for Alex.”

“Oh,” Henry says, unsure how to take that. “Okay, well, that would be–.”

“Scene’s clear!” Captain Luna announces from the top of Henry’s stoop. “Let’s pack it up.”

“You’re cleared to go in,” Hot Firefighter–Alex—tells him. “And I’m serious about those fire extinguishers,” he says as he backs up.

“It’ll be the first thing I do the moment I get back inside.”

Alex grins, wide and bright and beautiful, before he turns back toward the truck, pausing to wave to Mrs. Hartley, who is still standing on her front porch.

Mrs. Hartley waves back, then Alex spins back around and points at Henry.

“Livin’ The Pie Life.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s this shop in Arlington. Best pies I’ve found in the DMV, you know if you find that you can’t recreate your beautiful crust.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry tells him, and Alex smiles again before he hops into the truck, and it pulls away, lights off and sirens quiet.

Henry watches it roll down the street before he turns to Mrs. Hartley.

“I’m sorry about all the noise,” Henry apologizes, but she waves him off with one hand and fans herself with the other, still looking down the street as the firetruck turns the corner.

“Don’t be,” she says, “that was the most fun I’ve had in months.”

2

“Could they tell that it was store-bought?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I simply told the truth, and everyone seemed to find it charming. I worried so much over nothing.”

“That does seem to often be the case with you.”

Henry looks toward his phone, where he's FaceTiming Bea.

She smiles innocently, her hair piled up on her head and a green face mask covering her skin. Henry has a similar one smeared on his skin, careful of his eyebrows and hairline, meant to cleanse and detoxify.

“It certainly helped that the pie was delicious, too. Guess the trip to Virginia was worth it.”

“How did you even find that place?”

Henry shrugs, not wanting to drag Alex into it, knowing that if he merely mentions a man by name, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Google,” he answers. “The Yelp reviews were excellent, so I decided to trust it.”

“Thank goodness you did,” Bea says. “And how is your new stove working out?”

“Wonderfully.” He sets down the knife he’s been using to rough chop a head of broccoli and picks up the phone so he can show Bea the stovetop. “I went for gas this time.”

“That does seem like it would be easier to catch fire.”

“I hope not. I’m making soup tonight—broccoli cheddar,” he explains as he sets the phone down and continues to chop. “Megan—she works in the art department—brought it in for lunch last week, and it smelled wonderful, so I asked her for the recipe and—.” He snaps his mouth shut. “This is all dreadfully boring, isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” Bea tells him. “You should know that I’m always interested in anything you want to tell me.”

“But surely there’s something more exciting happening in your life than my soup.”

“Well,” Bea says, the mask cracking around her mouth when it pulls into a smile, “since you asked…”

She disappears from view, and a moment later, a small tabby cat pops into view, its green eyes blinking at the camera.

“Ta-da,” Bea sings-songs as she reappears, tucking the kitten beneath her chin. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“She’s gorgeous,” Henry agrees. “Where did you find her?”

“At the loading dock at our last show. We were hauling the drum kit in, and I heard a meow. She was tucked behind the dumpster.” Bea kisses the kitten's head then wipes the smudge of green goop she left behind with her thumb. “We looked for others, but she was all alone, and I couldn’t just leave her…she’s going to be the band's mascot. Go on the road with us. I’ve already figured out what I need to do to make sure she flies with me in the cabin instead of down with the luggage.”

Henry smiles as she talks about cat carriers, veterinarian appointments, and kitty toys.

There was a time when Bea could barely take care of herself, but now she’s willingly and successfully taking care of another living being.

Henry’s so proud he could burst.

“What are you going to name her?” He asks as Bea scratches beneath the cat’s chin.

“I’ve been back and forth, but I was thinking maybe Iman. She and David could make quite the pair.”

“That’s very sweet,” Henry says. “Next time I’m at the pet store for David, I’ll have to pick up some treats to send her.”

“Oh, she would love that. Wouldn’t you love some gifts from your Uncle Henry?” She asks the cat, who answers with a loud purr.

Henry glances over with a smile, taking his eyes off the knife just long enough to slice into the side of his thumb.

The pain is sudden and sharp, and he drops the knife onto the counter with a gasp.

“What’s happened?” Bea asks as Henry lifts his hand to examine it.

At first, he doesn’t see anything and thinks maybe he imagined it, but then the blood finally breaks the surface.

“Henry,” she says, clearly alarmed, and Henry waves her off with his good hand.

“I’m fine. It’s only a scratch.”

“That looks like more than a scratch.”

“I just need to find a bandage.”

“Do you have a bandage to find?”

Henry could look, but there’s no use looking for something he knows he won’t find.

Not while he’s bleeding out, anyway.

“I really think you should see a doctor,” Bea says, and Henry rolls his eyes.

“Not for a small cut on my finger.” He pulls a paper towel from the roll and wraps it around his thumb. “That’ll do.”

“Blood is dripping down your hand, Henry,” she says as she covers the kitten’s eyes. “Are you feeling faint?”

Henry blinks away the spots that cloud his vision, then shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

“Call the ambulance,” she says flatly.

“My legs are fine. If—and that’s a big if—I had to go anywhere, I’m sure I could get there on my own.”

“Then I suggest you get there,” Bea tells him, “or else you’ll never meet your niece. And make sure you shut the stove off!”

She hangs up, leaving the threat hanging in the air. Henry peels the paper towel away and then immediately presses it back into place when he sees how much blood is still seeping from the wound.

Bea is right, of course. Even if he’s laughed out of the hospital for how it happened, he knows something needs to be done.

He turns the stove off then does a better job at wrapping his thumb with clean paper towels before pulling on his shoes and jacket and promising David that he won’t be gone for long.

If he cuts across campus, MedStar Georgetown Hospital is less than a fifteen-minute walk from his house. He skirts around the cemetery, which looks particularly spooky this time of night, around the public soccer field, and through the back of the Henle Village redevelopment site.

It’s a journey, but he’s relieved when the lights of the hospital finally come into view.

The feeling is short-lived when the woman at the check-in desk tells him they’ve had a handful of high-priority cases come in, and he might be waiting for a bit.

Henry doesn't mind. It gives him plenty of time to fill out the paperwork he was handed and people-watch in the waiting room while his thumb downgrades from an incessant burning to a persistent ache.

He waits beside parents, soothing their fussy children and adults with loud, hacking coughs as one hour fades into two and then into three.

He really needs to get back to David, who doesn’t like it when Henry forgets to turn on the nightlight in the hall, and he’s about to get to his feet when—.

“Hey! Pie-Guy!”

Henry looks up, startled, and finds Alex, turnout gear on, helmet off, and soot on his face, standing in front of him, smiling.

“Henry,” Henry says, confused, “Fox.”

“Henry Fox,” Alex repeats as he looks him over. “Are you okay? You look a little green?”

“Green?” Henry asks, and Alex nods and reaches out slowly, his thumb swiping against Henry’s temple. When he pulls it back, there’s a smudge of green. Henry turns red.

“It’s a facemask,” Henry tells him. “My sister thought it would be fun if we did it together. I thought I washed it all off, but it was a bit difficult with this,” he says as he holds up his hand. “Wait—.” He says as his brain catches up with what he’s seeing. Alex, covered in soot. In the ER. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Alex says with a wave. “We got called out to help with a structure fire in Berkeley, and I inhaled a little smoke. This was a precautionary visit, but they cleared me, and I’m fine. Now, what about you?”

“I cut my thumb, barely,” he says, breath catching when Alex gently wraps his fingers around Henry’s wrist so he can examine the bandage.

“Making another pie?”

“Soup,” Henry corrects. “While FaceTiming with my sister, who showed me her new kitten. I told her I was fine and that all I needed was a bandage, but I didn't have any. After that, she insisted that I get it checked out.”

“Is she a doctor?”

“No, but I’ve always found it very unwise to argue with her.”

“I know what you mean,” Alex says. “I’ve got a sister, too. How long have you been waiting?”

“Three hours and…” he trails off and checks his watch. “Twenty-four minutes.”

“Jesus,” Alex mutters. “May I?”

Henry nods, and Alex unwraps the paper towel, apologizing when it pulls the dried blood from his skin.

“Okay, I don’t think you need stitches.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry says, “are you a doctor?”

Alex scoffs. “No, but I am a firefighter with basic medical training. You can hang out and get a second opinion, but you might be here for another three hours. Then they’ll slap a bandaid on it and charge you a thousand dollars. Or you can come out to the truck with me, and I’ll clean it and bandage it for you—for free.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s my job to help people. And I’m on dish duty back at the firehouse, so I’m not in a rush to get back there.”

Henry stops and considers—technically, Alex is a medical professional, so he’s still following Bea’s advice, and it would help him get back home to David faster.

“If you’re certain,” he says and Alex grins.

The truck is parked around the side of the hospital, out of the way but brightly lit beneath the street lights.

Alex slaps his hand on the door, then calls up to the window for someone to toss him a first aid kit.

“You just got out of the hospital, and you already need first aid,” a voice floats down, followed by a canvas bag.

“It’s not for me,” Alex says as he unzips the bag. A second later, a head with dirty blond hair and green eyes pops out of the window.

“Ah, makes sense,” the other firefighter says with a quick look at Henry.

“Shut up,” Alex says before nodding to the metal step on the side of the truck. “Take a seat.”

Henry sits obediently while Alex shakes off his coat and pulls on a pair of blue surgical gloves.

“So,” Alex starts as he cleans the cut. “What kind of band is your sister in?”

“I believe she last described it as alt-pop-punk.”

Alex hums. “Makes sense. When I look at you, I definitely think alt-pop-punk.”

“She and I are very different.”

“So what do you do then if you’re not the frontman of her band.”

“I’m an English professor at Georgetown, actually. Late Romantics.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like you,” Alex says, and Henry feels his face flush. “You know I graduated from there.”

“Did you?”

Alex nods. “Yeah. I was gonna be a lawyer, but I burned out after I got my masters.”

“How did you get into firefighting? That seems like quite a leap.”

“It was. I was freaking out, trying to figure out if I should go home or stay here or somewhere else while feeling like I just wasted all that time and money…then I saw an ad for volunteer firefighters. I was still young and in good shape, so I applied. It took some time, but now it’s my career.”

“That’s very brave,” Henry tells him, wincing as Alex wraps gauze around his thumb. “I spent two years in business school because that’s where my grandmother wanted me to be. When I dropped out, my sister picked me up and helped me get into Oxford.”

“Anytime you start over is an act of bravery. Just moving to a new country takes guts. You did that on your own.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose,” Alex mocks in a posh English accent. “You should—.”

He stops suddenly, still holding Henry’s hand in his own, and stares at him.

“Is something wrong?” Henry asks, and Alex frowns.

“Henry Fox. Went to Oxford. English professor.”

“Yes. That’s what I just said. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just—you’re Henry Fox. The Henry Fox. Best-selling author.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

Alex laughs. “Fuck, yeah, who hasn’t? You’ve been on the New York Times bestsellers list for how many weeks? They call you a modern-day Jane Austen.”

“They also call me a wannabe hack.”

“Fuck those guys,” Alex says with a roll of his eyes. “They’re turning your first book into a movie, aren’t they?”

Henry nods. “It’s still in pre-production. I’m a bit nervous about it.”

“It’ll be great. Just make sure they don’t cast the white boy of the month as the lead.”

“I’m not sure I have much say in casting, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex smiles as he finishes wrapping Henry’s thumb.

“You’ve really read my books?” Henry asks, and Alex nods.

“I hang on your every word.”

Henry watches the way the light catches on Alex’s eyelashes and dances off the sharp cut of his cheeks.

He certainly knows the feeling.

“You are good as new,” Alex says as he finally lets him go. “Leave it wrapped up for now, then keep it clean and dry. Also, make sure you pay more attention to what you’re chopping and get yourself a first aid kit.”

“I’ll put it right next to the fire extinguisher beneath the kitchen sink.”

“So you did get one for your kitchen? I was kind of worried since I didn’t see you at the firehouse for a demonstration.”

“I had thought that you were kidding about that.”

“I never kid about fire safety,” Alex says seriously. “We can hang around until your Uber gets here if you want.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll walk back.”

“Wait—did you walk here?” Alex asks, and Henry nods.

“The bus doesn’t get you that close to the hospital, and I wasn’t going to pay someone to take me less than a mile.”

“Jesus, you would’ve been better off walking to the firehouse.”

“But you wouldn’t have been there.”

“Listen, sweetheart. If you wanted to see me again, all you had to do was ask.”

“No, that’s not—.”

“Get in,” Alex says as he pops the door open. “We’ll drop you off.”

Henry hesitates. “Is that allowed?” He asks, and Alex shrugs.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

3

“You can do this. You can do this. You can do this, just don’t look down.”

Eyes fixed on the spot directly in front of him, he takes another shaky step up the ladder, palms sweating as they reach for the next rung.

“You have to be close to the top.”

The ladder jolts as he shifts his weight, and Henry gasps, his eyes dropping to the ground, which is only…

“Bloody hell,” Henry says with a sigh as he hops the three feet to the empty flower bed below him. “Well. I think that’s just about enough decorating outside today,” he says as he wipes his hands on the back of his trousers. “What do you think?”

David briefly looks up from sniffing around the fence bordering the sidewalk, and Henry nods.

“Clearly, you still have some business to attend to. You know the deal, mate. Scratch at the door when you’re ready to come in.”

He leaves David to it and goes back inside, taking off his shoes inside the front door and hanging his coat on the hook.

He’s not sure what he was thinking when he decided to hang the Christmas lights on the front of his house on his own. He’s had a fear of heights since he was a child—too frightened to be pushed too high on the swing or climb trees. He asks for hotel rooms on lower floors and always gets the aisle seat on flights. But his neighbors have had their own lights up since Thanksgiving, and he doesn’t want to be the only house left in the dark. He’ll have to hire someone to do it. Whatever the price, it’ll be worth it, so he never has to be on that ladder again.

For now, he’ll focus on the inside of his home, specifically decorating the tree that’s been sitting bare in his living room for the past week.

Bea has sent him a trunk filled with ornaments passed down from generation to generation on their father’s side. Teddy bears sitting on rocking horses, toy soldiers, and snowmen, all made of porcelain so thin and fragile they feel like they’ll tear like paper.

It’s a miracle they made the journey from London in one piece.

Bea had been adamant that Henry have these for his tree this year since she would be gone for the holidays. Pip favored the bright, shiny, mass-produced ornaments that followed a color scheme, and their mother hadn’t decorated for Christmas since their father passed. So Bea took it upon herself to dig through the attic of their mother’s house until she found them.

Henry tries not to let the melancholia consume him as he unwraps a small stocking and hangs it on the tree.

He’ll never have that warm, fuzzy Christmas feeling again. He’ll never decorate the tree with his father, open gifts with Bea and Philip (at least not while Pip is stuck beneath their grandmother's thumb), or bake gingerbread with his mother.

His childhood is over, and this is what remains, decorating a tree alone while reminiscing on a simpler and happier time.

Things aren’t all bad, though—something he sometimes struggles to remind himself.

He has this beautiful house, a great job, and Bea is only a phone call away. There’s a steaming cup of Earl Grey on the coffee table, a crackling fire in the fireplace, and David sniffing around outside in one of his sweet holiday sweaters.

David.

He’s not usually keen on staying outside alone for this long, and Henry tells himself not to worry as he makes his way outside, bypassing his coat and shoes.

He scans the front yard, panic rising when he finds it empty. The gate is still latched, but that doesn’t help calm his ever-growing nerves. He could’ve slipped out between the bars. Someone could’ve taken him. He could be gone forever, he could—.

There’s a sudden bark from above, and Henry sounds around, his heart dropping when he sees David sitting on the sloped roof between the dormers.

“Oh god—bloody—oh fuck. Don’t move!”

Without thinking, Henry jumps onto the ladder, clamoring up the rungs like his life depends on it.

“I’m coming, love, don’t worry. I’ll be right there,” Henry shouts up as he continues to climb so quickly that his foot misses a rung.

His entire body tense as he catches himself, his arms wrapping around the ladder as it shakes.

Logically, he knows he’s only about fifteen feet in the air, but the illogical side of his brain has taken over, and he might as well be one hundred feet up. He can barely hear the scratch of David’s nails against the shingles over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he clutches the ladder for dear life.

“It’s okay. I’m coming to get you,” he tells David, but he can’t move, not up or down, and every time he shifts his weight, it feels like the ladder is swinging violently.

“Henry—honey, what in the world….” Mrs. Hartley’s voice floats up to him. “I heard a shout and came out to investigate….what are you doing up there?”

“I’m trying to get to David,” he answers, or at least he hopes he does. He can barely hear himself think.

“Where is David—oh. Why is he up there?”

“The why is not very high on my list of concerns,” Henry calls back. “I have it under control.”

“I don’t think you do, honey. Should I call someone?”

“No, please don’t.”

“What about those nice firefighters who were here before? They seem like they could handle something like this?”

“No, please, that’s really not necessary—.”

“I’ll be right back, dear! Don’t go anywhere!”

“Mrs. Hartley!” Henry shouts but he’s met only with a slam of a door.

Henry’s fear melts into embarrassment, which quickly slips into shame when he hears the fire truck slow to a stop in front of his house.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Captain Luna says. “There really is a dog on the roof. Why is he up there?”

“Henry doesn't like that question,” Mrs. Hartley tells him.

“Henry!” Alex calls. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Henry answers, feeling like he’s about to vomit. “But I have to admit that I’ve been better.”

“Do you think you’re able to get down on your own?”

“Eventually,” Henry tells him. “There will come a point where my body will give out, and I’ll no longer be able to hold on, and I’ll fall.”

“Of your own free will,” Alex clarifies.

“Oh. Then no, I don’t believe so.”

“Okay. How about I come up to you?”

Henry attempts to shrug. “If you’d like.”

Alex huffs a laugh. “I’ll be right up.”

Henry nods and listens to the clanging of metal on metal and footsteps on the stone pathway leading up to the house.

There’s a bang right beside him, and he jolts, anticipating the ladder tipping over, but it remains steady. A moment later, there’s a hand on his back and Alex’s voice right beside him.

“You’re okay,” he says. “That was just my guys securing your ladder. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, that seems to be the problem,” Henry says. “Is David okay?”

“David is…your dog?” Alex asks slowly. “That’s his name?”

“Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

“No, no, not at all. Can’t wait to properly meet him and ask him for advice about my taxes. He seems okay,” Alex adds quickly. “His tail is wagging and everything.”

“He must have climbed the ladder when I went inside. Never in a million years did I think he’d do something like this.”

“He’s one brave pup.”

“He’s not, though. He’s afraid of everything—of rain and wind and birds. He needs a nightlight to sleep and won’t go downstairs without me walking beside him. He’s the most anxious creature I’ve ever met, second maybe only to me. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not fond of heights.”

“Oh, no way,” Alex says, and if Henry could open his eyes, he’s sure he’d roll them.

“I know it’s stupid—.”

“It’s not.”

“But it is embarrassing.”

“Please, this doesn’t even crack the top one hundred of embarrassing calls I’ve been on.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. You won’t believe who gets what stuck up where. Or stuck to. Or in. Helping you down from a ladder after you tried to rescue your dog from the roof doesn’t compare. Do you think you can open your eyes?”

“I can’t look down.”

“You don’t have to. Just look at me. I’m right here.”

Henry can feel the hand on his back, and his voice in his ear, and the only thing he needs to do is open his eyes….

Alex is much closer than Henry thought he was. Their ladders are flush together, and all Henry would need to do is lean just a bit to his right, and their shoulders would be touching.

He’s not going to do that, though.

“There you go,” Alex says softly. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen those gorgeous fuckin’ eyes.”

“Oh,” Henry exhales.

“How are you doing?” Alex asks like he didn’t just shake Henry to his core.

“Embarrassed. Afraid.”

“Okay, but beyond that. Dizzy, nauseous, light-headed. Are you seeing double?”

Henry shakes his head. “A bit cold.”

“Makes sense. You’re barefoot, you don’t have a coat on, and it’s thirty-five degrees out.”

“I wasn’t thinking, I saw him on the roof and panicked.”

“Good news is you’ll be nice and warm soon enough. You wanna take a step down with me?”

“No, thank you.”

Alex snorts. “Gonna live up here forever?”

“Perhaps.”

“Let’s take one step together. Just one. Then we can regroup. Nice and easy,” he says, his hand staying on Henry’s back as Henry lowers his foot to the rung below. “There you go.”

They go down another step.

“I’m afraid of turkeys.”

It startles a laugh out of Henry as they go down yet another step.

“Alive or dead?”

“Alive,” Alex tells him. “They’re fucking terrifying with their beady little eyes and that red jiggly thing beneath their chin.”

“I didn’t know birds had chins.”

Another step.

“Turkeys aren’t birds, they’re dinosaurs that even the meteor couldn’t bring down. Prehistoric feathered fuckers.”

Henry laughs and takes another step.

“Okay, it's your turn.”

“My turn? You already know my irrational fear.”

“Then tell me something else. Something I couldn’t learn by reading the author blurb in your book.”

Henry takes a moment to think. “I took ballroom dancing lessons until I was fourteen.”

Alex laughs. “Really?”

“Yes. I was good at it, too. Very graceful.”

“Maybe you can take me out sometime, show me what ya got.”

Henry blinks. “Oh. Well, that’s—.”

“I knew you could do it,” Alex interrupts with a grin.

“Pardon?”

“Look down.”

“I can’t.”

“Henry,” Alex says as he gently grips his chin. “Look down.”

Henry looks and finds that he’s on the last rung of the ladder, with the ground only inches below.

“Oh,” he says as he steps off, and Alex pats him on the back. “Oh, David.”

“Don't worry, sweetheart. He’s next,” Alex says as Captain Luna wraps a blanket around Henry’s shoulders.

4

Henry frowns as he rereads the sentence for the third time, bringing the paper closer to his face like that will unlock some hidden clue to help it make sense.

There is something missing–a dropped word perhaps—that’ll bridge the thought between the two presented ideas.

Damned if Henry can find it, though.

Maybe it’s because he’s so late. Or that he feels rushed to finish grading before the break. Maybe he’s a terrible teacher who isn’t getting his point across or maybe this student used ChatGPT so it was destined to sound stilted and artificial.

He supposes it all could be true, but for every essay that leaves him wondering why he ever bothered becoming an educator, there are three that restore his faith in the youth of America.

But it is late—his eyes are tired, and there’s a slight ache behind his temples. The tea on the table beside him has gone cold, and he can’t get up to make a new cup because David has fallen asleep in his lap.

He doesn’t really mind spending the rest of the night on the couch—it’s not like he sleeps much anyway— but he does wish he remembered to grab the pack of Jaffa Cakes Bea sent him in her last care package.

He’s just about to reach for another essay when there’s a knock on his front door, and David lifts his head.

“Maybe it’s just the wind,” Henry tells him.

Then there’s another knock, louder this time, immediately followed by “Henry, honey, are you in there? Your lights are on!”

Henry sighs and gently nudges David off his lap before he gets up to answer the door.

Mrs. Hartley is on the other side in her nightgown and robe, with Louis in her arms.

“Mrs. Hartley, it’s very late.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m very sorry to bother you, but something keeps beeping in my living room.”

“Beeping? Like from an alarm?”

“I guess it could be.”

“Is it coming from your smoke detector?”

Mrs. Hartley shakes her head. “No, no, it’s not coming from the little thing on the ceiling, it’s coming from the one on the wall. It looks like—.” She cranes her neck to see around him, then points to the wall. “It looks like that.”

“That’s my carbon monoxide detector,” Henry tells her. “That’s what’s going off in your living room?”

“I guess so. I pushed the reset button, and it stopped for a little while, but it started right back up again, and I can’t sleep with that noise.”

“I imagine you couldn’t, at least not at first,” he adds under his breath.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Oh, nothing. Why don’t you and Louis come inside? I think I need to make a phone call.”

Less than five minutes later, Alex hops out of the firetruck, brow raised in Henry’s direction.

“At least you have a jacket and shoes on this time,” he says, and Henry puts his hands up.

“This time, it’s not for me. I made it very clear to the gentleman who took my call that this was my neighbor’s carbon monoxide detector that was going off, not mine.”

“And your neighbor is….”

Henry hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Inside with Louis. They’re the only two that live there.”

“Louis is her husband?”

“Her cat,” Henry says. “Who is probably having a grand time terrorizing David.”

“David doesn’t like cats?”

“David doesn’t like that cat,” Henry clarifies as the door opens and Mrs. Hartley steps out.

“Oh, nonsense,” she says as she joins Henry outside. “They’re just playing. I remember you,” she says to Alex with a smile.

“I remember you, too,” Alex tells her. “Are you feeling okay?”

“A little tired,” she says. “Usually, I’m asleep by now.”

“That’s understandable,” Alex says. “Any headaches, dizziness, upset stomach?”

Mrs. Hartley shakes her head. “No, no, none of that. I’m just so sorry I got you all out of bed so late. I tried to get the beeping to stop, and when I couldn’t, I came over here to Henry’s—.” She puts her hand on his arm. “--Because I know he’s always home. Isn’t it a shame, someone so handsome wasting away at home on a Saturday night.”

“I don’t think I’d call it wasting away,” Henry says, “I was grading papers. I’m trying not to get behind before the holidays.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she says with another pat to his arm.

“Ma’am,” Captain Luna interrupts gently, “do you mind if we take a look at you, you know, just to make sure you’re alright?”

“You can take a look at me whenever you’d like,” she tells him with a suggestive wag of her brow. “But what about Louis?”

“Louis?” Captain Luna asks.

“Cat,” Alex whispers out the side of his mouth, and Captain Luna nods.

“Sure, why not? We’ll take a look at Louis, too.”

“And then maybe Henry can make us all some tea,” Mrs. Hartley says as she ushers Captain Luna inside.

Henry takes a deep, deep breath.

“She seems fun,” Alex says, and Henry laughs.

“She really is sweet. Her cat is an absolute menace, but all things considered, it could be worse. Thank you for coming out so quickly. It is late.”

“It’s our job,” Alex tells him, “serving the fine people of DC twenty-four-seven. Hey,” he continues with a smile, “maybe saving an elderly woman will get me back on the news.”

“Maybe,” Henry says with a forced smile.

Thanks to a neighbor’s teenage son, footage of Alex climbing up the ladder like he was taking a Sunday stroll and David into his arms went viral. The video cut off before Alex passed David off to him, thank god, but it launched Alex into celebrity status. It has over two million views on TikTok, was featured on Inside Edition, CBS Evening News, and the local news stations, one of which sent a reporter to the firehouse to interview Alex personally.

Jennifer Robinson (bright and bubbly with tanned skin and dark hair—the antithesis Henry in every way) of NBC4 Washington chatted with him just inside the firehouse bay doors, the trucks and Alex’s fellow firefighters in the background, popping in and out of the shot.

Jennifer asked him how it felt to be a hero, and Alex laughed humbly and shook his head, giving the parting line that they were all heroes, and this is what they all signed up to do before admitting that David was the second cutest rescue he's ever made. They cut to b-roll footage of the firehouse as Jennifer mentioned different holiday-themed events that were coming up in the next few weeks—a stuff-a-truck food drive and their annual Christmas tree and wreath sale, with the proceeds going to fund a local youth shelter.

“We might be here for a while,” Alex tells him now. “We have to confirm there is a leak, find the cause, see if we can fix it, ventilate the place, and make sure the homeowner is actually okay.”

“Along with her cat.”

“Along with her cat,” Alex agrees with a wide smile.

“Well, come on in when you’re done, I suppose. I’ll have tea.”

“And crumpets?” Alex teases.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex laughs as he starts down the steps, pulling on his respirator and heading inside Mrs. Hartley’s house with the other firefighters.

Inside his own home, Mrs. Hartley is holding court in the living room, clearly not feeling any adverse side effects, so Henry steps into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

He’s adjusting the temperature of the burner when David slides into the kitchen with Louis trundling in after.

“Come here, love,” Henry says as he scoops David into his arms. “Someday, you’ll need to be a bit braver.” He kisses the top of David’s head as Louis meows up at him. “But not today.”

He holds David at his hip while Louis twirls between his legs as he collects as many mugs as he can find along with sugar, honey, and lemon, his mind drifting back to Alex’s interview.

At the end, Jennifer had tossed her long hair over her shoulder and asked Alex the question that’s been on the mind of every Washingtonian since the story dropped—was he single?

The firefighters lingering behind Alex had whistled and cat-called, and Alex had dropped his head to cover the prettiest blush Henry had ever seen before, confirming that he was, but hoped that he wouldn’t be for long.

“Got your eye on someone?” Jennifer had asked, and Alex nodded.

“I guess you could say he’s got my number.”

They aired the segment at six in the morning while Henry was just waking up. Then again at six thirty while Henry was drinking his tea and at seven as he was ready to walk out the door. They showed it again at noon when Henry was eating his lunch in the faculty lounge and again at six when he was eating his dinner at home.

Henry spent the entire day watching and listening to Alex—constantly being reminded that he would soon be off the market.

He can’t do that again.

“Hey.”

Henry spins and finds Alex removing the whistling kettle from the burner.

“Are you jealous that your neighbor is getting all the attention?” He jokes.

“No, sorry, I was thinking of other things.”

“Good things, I hope. Is this the cat?”

“Yes, that’s Louis. The bane of David’s existence.”

“Aww, buddy,” Alex says as he scratches David’s head. “He’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Are you done in Mrs. Hartley’s house?”

Alex nods. “Pretty much. There was an obstruction in her chimney, so the gas filtered back into the house. We cleared it, and we’re airing out the house. All we have to do is recheck the levels, and Mrs. Hartley and Louis can go home. She will have to keep an eye on the chimney, though, if she’s able.”

“I can do that for her.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“You heard her, it’s not as if I have much else to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Henry laughs bitterly. “It kind of is. I am alone on a Saturday.”

“Um, hello,” Alex says as he gestures to himself, and Henry sighs.

“My elderly neighbor had a carbon monoxide leak. That's why you’re here.”

“Technically, yeah, sure, but if you ever wanted to hang out—.”

“We’re moving out,” Captain Luna says from the doorway. “Levels are back to normal. Mrs. Hartley is cleared to enter her home.”

“What’s the rush?” Alex asks.

“No rush, but I’ve shown Mrs. Hartley my ring and photos of me and Nathan, but she’s still making some pretty heavy-handed innuendos, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s a pretty good stroke to my ego—.”

“As if your ego needs to be stroked,” Alex interrupts.

“You wanna get in there and take my place?” Captain Luna asks, and Alex shakes his head.

“I’m good with where I am.”

“I bet you are,” Captain Luna shoots back. “But let’s wrap it up. Saturdays are busy for us, so we’ll probably get another call any second. Sorry, we can’t stay for tea, Henry.”

“Maybe next time,” Henry says, and Captain Luna barks a laugh before he disappears, and Alex makes a move to follow before he turns around.

“You know you’re not going to check up on her because you think you have nothing else to do,” he tells Henry. “You’re gonna do it because you’re a good person.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that you almost set your house on fire because you were trying to bake a pie for your coworkers, you to weekly FaceTime calls and face masks with your sister and nearly cut your finger off listening to her talk about her new kitten, you climbed a ladder–despite being afraid of heights—because you wanted to rescue your dog—.”

“I got scared a quarter of the way up the ladder and had to be rescued myself.”

“That doesn’t make it any less impressive or important. Give yourself a little grace, sweetheart. You deserve it.”

Henry doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stands there with a dog in his arms, a cat at his feet, and a beautiful firefighter looking at him like he’s worth something.

“Alex, now!” Captain Luna calls from the front door, and Alex rolls his eyes but steps back.

“I’ll see you around.”

“You know where to find me,” Henry tells him.

Alex laughs and throws him a wink. “And you have my number.”

5

“So, what time is your flight?”

“Four forty-five.”

“And where are you flying out of?”

“Dulles.”

Carol winces and Damien makes a distressed sound.

“Please don’t look like that,” he begs. “That’s not filling me with optimism.”

“You’re not really setting yourself up for success,” Amanda adds, swirling her spoon in her yogurt. “What time is your last class?”

“It ends at three thirty.”

Carol and Amanda whistle, and Damien shoves his fingers through his hair.

“I can make it! If I leave right away—.”

“You’d be better off driving,” Amanda says.

“I am not driving to South Carolina.”

“By the time you get out of here, get to the airport, get through security, you’d probably be at least halfway there. And that’s assuming your flight isn’t delayed. I heard it was supposed to snow later. What airline are you taking?”

Damien runs his hands over his face and then presses his fingers against his eyelids. “Spirit,” he admits.

Carol snorts, Amanda shakes her head, and Henry turns back to the toaster oven, where his scone is slowly heating.

Henry likes his coworkers—at least enough to attempt to bake a pie for them. He likes chatting about Shakespeare with Carol, medieval literature with Damien, and debating Brontë versus Austen with Amanda. Still, the mention of the holiday break makes him want to disappear into the dingy tile of the faculty lounge.

It’s fine that he knows that Carol is heading to Baltimore with her wife and kids to spend time with her in-laws, or that Damien is attempting to visit his grandparents, or that Amanda’s entire family is coming to DC so they can see the city decorated for Christmas.

Henry doesn’t want to be asked about his plans because he doesn’t want to lie.

“Henry,” Amanda says, and Henry has to stop his whole body from tensing up. “I don’t think you’ve told us what you’re doing for Christmas.”

Henry takes a breath then turns around to face them; Damien with his head on the table, Carol rubbing a comforting hand across his back, and Amanda looking back with an expectant smile.

“My sister is coming to town.”

“That’ll be fun!” Amanda says. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

“In person? Not since I moved here.”

“I’m so happy for the two of you,” Amanda tells him. “I’m sure you’ll both have a great time.”

Henry forces a smile and turns back around.

He couldn’t tell her that Bea won’t be here until a few days after Christmas. That he’ll be spending the day alone with David, reading or grading exams. He might have to turn all his lights off and avoid the windows so Mrs. Hartley doesn’t take pity on him and invites him to her family Christmas in Annapolis.

It’s fine that he’s alone. It’s truly nothing new, but he doesn’t need the sad looks it’ll get him—he doesn’t need anyone to feel sorry for him. He's had just about enough of that.

Damian lifts his head. “Okay, what if I take the—.”

“No,” Carol interrupts.

“But there shouldn’t be that much traffic—.”

“No,” Carol says again, kinder this time. “No, Damien, no.”

“Your best chance now is hitching a ride with Santa,” Amanda says.

Henry huffs a laugh and turns back to the toaster oven just as lights start to flash overhead and a siren blares—three times in a row.

“Was this on the calendar?” Carol asks as she gets to her feet.

“I don’t remember getting an email about it,” Amanda says. “Plus, it’s weird for them to schedule it on the last day before break.”

“Some idiot kid probably pulled the alarm so they didn’t have to take their exam. Fuck,” Damien says, “if this sets my last class back, I’m quitting right now; I’m serious.”

“Sure you are,” Amanda says as she wraps her arm around his shoulders and leads him out into the hall.

Henry follows then hesitates in the doorway. His office—and more importantly, his coat—is two flights up, against the steady current of students and faculty making their way out.

“Henry, you coming?” Carol calls. “The faster we get out, the faster we can get let back in.”

“And it better be fast!” Damien shouts, “I’m on the clock!”

Henry looks up the hall once more before he heaves a sigh, finds an opening in the crowd, and follows them out of the building.

At orientation on his first day, Henry was told that in case of an emergency, his designated evacuation zone was across the parking lot under a large maple tree.

It had seemed like a nice spot in June with the sun filtering through the green leaves.

In December he shivers beneath the bare limbs, the sleeves of his cardigan pulled down over his hands, the sky above cold and gray.

Students and staff mingle around him, lucky enough to have their coats with them at the time of the alarm. Henry shuffles his feet and blows fog into the air.

“Professor Fox, you think our exam will be canceled because of this?”

“No, Andrew,” Henry answers through chattering teeth. “If we have to stay until midnight, you are taking the exam today.”

“Man, c’mon,” Andrew mumbles, but Henry doesn’t back down.

Andrew is very bright, with flashes of brilliance in his essays, but he has a hard time applying himself. There’s no reason why he won’t excel at this exam as long as he takes his time and takes it seriously.

“We should be going back inside shortly,” Henry says as a fire truck turns into the lot.

“Great,” Andrew says sarcastically as the truck stops in front of them. “Can’t wait.”

Henry shivers and tucks his chin against his chest, trying anything he can to preserve his body heat as a familiar group of firefighters file out of the truck.

Henry spots Alex right away, second out of the truck after Captain Luna, curls blowing in the chilled breeze, helmet in his hand.

Alex’s eyes find him, and after he exchanges a few words with Captain Luna, he jogs over.

“Is this your building?” Alex asks, and Henry nods.

“Yes, unfortunately. Rumor has it it’s a false alarm. Someone who wanted to get out of taking their final exam.”

“That would make my job easier.” He looks Henry up and down. “Do we need to have another conversation about weather-appropriate wear? Not that I don’t appreciate you prioritizing safety over comfort.”

“My office—along with my coat—is on the fourth floor. When the alarm went off, I was on the second in the faculty lounge heating my—.” He snaps his mouth shut, and Alex frowns.

“You okay?”

Henry swallows then clears his throat. “I was heating my scone in the toaster oven when the alarm went off.”

Alex shrugs. “Okay…”

“I don’t believe I turned the toaster oven off before I left.”

Behind him, Andrew snorts. “Way to go, Professor Fox.”

“Second floor, you said?” Alex asks, and Henry nods again.

“There’s a sign on the door. Or you can simply follow the smoke.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Alex says.

He takes a step away, then rethinks it and puts the helmet on so he has two hands to take off his turnout coat, leaving him in a dark blue long-sleeve shirt and suspenders.

“Take it,” he says as he holds the coat out to Henry. “You’re freezing.”

“But don’t you need this?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay outside and support.” He shakes the coat at Henry. “Buildings about to burn down, Hen. Do you really want to add arsonist to your job title? Fit it right in there between professor and author?”

Henry huffs and takes the coat. “Thank you,” he says as he pulls it on. It’s not very warm, and it smells like smoke, but it’s something. It’s Alex’s. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m happy to help. I really gotta—.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, and Henry nods.

“Right, yes, of course. I’ll remember to turn off the oven next time.”

“Third times a charm!” Alex shouts before he takes off, jogging across the lot.

“Way to go, Professor Fox,” Andrew says again, this time with a smooth grin as he claps his hand against Henry’s shoulder. “You know, he kind of looks like that hot firefighter that rescued that dog.”

Henry tenses, and Andrew gasps.

“Oh shit, that was that hot firefighter. Wait—-was that your dog?”

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Henry says, but Andrew is unperturbed.

“Oh my god, that’s a grade-A meet cute.”

“We had met before that,” Henry says, and Andrew’s brows shoot up. “Not like that. We’re not like that. We’re just in each other's orbit, that’s all.”

“Because you’re dating?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s interested in someone else, that’s why.”

“Well, someone else isn't wearing the hot firefighter's coat with his name written on the back right now. Aren’t you always talking to us about symbolism? That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t throw my lessons back at me,” Henry says as he glances across the lot at Alex.

As if he could sense it, Alex looks back and waves. Henry feels hope, possibly dangerous and misguided, flickering to life in his chest.

+1

“What time do you want to leave?”

Bea whirls around, her fresh cranberry soda spilling over the side of the glass.

“Henry,” she says as she accepts a napkin from him. “This is a New Year’s Eve party. The purpose is to stay until the new year. It’s ten forty-five.”

Henry stares at her. “Yes. And?”

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “This is your party.”

“This isn’t a party. This is a fundraising gala for the university disguised as a New Year’s Eve party. That mocktail in your hands cost me twenty-five dollars.”

“As if you’re not good for it,” Bea tells him. “This is fun.”

“This is the opposite of fun,” Henry says as someone bumps into him.

It’s too loud. There are too many people. His tux is uncomfortable and his shoes are too tight.

“I’m having fun,” Bea tells him.

“You can have fun anywhere. If it were up to me—.”

“We’d be back at your place,” Bea starts, “in our jammies, watching Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time, drinking tea, and eating the Jaffa Cakes I brought for you. Yes, I know.”

“That is a fun evening for me.”

“Which is exactly why we’re staying.” She twirls out of the way with a laugh as a conga line shuffles by. “I have to say your coworkers are fun.”

“These are not my coworkers,” Henry says. “These are champagne-drunk clones. You know, I went to find the loo and found four of them snogging instead.”

Bea tips her head to the side. “Separate or all together.”

“Separate,” Henry says flatly. “Two and two.”

“Sounds like they were having fun. Perhaps you should join in next time.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in anyone at work.”

Bea’s eyes light up. “So that means you’re interested in someone out of work.”

“No,” Henry tells her, “it means—.”

Henry snaps his mouth shut the second he sees him. It’s like the lights get brighter, and the room gets warmer. Henry can’t look away as Alex makes his way over to the bar.

It’s the first time he’s seen Alex out of uniform—in slacks and a soft-looking sweater, his hair slicked back. He looks good, and for one terrifying second, Henry thinks he might be on a date, that’ll he’ll have to watch sweet smiles and soft touches, but the bartender only sets one drink down in front of him.

“Henry….hello….” Bea snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry,” Henry tells her as he fiddles with the menu. “But there is a man at the bar—.”

Bea begins to swing around, but Henry grabs her around the shoulders.

“Would you please practice some discretion?”

Bea rolls her eyes but glances more casually over her shoulder. “Which man are you talking about?”

“Blue sweater, dark hair.”

“The gorgeous one?” Bea asks, and Henry nods. “He looks familiar. Where do I know him from?” Wait–. Is that the firefighter that saved David?”

Henry nods, and Bea smiles.

“I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“He’s an alum,” Henry tells her. “He probably got an invitation.”

“He told you he went to Georgetown while he was rescuing David?”

“No. I knew that already. We met prior—not like that,” he says when her brows shoot up. “We just…seem to be around each other a lot, that’s all.”

“I think you’re going to need to explain this more clearly.”

“In the past month or so, I’ve had several reasons to cross paths—professionally—with the local fire department.”

“How many is several?”

Henry brings his glass of champagne up to his mouth. “Five,” he says before he takes a long sip.

“You’ve called the fire department five times in one month.”

“Month or so,” Henry corrects. “And it wasn’t always me calling; sometimes it was my neighbor, and sometimes they just happened to show up. It’s complicated.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Bea says flatly. “So, you and this firefighter…”

“Alex,” Henry says as he twirls the stem of the glass between his fingers. “I’m unsure. Sometimes it feels like maybe there is something, but others I feel like he’s just doing his job.”

“What makes you think there might be something?”

“He’s so….friendly. He’s tossed around a few terms of endearment, but perhaps that’s just the way he is. A charmer. Maybe I’ve called him in crisis, and he thought that would disarm me. I can’t say that it didn’t work. I just have a hard time believing that someone like him would be interested in someone like me.”

“Oh, Henry,” Bea says, and Henry looks away.

“He’s just so….bright.”

“Doesn’t look very bright tonight, does he?”

Henry looks over Bea’s shoulder at Alex, who looks lost in the middle of the room.

“Alone on New Year’s,” Bea continues. “It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?”

“I was alone for Christmas.”

Bea hums and Henry heaves a sigh.

“We don’t know that he’s alone. He could be waiting for someone.”

Bea glances back and scoffs. “Certainly doesn’t look like it’s the man he’s talking to now. Or that’s talking to him.”

Henry looks again and sees that a man has squeezed himself into Alex’s space, gesturing with the beer bottle in his hand as he talks.

Alex does not look engaged, rocking back on his heels, his shoulders tense and tight.

“You should ask him to dance,” Bea says, and Henry scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about that? He’ll probably appreciate you saving him from that man. You could say it’s a thank you for all the times he’s helped you. The worst he could say is no.”

“And that is the absolute worst.”

“You’ll never know unless you try.” Bea takes a sip of her drink. “You better do it, or I will.”

Henry laughs, but when Bea starts to turn, he quickly darts around her.

“Fine,” he says as he fiddles with his bow tie. “Do I look all right?”

“Very handsome,” she tells him. “Although you do have something on your shirt.”

He gasps and looks down, and Bea laughs.

“I’m kidding, go get your man.”

Henry groans nervously before he rolls his shoulders back and makes his way across the room, where the man seemingly holding Alex hostage is droning on about trickle-down economics.

Henry recognizes him vaguely. Professor Adler—maybe—from the School of Business, who always asks unnecessary questions during faculty meetings and tries to suck up to the University President every chance he gets.

“See, the thing is, people just haven’t given it a chance. These things take time. Some people want to snap their fingers and come up with a solution. It doesn’t work like that, you know? So, can I buy you another drink?”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts as he takes a risk and slides his arm around Alex’s waist. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Alex says as he leans into him. “Sorry I’m late, traffic is a mess.”

“Understandable,” Henry tells him with a smile. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

Alex smiles back. “So am I.”

“Oh,” Professor Adler—maybe—says. “Professor Fox, I didn’t know that you…” he trails off and looks Alex over. “Congratulations.”

“I’m very lucky,” Henry agrees as he squeezes Alex’s waist.

Professor Adler hums shortly before he turns his sight on his next target and starts off.

“I’m sorry,” Henry says as he lets Alex go.

“Don’t be,” Alex tells him. “You know that guy?”

“Not very well, thank god. From what I can gather, he’s an ex-finance bro who ended up teaching instead of on Wall Street.”

“Do you think discussing Reaganomics is a line that ever works for him?”

“God help us if it does,” Henry says, and Alex laughs. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I wasn’t really expecting to be here,” Alex admits. “I got the invite months ago and didn’t think anything of it, but I ended up with nothing to do tonight, so….” He trails off with a frown. “I’m sorry—I should let you get back to your date.”

“My date?” Henry asks as Alex nods over Henry’s shoulder to where Bea is failing miserably at pretending she’s not staring at them. “No, no,” Henry says quickly, “that’s my sister.”

“Oh,” Alex says, sounding strangely relieved.

“I am deeply, deeply gay.” Henry continues. “I’m sorry, I thought that was obvious.”

“Not really,” Alex says, “I mean, you’ve never really confirmed anything publicly–not that you need to share that in your interviews—.”

“You’ve listened to my interviews?” Henry asks, and he swears Alex blushes.

“I hang on your every word, remember?”

“Oh,” Henry says softly as Bea clears her throat behind him, clearly fed up with standing in the background.

“Henry,” she says with a gentle jab to his ribs, “are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Bea,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “this is Alex, Alex, this my sister, Bea.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Bea says as she sticks out her hand. “Although I must admit I feel like I already know you from the video where you saved both my beloved doggy nephew and my equally beloved brother.”

“One of my proudest moments as a first responder,” Alex jokes.

“I do think the video would have been much more popular if it showed you helping Henry off that baby ladder.”

“It was a very tall ladder,” Henry defends.

“Sure,” Bea says pleasantly before turning back to Alex. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Bea,” Henry warns.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” Alex tells her. “How’s the pop-punk band and the kitten?”

Bea lights up. “She’s wonderful. Snuggled up with David when we left. Do you want to see?” She asks, but she’s already pulling her phone out of her clutch.

“So it’s just Louis that David doesn’t like?” Alex asks as Bea flips through the photos.

“Louis and David have reached a gentleman’s agreement,” Henry tells him. “David won’t look Louis directly in the eye, and Louis will retract his claws when he swings at him.”

Alex smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Alex is engaged and interested, asking Bea about her band and more about Iman and Henry when he was little, but something is very clearly off. Through another round of drinks and carefully avoiding being caught with tipsy coworkers beneath mistletoe, Henry watches the corners of Alex’s mouth pull down, and his brows pinch together. His laugh sounds hollow and forced, and he never stops drumming his fingers against the side of his glass.

This is not the same man he’s been seeing for the past month, but this isn’t the place to find out why.

“I think I might get some fresh air,” Henry says during a lull in conversation. “I’ve had a bit too much champagne.” He eyes the way Alex’s foot taps in tandem with his fingers. “Alex, would you like to join me?”

“Actually,” Alex says, “I think I’m ready to head home.”

“So is Henry,” Bea adds quickly. “He’s been ready to go home for nearly an hour now. You see, if he’s exposed to too much fun, he could explode. He’s been pushed to the limit here, and while I’d like for him to stay, I really can’t ask for too much.”

“Galas aren’t really my idea of fun,” Henry explains, and Alex nods.

“I can walk you home if you’d like,” Alex tells him. “It’s basically on my way.”

“You really don’t need to—.”

“He would love that,” Bea interrupts.

“I’ll go get our coats,” Alex says, gesturing over his shoulder at the coat check and Bea smiles.

“That would be wonderful,” she says as he steps away.

Henry clears his throat. “I do enjoy how you both planned all that without me.”

“It’s for your own good,” Bea tells him. “You never would have made a move otherwise.”

“And what makes you think I’ll make a move now?”

“Because it’s New Year’s. Because that man is beautiful. And because if you don’t, I’ll kick your arse to London and back.”

Henry sighs. “You’re sure you’ll be all right here?” He asks as a waiter with a tray of champagne walks by.

“Do not coddle me,” Bea warns. “I’ve worked very hard to get where I am, and if I tell you I can stay here and have fun while also being sober and safe, then I can do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Henry tells her, feeling like he’s just been scolded by their mother.

“Good,” Bea says, tone lighter as she picks an invisible piece of lint off his tux. “Now, go make your move.”

“Will your sister be okay with making it back to your place on her own?” Alex asks as they step out onto the street. “I feel kind of bad about leaving her.”

“Don’t,” Henry says as he wraps his scarf around his neck. “She is a very capable and independent woman. Plus, I already expressed my concerns, and she threatened me so…”

Alex huffs a laugh. “She seems really great. You can tell how much she loves you–how much you love her.” He pauses at the street corner, his arm across Henry’s to stop him from crossing before a car passes. “It’s nice.”

Henry hums in agreement and follows him across the street, where they walk in silence. Henry doesn’t mind it; he’s spent most of his life in this way. It gives him a chance to take in his surroundings, the decorations in the windows of the businesses, and the twinkling lights wrapped around the street lamps. It’s beautiful this time of year. He’ll miss it when it’s gone.

“You know I hope you didn’t feel obligated to leave with me,” Alex says, breaking the bubble. “I wasn’t trying to cut your night short.”

“It was a welcome end.”

“I really should’ve left you both to it. I didn’t mean to hang around for so long—I know you only talked to me because of that guy–.”

“Alex—.”

“I totally crashed your night out with your sister like an asshole.”

“Alex,” Henry says, taking Alex by the arm. “You did not crash my night out. I wanted you to hang around, and I wanted to leave when I did.” He lets Alex go. “But I do have to admit that I am a bit worried about you.”

Alex frowns. “Why is that?”

“Because you seem a little….different. Glum. Plus, you don’t strike me as someone who’s usually alone on New Year’s Eve.”

Alex laughs humorlessly. “You’d be surprised. My parents divorced when I was a kid—my dad moved to California, and my mom worked a lot, so usually, it was just me and my sister. When we did all get together after that, it inevitably ended with my parents fighting over something stupid, and the whole holiday was ruined. That’s what happened this year. Went all the way down to Texas just to turn around and come right back.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry tells him, and Alex shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better, I was at home, alone, hunkered down in the dark so my neighbor couldn’t see my lights, reading Persuasion for the fifth time.”

“Fuck, if I had known that, I would’ve come over. You know,” he says when Henry’s brows raise. “And hung out.” He adds quickly. “I don’t know why I went tonight,” he admits. “I thought it would be fun—get my mind off some things. I just ended up feeling out of place.”

“You felt out of place? I’m in a tux, for Christ's sake.”

“The invitation did say black tie.”

“Optional,” Henry finishes. “And it seemed like most people took the option.”

“Only because I don’t have a tux. I guess I could’ve worn my dress uniform.”

“That would’ve been…” Henry trails off, imagining it, and Alex smiles and stops on the corner.

“So, if we go four blocks that way,” Alex says, pointing right, “we’ll get to your place. Or, we could go three blocks this way—.” He points straight ahead. “And I could give you a tour of the firehouse. You could come to my place for once.”

“I’ve actually been there,” Henry tells him. “It’s where I got my Christmas tree. I guess you weren’t working that day.”

Alex tips his head back and laughs, his breath creating a column of smoke as it floats into the air. “You’re fucking kidding,” he says. “Talk about bad timing.”

“But I didn’t get to go inside,” Henry points out. “All the trees were set up in the alleyway. I’d love a tour of the inside if that’s allowed.”

“I’m pretty sure I can pull some strings,” Alex says with a grin. “You’re sure David won’t miss you?”

“He has Iman to keep him company. I’ve got time.”

The firehouse looks beautiful at night—multicolored lights strung across the roofline and wreaths in the upper windows. Inside, it’s a bit cold and sterile. Very organized and clean with concrete floors and lockers against the wall, Claremont-Diaz written in bold, block letters above the third one from the left. Still, it feels homey, a television playing somewhere upstairs and people laughing, muffled but still joyful, and the air smells like a warm, home-cooked meal.

“What do you think?” Alex asks as Henry looks around the empty bay.

“Is there supposed to be a firetruck here?”

“Out on a call,” Alex answers. “Who knows what they’ll have to deal with tonight.”

“Do you wish you were with them?”

Slowly, Alex shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

Henry looks away so Alex can’t see him blush and unwraps the scarf from around his neck.

“Make yourself at home,” Alex says when Henry removes his jacket and hangs them both in Alex’s locker.

“Plan to,” Henry says as he stands in the middle of the bay and holds out his hand. “I believe I owe you a dance.”

“Are you serious?” Alex asks.

“No better place to do it,” Henry says. “Solid, flat floor, and plenty of medical professionals nearby if you break my toes.”

“Fuck you,” Alex says with absolutely no heat in his voice.

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to get the hang of it?”

“I have faith in your teaching skills, Professor Fox,” Alex says as he takes Henry’s hand.

“Let me lead,” Henry tells him as he moves Alex’s other hand up to his bicep. “Now you’re going to step back with your right foot, and I’ll step forward with my left.

Alex nods, the palm of his right hand pressed to Henry’s left as they start to move.

“Good,” Henry tells him. “It’s really very simple.”

“Yeah, 'cause all we’re doing is walking back and forth.”

“And yet your eyes are glued to your feet. Chin up, love.”

Alex complies with a deep sigh, and Henry smiles.

“Now, when you step back this time, step right as well. Then bring your feet together, then step forward and together. Chin up.”

“I’m trying,” Alex says as he goes left instead of right, then overcorrects and takes too big of a step that lands directly on Henry’s foot. “You’re making me nervous.”

“You run into burning buildings for a living, and a waltz is making you nervous?”

“I said you’re making me nervous.”

“That makes even less sense than the dance.”

“Not really,” Alex says as he comes to a sudden stop, but he doesn’t let go of Henry’s hand. “I lied to you earlier when I said I didn't know why I went to the gala. I went because I was hoping that you would be there. I wanted to see you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to do that? You’re fucking brilliant and funny and sweet, and you look like James Bond in a tux, but I also think you’re equally hot in pajamas or with a mud mask on. I was having the shittiest holiday ever—I felt out of place everywhere I went–and all it took was one look at you to save it. I’m right where I want to be.”

“At the firehouse?”

Alex smiles and shakes his head, their fingers threading together. “No, I meant with you. Can I take you out sometime—if you’re interested?”

“If? Alex, I’ve been interested since I first saw you. I couldn’t believe my luck when you kept showing up right when I needed you.”

Alex frowns. “You didn’t….do any of that on purpose, did you?”

“Did I send my sweet dog onto the roof on the off chance the firefighter I was smitten with would come to my rescue?”

“You’re smitten with me?” Alex asks with a smug smile, and Henry rolls his eyes.

“You have pierced my soul,” Henry tells him as the sound of Alex’s coworkers counting down from ten floats into the bay.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Alex says. “Here’s hoping it’s a safe one.”

Henry smiles, then leans down and seals the prophecy with a kiss.