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Eddie does not join a dating website.
Eddie especially does not join a dating website called romancingtheuniform.com, which sounds less like a place to meet a nice man and more like the URL you click right before your credit card gets stolen and your mother gets an email that says CONGRATULATIONS: HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA LOVE A MAN IN BOOTS.
He says as much—calmly, reasonably—while standing in his Abuela’s kitchen as she sprinkles cinnamon into cafecito like she’s conducting a ritual.
“No,” Eddie repeats, for the third time. “I am not doing that.”
Pepa—his Tía Pepa, in her element, leaning against the counter with the confidence of a woman who has never once been wrong about anything in her entire life—tilts her head. “Mijo.”
Eddie braces automatically. That tone is the one that usually precedes either (a) emotional blackmail, (b) a blessing, or (c) a warning.
“You came out to us,” Pepa says, like she’s making a toast. “You were brave.”
“I was,” Eddie agrees, because he was. It had been terrifying, and also… not. Not with them. With them it had been like stepping into warm water. Abuela had teared up, kissed his forehead, and said, Ay, mi amor, you didn’t think I knew? Pepa had immediately asked if he had a crush on someone and whether that someone had a job and if he was a good man and—because Pepa is Pepa—if he had nice shoulders.
Eddie’s face heats just remembering it.
“And what did you say?” Abuela asks now, stirring. Her eyes are sharp even when her voice is gentle. “You said you don’t want to be alone.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. He wants to argue. He wants to say it’s not that simple. That he has Christopher, and that counts. That he has routines. That he has a life.
But he’d said it. Quietly. Like it was a confession.
And Abuela had patted his hand like she was sealing it in her palm to keep it safe.
Pepa reaches for her phone, unlocking it with a flourish. “So. We help.”
“We?” Eddie says.
Abuela, without looking up, says, “Yes.”
Eddie looks between them, alarm bells chiming. “Absolutely not.”
Pepa makes a disappointed sound. “Eddie. You’re twenty-something going on eighty.”
“I am—”
“You are a single father,” Pepa continues as if he hasn’t spoken, “and you are handsome, and you are kind, and you have a job where you literally save people. If men don’t line up for you, then men are—” She flicks her fingers. “—stupid.”
Eddie closes his eyes. “Please don’t say ‘line up for you’.”
Abuela sips her cafecito and gives him a look that says she will absolutely say whatever she wants, whenever she wants, for the rest of her natural life.
Pepa’s thumb flies over her screen. “Anyway. This one is perfect.”
Eddie opens his eyes, suspicious. “What is ‘this one’.”
Pepa angles her phone toward him.
ROMANCINGTHEUNIFORM.COM fills the screen in a proud, patriotic font that looks like it was designed by someone who thinks “sexy” and “military surplus store” are synonyms. There’s a picture of a very shiny firefighter holding a puppy. There are little icons: a badge, a stethoscope, a police hat. A banner that says: FIND YOUR HERO (OR BE THEIRS).
Eddie stares. “Is that… legal.”
“It’s a dating site for first responders,” Pepa says. “Or people who love first responders.”
Eddie’s eyebrows climb. “So it’s… fetish-adjacent.”
“It’s community,” Pepa corrects immediately. “They understand the schedule. The stress. The danger. They have the same kind of humor.”
Eddie thinks, involuntarily, about the Army. About how humor in that world often came in the form of saying the worst possible thing with a straight face because otherwise you’d start screaming.
His mouth twists. “I don’t need a man who understands my humor. I need a man who—” Eddie stops, because he has no idea what he needs. He has spent years needing Christopher. Needing stability. Needing to keep his own heart in a locked box so it doesn’t rattle around and scare anyone.
Abuela sets her mug down. “You need someone who sees you,” she says simply. “All of you.”
Eddie’s chest goes tight in a different way. “I have you,” he says, because he does. He has them. He has family.
Abuela’s smile is soft. “Yes. And you can have more.”
Pepa leans in like she’s about to make a business pitch. “Also,” she adds cheerfully, “it has filters. Very helpful.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Filters.”
“Age.” Pepa counts on her fingers. “Distance. Job. Whether they want kids. Whether they already have kids.”
Eddie freezes on the last one.
Pepa’s smile turns sly. “You could find someone who doesn’t freak out when you say, ‘By the way, I have a son, and he will always come first.’”
Eddie’s defensive instincts flare. “Most people don’t freak out—”
Pepa lifts her eyebrows like she’s watched him go on exactly zero dates and yet somehow knows the entire story anyway.
Eddie exhales through his nose. “It’s not about that.”
“It is a little about that,” Abuela murmurs.
Eddie rubs his face. “You’re ganging up on me.”
Pepa beams. “Yes.”
Abuela, equally unapologetic, says, “We love you.”
Eddie’s heart does that annoying thing where it softens in the face of love, like it’s rude to keep the walls up when people are being tender.
He drops his hand. “Fine. But I’m not posting pictures. I’m not writing some—some—”
Pepa is already tapping. “Bio. You need a bio.”
“I do not need a bio.”
“You need a bio,” Abuela agrees.
Eddie stares at them in betrayal. “Abuela.”
Abuela reaches over and smooths the front of his shirt like he’s fifteen again. “We are not putting your last name. We are not putting your address. We are not telling strangers where you live. Pepa, no.”
Pepa looks offended. “Abuela, please. I’m not an amateur.”
Eddie’s head is starting to ache.
Pepa holds the phone out. “Choose a username.”
Eddie looks at the blank field like it’s a trap.
“Something cool,” Pepa prompts.
Eddie’s mouth goes dry. Cool is not… his. He is a man who irons his uniform like it’s a moral obligation.
He glances at Abuela. “Can I… not.”
Abuela smiles sweetly. “No.”
Eddie, defeated, types: MedicDad.
Pepa squints. “A little boring.”
Eddie glares. “It is accurate.”
Abuela pats his shoulder. “It is nice.”
Eddie keeps his expression steady and does not let the warmth show on his face, even though it wants to.
Pepa starts filling out the prompts like she’s building a Sims character. “Occupation?”
“Fire fighter in training,” Eddie says automatically. “Former Army medic.”
Pepa’s eyes light up. “Oh, the girls are going to—”
“Men,” Eddie says tightly.
Pepa snaps her mouth shut. Then, without missing a beat: “Oh, the men are going to—”
“Stop.”
Abuela makes a pleased sound like she’s savoring the way he said it—men—and how natural it sounded, even when he’s bristling.
Pepa keeps going. “Looking for?”
Eddie’s throat tightens again. “I… don’t know.”
Abuela watches him. “You can say, ‘someone kind.’”
Pepa singsongs, “Someone who doesn’t mind a schedule and a kid and a man who pretends he doesn’t like romance movies but secretly does—”
“I do not—”
Abuela’s eyes twinkle. “You cried at that one movie with the dog.”
Eddie’s ears burn. “That does not count.”
Pepa presses her hand to her chest in theatrical sincerity. “We want you to be happy.”
Eddie’s chest aches at the sheer force of it. “I want Chris to be happy.”
“And you,” Abuela says. No argument.
Eddie swallows, then types, with stiff fingers: Looking for something real. New to this. Please be patient. I’m a single dad, and my son comes first.
Pepa reads it and makes a noise like she’s about to cry. “That is… actually sweet.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Are you about to make fun of me.”
“Yes,” Pepa says honestly. “But later. Right now, it is sweet.”
Abuela nods. “Good.”
Pepa presses “Create Profile” with a decisive tap.
Eddie watches the screen load, like he can physically feel the internet noticing him.
He hates it.
He hates it so much.
Pepa hands him the phone. “Now.”
Eddie stares. There are profile thumbnails: men in uniforms, men in scrubs, men holding fish (why is that universal), men posing in gym mirrors. A surprising number of men with dogs. A not-insignificant number of men who have clearly never met a shirt they didn’t want to take off.
Eddie’s mouth goes dry.
He scrolls with his thumb like it’s a bomb he has to disarm.
Then—
A profile pops up with a picture that looks like it was taken mid-laugh: bright blue eyes, messy hair, a crooked grin like the person behind it is incapable of taking anything seriously for longer than ten seconds. He’s wearing a firefighter T-shirt, sweat-dark at the collar, and he looks… happy. Like it’s not something he has to earn. Like it’s just something that lives in him.
Username: firehose
Bio: Firefighter. LA. Looking for someone kind (and brave enough to handle my schedule).
I surf badly, hike enthusiastically, and make a mean pancake.
Eddie stares at the bio, and despite himself, a little laugh slips out.
Pepa’s head whips around. “Ah.”
“No,” Eddie says immediately, because the laugh was a mistake and Pepa is a predator that can smell weakness.
Pepa leans over his shoulder. “Who is that?”
“No one.”
“Show me.”
Eddie tries to angle the screen away, but Pepa is faster and also, unfortunately, built for this kind of family ambush. Abuela leans in too, peering like she’s reading a menu.
“Oh,” Abuela says softly.
Eddie’s stomach flips. “What.”
“He has kind eyes,” Abuela says.
Pepa hums. “He has arms.”
Eddie’s face heats. “Tía.”
Pepa grins. “Swipe.”
Eddie’s fingers go numb. “I’m not—”
Pepa points at the screen. “He likes pancakes. You like pancakes. It’s fate.”
“It’s carbs.”
“It’s fate,” Pepa insists.
Eddie’s heart is beating stupidly fast. “This is ridiculous.”
Abuela sips her cafecito. “Yes.”
Pepa nods. “Also yes.”
Eddie looks at them. “Then why are we doing it?”
Abuela’s eyes soften. “Because life is ridiculous, and still we live it.”
Eddie stares at her for a second, because sometimes Abuela says things like that, like she’s tossing wisdom into the air the way she tosses sugar into coffee.
Pepa makes a shooing motion. “Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.”
Eddie exhales, then, with the doomed resignation of a man walking into a haunted house, swipes right.
The screen flashes:
IT’S A MATCH!
Eddie’s stomach drops through the floor.
Pepa lets out a strangled squeal like she’s winning a game show. Abuela smiles like she just watched him take his first step as a baby.
Eddie, feeling a little like he might throw up, stares at the chat box.
A typing bubble appears immediately.
Because of course the first man Eddie matches with on a ridiculous website is also a man who apparently sits by his phone like he’s waiting for Eddie Diaz specifically to swipe right.
The message pops up.
firehose: HI. Okay, wow. Hi. Sorry. Hi.
Eddie stares.
Pepa whispers, delighted, “He is panicked.”
Eddie mutters, “So am I.”
Another message.
firehose: You’re a medic?? That’s cool as hell. Also your username says dad? Like… you have a kid?
Eddie’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, suddenly aware of every worst-case scenario. Men who want a hookup. Men who say they’re fine with kids and then aren’t. Men who see “single dad” and think baggage.
He thinks of Christopher’s laugh. His small hand in Eddie’s. The way he says, Dad, like it’s the safest word in the world.
MedicDad: Yeah. I have a son. He’s seven.
The response comes so fast.
firehose: STOP. That’s adorable. Wait—sorry, not stop like bad stop. Stop like I’m excited. Okay. What’s his name? Do you have pictures? Only if you’re comfortable. I just—kids are awesome. Also single dads are… kind of hot? Is that creepy?
Eddie blinks.
He rereads it.
Then reads it again.
Pepa’s hand flies to her mouth. “Ay Dios mío.”
Abuela’s eyes are shining.
Eddie’s pulse trips, because he was prepared for polite disinterest, for “oh, cool” and then silence. He was not prepared for… this. Immediate enthusiasm. A man who says kids are awesome like it’s not something he has to reassure himself about.
Eddie types: Not creepy. His name is Christopher. And no pictures. Not on here.
firehose: Respect. Totally. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I just got excited because I love kids and also I love the idea of you being someone’s dad. That’s—wow. Okay. I’m making it weird. I swear I’m normal.
Eddie’s mouth twists. He can practically hear the words tumbling out of this guy, like he can’t help it.
Eddie types, against his better judgment: Define normal.
firehose: Okay rude. 😂 I mean I pay my taxes and I don’t have a weird basement. (I have a normal basement. That is full of normal things. Like… a treadmill I don’t use.)
Eddie snorts, an actual sound. Pepa looks like she’s about to burst into song.
MedicDad: You have a basement? In LA?
firehose: I know! Fancy. (It’s my sister’s house. I rent the loft above her garage. But I get basement access for laundry, so basically I’m rich.)
MedicDad: I can’t tell if you’re flirting or if you’re just like this.
firehose: Both. I’m flirting. I’m also like this. I’m Buck, by the way. Evan, technically, but everyone calls me Buck. Except people who are mad at me. Then it’s Evan. Do you want me to call you Eddie or Edmundo?
Eddie’s throat tightens again, because something in the question feels… gentle. Like choice. Like respect.
MedicDad: Eddie is fine.
firehose: Eddie. Cool. Hi, Eddie.
Eddie stares at the screen for a beat too long.
Pepa whispers, “He said your name.”
Eddie mutters, “It’s in my profile.”
Abuela says, “Still.”
Eddie presses his lips together. The heat in his chest is annoying.
MedicDad: Hi, Buck.
The typing bubble appears immediately again.
firehose: Okay, I’m going to be honest. I swiped because you look like you could carry me out of a burning building, and then I read your bio and you said you’re new to this and you want something real, and that’s… yeah. That’s my thing. I mean, not “new” specifically. I’m not predatory. I just— I like real. I like kind. I like… you.
Eddie’s entire body goes still.
Pepa makes a tiny, strangled sound like she’s physically restraining herself from grabbing the phone and typing MARRY HIM.
Eddie’s thumb hovers.
His mind flashes through a dozen things: fear, excitement, the memory of his own voice shaking when he came out, the relief after. The way Christopher had hugged him this morning like Eddie was the center of his universe.
MedicDad: You don’t know me.
firehose: You’re right. I don’t. But I want to. If you let me.
Eddie swallows.
He thinks of Abuela’s words: You can have more.
MedicDad: Okay. But I’m bad at this.
firehose: Perfect. I’m bad at everything. We can be bad together.
Eddie laughs again, quiet, surprised.
Pepa fist-pumps like she’s watching a sport.
Abuela just smiles, like she’s already prayed for this and now it’s arriving.
Eddie keeps talking to Buck that night, and the next.
He learns Buck is in LA. That he’s a firefighter. That he has a sister and apparently a deep personal vendetta against laundry.
Buck asks about Eddie’s day, about Christopher’s favorite foods, about whether Eddie likes movies (Eddie says he doesn’t, Buck sends him three gifs that suggest Eddie is lying).
Eddie asks about Buck’s job, and Buck is infuriatingly vague about details (“fire stuff,” “people stuff,” “I’m very heroic, it’s exhausting”), but he’s earnest in a way that makes Eddie’s chest feel like it’s being gently squeezed.
By the third day, Buck is calling him medicdad like it’s affectionate instead of boring.
By the fifth day, Eddie catches himself smiling at his phone like a teenager.
By the seventh day, Pepa is texting him at work: DID YOU TELL HIM YOU’RE HANDSOME TODAY? and Eddie blocks her for an hour out of principle.
Then, late one night, after Christopher’s asleep and Eddie’s sitting on his couch with the lights low and his heart doing something reckless in his chest, Buck sends another message.
firehose: Okay. So. Real question. Would you maybe want to meet? Like in person? No pressure. But I want to take you out. Properly. Like a date date.
Eddie stares at it until his eyes blur.
A date.
With a man.
A date.
His stomach flips.
His first instinct is to say no. To be safe. To stay in the life he knows.
His second instinct is Buck’s voice in his head—bright, warm—If you let me.
MedicDad: I have a kid.
The response is immediate.
firehose: I know. And I’m not asking you to rearrange your whole life. We can do coffee. We can do lunch. We can do whatever feels safe. I just… want to see you.
Eddie’s throat goes tight. He stares at the words want to see you like they’re something he’s allowed to have.
MedicDad: Okay. Coffee. Saturday.
firehose: YES. Okay. Great. I’m going to be cool. I’m going to be so cool that you’ll think I’m a different person. (I’m kidding. I can’t do that.) Where do you want to meet?
Eddie types the name of a coffee place halfway between his house and… well. He’s not actually sure where Buck is, because Buck has been annoyingly vague.
firehose: Perfect. I’ll be there. Eddie—
The typing bubble pauses, then continues.
firehose: I’m really excited. Like… really excited
Eddie stares at it, pulse loud in his ears.
MedicDad: Me too.
Then he puts the phone down and sits very still, like if he moves, his life might rearrange itself around him.
From the kitchen, Pepa calls, “Did he ask you out?”
Eddie flinches. “How—”
Abuela’s voice floats in, smugly gentle. “Mijo. Your face.”
Eddie presses his palm to his eyes. “I hate both of you.”
Pepa laughs. “You love us.”
Eddie exhales, helpless. “Yeah.”
And even with his panic climbing like a cat up his spine, there’s something underneath it that feels… like hope.
Which is, honestly, worse.
Saturday arrives like an ambush.
Eddie spends the morning doing everything wrong on purpose, just to feel like he has control.
He makes Christopher pancakes, but they come out uneven because Eddie keeps looking at the clock.
He tries to clean, but he ends up rearranging the same stack of mail three times.
He changes his shirt twice and then goes back to the first one because at least it’s not trying too hard.
Christopher watches him with the narrowed eyes of a kid who knows his father is acting weird.
“Are you going somewhere?” Christopher asks, mouth full of pancake.
Eddie freezes. Lies are not his thing, especially not with Chris.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just… coffee.”
Christopher squints harder. “With who.”
Eddie’s heart does a stupid leap. He keeps his voice neutral. “A friend.”
Christopher considers this. “Is it a girl friend.”
Eddie’s mouth goes dry.
He’s told Abuela. Pepa. He has not told Christopher yet—not because he’s ashamed, but because he’s… careful. Because Christopher is seven, and Eddie wants to do it right. Wants it to be safe and simple and not tangled up in Eddie’s own nerves.
Eddie says, gently, “Not a girl.”
Christopher’s eyes widen. “A boy friend?”
Eddie coughs. “He’s not— I mean, maybe. I don’t know. It’s… a date.”
Christopher goes very still.
Eddie braces for a million things.
Then Christopher grins. “Okay.”
Eddie blinks. “What.”
Christopher rolls his eyes like Eddie is the slowest person alive. “Tía Pepa said you need a boyfriend so you stop being grumpy.”
Eddie stares. “I’m not grumpy.”
Christopher points his fork at him. “You are grumpy. Like this.” He pulls an exaggerated scowl.
Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay. So we’re just… telling my business to everyone now.”
Christopher shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “Abuela says it’s okay because you’re brave.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. “Yeah?”
Christopher nods, very serious for a second. “Yeah. And I want you to be happy.”
Eddie feels something crack open in his chest. “You already make me happy, buddy.”
Christopher’s smile is small and certain. “You can have more.”
Eddie stares at him because that is—word for word—what Abuela said.
“Did Abuela put you up to that,” Eddie asks, suspicious.
Christopher giggles. “Maybe.”
Eddie exhales, shaking his head. “Okay. Okay. I’m going.”
Christopher nods decisively. “Wear the white shirt.”
Eddie looks down at the gray shirt he chose.
Christopher stares until Eddie caves.
“Fine,” Eddie mutters, and changes into the white shirt.
By the time he drops Christopher off at Abuela’s—Pepa waiting on the porch like a smug gremlin—Eddie’s nerves are a live wire.
Pepa kisses his cheek and whispers, “If he is not nice, I will kill him.”
Eddie’s eyes widen. “Tía.”
Pepa smiles sweetly. “I am kidding. Mostly.”
Abuela hugs him, firm. “Have fun.”
Eddie’s laugh comes out strangled. “Sure.”
He gets in his car and sits for a full ten seconds with his hands on the steering wheel, breathing like he’s about to go into combat.
It’s coffee. It’s just coffee.
He has faced worse than coffee.
He has faced IEDs.
He has faced trauma.
He has faced Christopher’s kindergarten teacher saying, “We need to talk.”
He can do coffee.
He drives to the café like it’s a mission. He arrives ten minutes early and immediately regrets it because now he has ten full minutes to panic.
He stands outside, staring through the window, watching strangers drink drinks like they aren’t about to meet someone who could change their life.
Eddie checks his phone.
A message from Buck.
firehose: I’m here. Inside. I’m wearing a stupidly bright shirt because my brain said “be memorable.” If you see a human highlighter, that’s me.
Eddie’s heart does a weird flip.
He steps inside.
The café smells like coffee and sugar and fresh bread and the kind of normal life Eddie sometimes forgets exists.
He scans the room automatically, habits deep in his bones.
Then he sees him.
Buck is… exactly like his pictures and also somehow more. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, sitting at a small table like he belongs there, knees too long, energy vibrating under his skin. He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt that should look ridiculous and instead looks like sunshine decided to be a person.
Buck looks up.
His face lights up so fast it’s almost cartoonish.
Eddie’s brain does something unhelpful, like Oh. Oh, he’s pretty.
Buck stands immediately, nearly knocking his chair back. “Eddie!”
Eddie’s feet keep moving like his body knows what to do even if his brain is short-circuiting. “Buck.”
Buck grins, wide and unguarded. “Hi. Wow. Hi.”
Eddie’s chest tightens, because Buck says “hi” like it means something.
Buck takes a half step forward, then stops like he’s not sure what Eddie’s comfortable with. “Can I—” He gestures vaguely, then drops his hands. “Sorry. I’m… a hugger. But also I understand boundaries. And also I’m sweating, which is gross.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “You’re not sweating.”
Buck leans in conspiratorially. “I am absolutely sweating.”
Eddie, without thinking, says, “Okay.”
Buck blinks. “Okay what.”
Eddie realizes. “Okay… hug.”
Buck’s face goes soft for a beat, like he’s surprised by permission.
Then he steps in and hugs Eddie—warm, quick, respectful, but still… real. Buck smells like clean soap and coffee and something bright.
Eddie stiffens for half a second out of habit.
Then he exhales, and his body does what it has apparently been wanting to do since the first “hi” online—leans into the warmth.
Buck pulls back first, like he’s checking Eddie’s reaction. His eyes are bright. “Cool. Great. Awesome.”
Eddie clears his throat. “Yeah.”
Buck gestures at the chair across from him. “Sit. Please. I already ordered, but only because I didn’t know if you’d want me to, and then I panicked, and then I thought maybe you’d think it was weird, and then I decided if you hated it, I’d buy you a second coffee to make up for it.”
Eddie sits, because if he stands, he might laugh too hard.
“What did you order,” Eddie asks.
Buck beams. “Black coffee. Because your profile said you like it strong.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. “I… do.”
Buck looks pleased with himself. “I’m very attentive.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”
Buck leans forward like he’s about to confess a secret. “Actually? Yes. When I like someone.”
Eddie’s pulse stutters.
Buck smiles, soft now, less joke, more… sincere. “And I like you. A lot.”
Eddie’s mouth goes dry, because Buck says things like that like they’re just… true. Like there’s no shame in wanting.
Eddie clears his throat, buying time. “You haven’t even seen me drink coffee yet.”
Buck’s grin returns. “Fair point. I might hate you. You might slurp.”
Eddie snorts. “I don’t slurp.”
Buck’s eyes sparkle. “Prove it.”
Eddie takes a sip of the coffee that is sitting on the table like an offering. He drinks normally. He sets it down.
Buck watches him like Eddie just performed a magic trick. “Wow.”
Eddie frowns. “What.”
Buck shrugs, unrepentant. “It’s just… you’re real. Like— you’re here.”
Eddie’s chest goes tight again. Because yes. He is. And so is Buck. And Eddie is sitting across from a man who wanted to meet him—not because he’s bored, not because he’s lonely, but because he genuinely… likes him.
Eddie looks down at his hands for a second, then back up. “Yeah.”
Buck tilts his head. “How are you feeling. Like—really.”
Eddie’s instinct is to make a joke. To deflect.
Instead, he hears Abuela’s voice: someone who sees you.
Eddie exhales. “Nervous.”
Buck’s smile is immediate and warm. “Me too.”
Eddie blinks. “You seem… not nervous.”
Buck laughs. “Oh, no, I’m terrified. I’m just loud about it.”
Eddie huffs a laugh. “That’s one way to handle it.”
Buck gestures wildly. “If I keep talking, my brain can’t spiral.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “That’s not how brains work.”
Buck points at him. “See? That. You’re funny.”
Eddie stares. “I haven’t—”
Buck interrupts, delighted. “Dry humor. It’s my kryptonite.”
Eddie’s face heats. “Stop.”
Buck grins. “No.”
Eddie shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that threatens to show.
They talk.
They talk about Christopher—Buck asking questions carefully, like he’s trying not to push too hard, but also like he genuinely wants to know. Eddie finds himself telling Buck about Christopher’s obsession with dinosaurs, about the way he insists on wearing superhero socks even when they don’t match, about how he says “Dad” when he’s half asleep, and it feels like prayer.
Buck listens like Eddie is telling him the most important story in the world.
“Do you ever miss it,” Buck asks quietly, “the Army.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. He thinks of Texas skies. Sand. The weight of responsibility. “Sometimes,” he admits. “Mostly I miss the feeling of… knowing exactly what I was for.”
Buck nods slowly, thoughtful. “You’re still that,” he says. “You’re still… someone who keeps people alive. Your kid, for example.”
Eddie’s chest aches at the simple certainty in Buck’s voice.
Buck clears his throat, suddenly shy in a way that feels almost impossible for him. “Can I be honest?”
Eddie’s pulse jumps. “Yeah.”
Buck smiles, small. “When you told me you had a kid, I—” He stops, then laughs under his breath, like he’s embarrassed by himself. “I got stupid excited. Because… I don’t know. I like you. And I like that you’re a dad. It says something about you.”
Eddie swallows. “What does it say?”
Buck’s eyes are steady. “That you show up.”
Eddie’s throat tightens.
The moment stretches—quiet and real and dangerously tender.
Eddie clears his throat, because he is Eddie Diaz and he cannot sit in tenderness without trying to put a lid on it. “So you’re saying you like me because I’m responsible.”
Buck’s grin snaps back. “No, I like you because you’re hot.”
Eddie chokes on his coffee.
Buck laughs, delighted. “There it is! Slurp.”
Eddie coughs, glaring. “I did not slurp.”
Buck leans forward, laughing openly, and Eddie thinks—ridiculously—Oh God. I want to make him laugh like that forever.
Eddie is not ready for thoughts like that.
They talk until Eddie’s phone buzzes—Abuela, checking in.
Eddie: Fine. Alive.
Pepa responds immediately with a string of emojis that should be illegal.
Buck watches Eddie’s phone and grins. “Your family is invested.”
Eddie groans. “They’re… a lot.”
Buck’s expression softens. “I like that,” he says. “That you have that.”
Eddie’s chest tightens again.
He doesn’t know how they get from coffee to outside, but suddenly they’re standing on the sidewalk, the sun too bright, the world too normal.
Buck rocks on his heels. “So… I had fun.”
Eddie nods, because he did. He did, and it’s terrifying.
Buck smiles, then looks down, then up again, like he’s gathering courage. “Can I… see you again?”
Eddie’s heart thumps. “Yeah.”
Buck’s whole face lights up. “Yeah? Great. Awesome. Okay. Cool.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “You’re not cool.”
Buck laughs. “No, I’m not. I’m Buck.”
Eddie looks at him for a beat too long.
Buck’s grin fades into something softer. “Can I—” He gestures, hesitant. “Kiss you? Or is that too much.”
Eddie’s stomach flips. He’s kissed men before—once, in a bar in El Paso, too fast, too desperate, too soaked in regret afterward. He’s never kissed someone like this. Someone who asked. Someone who looked at him like he’s something worth being careful with.
Eddie’s voice comes out rough. “Not too much.”
Buck’s breath catches. He steps closer slowly, giving Eddie every chance to say no.
Eddie doesn’t.
Buck’s hand hovers near Eddie’s waist, not touching until Eddie leans in.
The kiss is… awkward for half a second, because Eddie is tense and Buck is smiling into it like he can’t help himself.
Then Eddie exhales.
Buck makes a soft sound, and his hand settles at Eddie’s side—warm, steady.
Eddie’s chest tightens and loosens all at once.
When they pull back, Buck’s eyes are bright. “Okay,” Buck whispers, like he just discovered air.
Eddie swallows, dazed. “Yeah.”
Buck grins. “So. Second date.”
Eddie tries to be normal. “Sure.”
Buck just grins at him.
Eddie glares, but he can’t hide the smile. “Shut up.”
Buck’s grin goes incandescent. “Never.”
Eddie drives to pick up Christopher with his lips still tingling and his brain still broken in the best possible way.
He walks into Abuela’s house and Pepa immediately pounces.
“Did you kiss,” Pepa demands.
Eddie freezes. “No.”
Abuela raises an eyebrow.
Christopher looks between them. “Did you kiss?”
Eddie’s face burns. “Why are all of you like this?”
Pepa points accusingly. “He kissed.”
Eddie mutters, “Maybe.”
Christopher cheers like Eddie just won an award.
Abuela smiles like she’s trying not to laugh. “Good.”
Eddie, still dizzy, watches Christopher run off, and thinks: Okay. Maybe this isn’t a terrible idea.
Then his phone buzzes.
firehose: I can still taste you. (Respectfully.)
Eddie nearly drops the phone.
Pepa cackles.
Abuela sips her cafecito like she knew this would happen the moment Eddie was born.
Eddie stares at the message, then types, because apparently he has lost his mind.
MedicDad: Stop. I have a kid right next to me.
Buck replies instantly.
firehose: Okay okay. I’m being good. Tell Christopher I said hi.
MedicDad: He doesn’t know you.
firehose: Yet.
Eddie’s heart does something stupid again.
He looks up to see Pepa watching him with a grin that says she will absolutely bring this up at every family event until the end of time.
Eddie is doomed.
Eddie’s first day at Station 118 is supposed to be straightforward.
He has prepared.
He has his uniform crisp. His boots are polished. His paperwork is done. He has rehearsed his introduction in his head like it’s a briefing: Eddie Diaz. Former Army medic. Ready to work. Thank you for the opportunity.
He is ready to be professional.
He is ready to be calm.
He is ready to pretend that his life is not currently being rearranged by a man in a yellow shirt who texts him things like Yet.
He steps into the station and immediately clocks everything the way he always does—exits, equipment, people.
Eddie’s shoulders loosen a fraction.
He walks toward the captain’s office—and then stops, because Bobby Nash is already there.
The door is open, Bobby leaning against the desk with a mug in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp in that way that tells Eddie immediately: this man notices things. There’s a steadiness to him, a quiet gravity Eddie recognizes from good leaders—the kind that doesn’t have to raise their voice to be heard.
Eddie straightens without thinking.
Bobby looks up, meets his gaze, and offers a small, easy smile. “You must be Diaz.”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie says automatically.
Bobby winces just a little. “Let’s go with ‘Bobby.’”
Something in Eddie loosens at that. “Yes—Bobby.”
Bobby’s smile deepens, approving. “Welcome to the 118.”
Eddie nods, feeling the weight of it settle in his chest—not heavy, exactly. Solid. Like this is a place that holds its people.
Someone steps out of the locker area, wiping sweat off his neck with a towel.
Eddie’s brain registers the movement, the height, the broad shoulders—
Then his world stops.
Because it’s Buck.
It’s Buck, shirtless, towel around his neck, hair damp, looking like he just climbed out of a calendar shoot.
Buck looks up.
His entire face transforms.
His eyes go wide.
His mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
Eddie’s body goes cold and hot at the same time.
They stare at each other like two people who have just realized the universe has been pranking them for sport.
Oh. Oh no. Oh my God.
Buck’s towel slips a little. He catches it on instinct, still staring.
Hen’s voice cuts through the silence. “Buck, you okay?”
Buck doesn’t blink.
Chimney turns, following Hen’s gaze, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. New guy.”
Eddie forces his lungs to work. “Eddie Diaz,” he says, because he is a professional and not a man currently watching his entire plan for a calm first day burst into flames.
Hen smiles, stepping forward. “Hen Wilson. Welcome to the 118.”
Chimney nods. “Chimney Han. You’re the new guy.”
Eddie nods back, because that’s what you do.
Buck finally—finally—finds his voice.
It comes out strangled. “Eddie?”
Eddie’s stomach drops. He keeps his face neutral with heroic effort. “Buck.”
Hen’s eyes flick between them. “Do you two… know each other?”
Chimney’s face shifts into interest. “Wait, do you guys know each other? Because that would be—”
Buck blurts, way too loud, “No.”
Eddie says at the exact same time, “Yes.”
Buck whips his head to Eddie, horrified.
Eddie stares back, equally horrified, because he did not mean to say yes, except… they do. They do know each other.
Hen’s eyebrows climb. Chimney looks delighted.
Buck laughs awkwardly, still too loud.
Eddie’s brain short-circuits as Buck tries to explain the existence of Eddie in this space.
Buck’s eyes lock on Eddie’s like he’s begging Eddie to fix it.
Eddie’s mouth opens.
What comes out is: “We matched on a website.”
Silence.
Buck’s face goes pale. “Eddie—”
Hen’s eyes widen. “A website.”
Chimney’s grin turns feral. “A dating website?”
Hen gasps. “Oh my God.”
Buck, still shirtless, looks like he might actually die. “It’s not— I mean— it was—”
Eddie, because he has apparently decided to drive the bus straight off a cliff, adds, “Romancingtheuniform.com.”
Chimney makes a noise that might be a laugh and might be a choking hazard. “Oh my GOD.”
Hen presses a hand to her mouth. “No.”
Buck squeezes his eyes shut. “Please don’t.”
Chimney points at Buck like he’s won something. “You’re firehose?”
Buck’s eyes snap open. “How do you know that?”
Chimney’s grin widens. “Because you told me about it! You said you met someone ‘cool’ and you were being ‘normal’ about it.”
Buck makes a strangled sound. “I did not say cool.”
“You did,” Chimney insists. “You said ‘cool’ and then you said he had ‘dad energy’ and then you made that weird happy noise.”
Buck’s face goes bright red. “That is— that is slander.”
Eddie’s ears burn. “You told him.”
Buck flails. “I didn’t use your name!”
Hen’s eyes flick to Eddie, amused. “Wait. You’re the guy.”
Eddie’s stomach flips. “I’m—”
Buck looks like he’s about to faint. “This is horrifying.”
Chimney claps Eddie on the shoulder like they’re old friends. “Welcome to the 118, man.”
Eddie’s shoulders tense automatically at the touch, then loosen because Chimney’s grin is warm. Eddie forces a small smile. “Thanks.”
Buck is staring at Eddie like he can’t believe Eddie is real and also like he’s begging Eddie to vanish into thin air so Buck doesn’t have to die on the spot.
Hen’s voice is gentle and teasing. “So. How was the date.”
Eddie’s throat goes dry.
Buck blurts, “It was coffee.”
Eddie says, “Good.”
Chimney, absolutely thriving, says, “Did you kiss?”
Buck points at him. “Chim.”
Eddie’s face burns. “Yes.”
Buck freezes.
Hen’s eyebrows shoot up again. Chimney lets out a triumphant noise like Eddie just confirmed a conspiracy theory.
Buck turns to Eddie, voice low and frantic. “Why would you say that?”
Eddie’s brain is still on fire. “Because it happened.”
Buck stares at him for a beat, then his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “You’re going to kill me.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches back despite himself. “You’ll survive. You’re a firefighter.”
Buck’s eyes soften in a way that makes Eddie’s chest tighten again. “Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “But this is a different kind of fire.”
Eddie’s stomach flips.
Chimney, oblivious or choosing violence, says, “Okay, well, I’m going to tell everyone.”
Buck’s head snaps toward him. “No you’re not.”
Hen smiles sweetly. “Yes, he is.”
Buck groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate this station.”
Chimney pats his shoulder. “No you don’t.”
Eddie watches the banter like he’s watching a show he didn’t know he wanted to be part of. He should be focused on the job. On first impressions. On being competent.
Instead, he can’t stop looking at Buck, who is still shirtless and still—somehow—Buck in the middle of Eddie’s new workplace, like the universe dropped the same person into two different parts of his life and said, Good luck.
Hen gestures toward the captain’s office. “We’ll get you squared away. Orientation, gear, all that.”
Eddie nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
Buck suddenly clears his throat. “Uh. Eddie? Can I—” He gestures vaguely toward the back hall, like he’s asking permission to exist.
Hen’s eyes sparkle. “Go ahead.”
Buck grabs his shirt from a chair and yanks it on so fast he nearly dislocates something. Then he catches Eddie’s gaze, eyes wide and earnest. “Can I talk to you. Like… privately. For one second.”
Eddie’s pulse spikes. He nods, because what else can he do.
Buck leads him down the hallway, away from the others’ delighted murmurs. They stop near the lockers, where the sound of the station becomes a muffled hum.
Buck turns to Eddie, hands fisting at his sides. “Okay. So. Hi.”
Eddie exhales. “Hi.”
Buck lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for days. “This is… insane.”
Eddie nods, because yes. “Yeah.”
Buck stares at him, eyes bright. “You’re the new firefighter.”
Eddie tries for dry humor as a coping mechanism. “So it seems.”
Buck laughs weakly. “I thought you were, like… Like I don't know— I don’t know, I didn’t ask too many questions because I didn’t want to be creepy.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “You asked a lot of questions.”
Buck’s face scrunches. “Okay, I asked… normal questions.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You asked if Christopher liked dinosaurs.”
Buck nods, earnest. “That’s important.”
Eddie can’t help the small laugh that slips out. “It is.”
Buck watches him like the laugh is a gift. His expression softens. “I didn’t know it was going to be… like this.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. “Me neither.”
Buck’s gaze drops briefly to Eddie’s mouth—so quick Eddie might’ve imagined it—then back up. “Are you okay,” Buck asks quietly. “With… us being in the same place. Because if you want to pretend we don’t know each other, I can do that. I can be professional. I can be so professional.”
Eddie snorts. “You? Professional?”
Buck’s offended look is automatic. “Hey.”
Eddie’s smile fades into something honest. “I’m okay,” he says. Then, after a beat, because he owes Buck the truth: “I’m nervous.”
Buck’s expression softens. “Me too.”
Eddie looks at him—really looks—at the way Buck is trying so hard not to overwhelm him, trying so hard to be respectful, when Buck’s natural state seems to be all in, all the time.
Eddie’s chest aches, warm. “But I’m… glad,” Eddie admits, quietly.
Buck’s eyes widen. “Glad?”
Eddie exhales. “Yeah. Because I didn’t… I didn’t want it to just be coffee. I didn’t want it to just be—” Eddie stops, because words are hard when your heart is involved. He swallows. “I like you.”
Buck’s smile blooms, slow and bright and almost disbelieving. “I like you too.”
Eddie huffs, dry. “Yeah, you were very subtle about it.”
Buck laughs, relief washing through him. “I was so subtle.”
Eddie’s gaze flicks to Buck’s mouth again.
Buck’s eyes follow Eddie’s gaze like he can’t help it.
The air between them tightens.
Buck’s voice drops. “Can I—”
Eddie’s pulse thumps.
Buck finishes, softer: “Can I kiss you again? Or is that a terrible idea at work.”
Eddie’s brain screams terrible idea.
Eddie’s heart says yes.
Eddie exhales. “Quick.”
Buck’s grin flashes, delighted. “Quick. Got it.”
Buck steps in, careful, like he’s honoring the word. The kiss is brief—still a little awkward because Buck is smiling into it and Eddie is trying not to—but it’s also… real. A promise tucked into a second.
When they pull back, Buck’s forehead nearly bumps Eddie’s. He whispers, breathless, “Hi.”
Eddie’s voice comes out rough. “Hi.”
Buck’s smile is soft. “Okay. I can do this. I can be professional.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “Sure.”
Buck nods, then immediately turns to leave, then turns back like he can’t help himself. “Also— Christopher. If you ever want him to meet me, like— no pressure. I just— I want to be… the kind of person who earns that.”
Eddie’s chest tightens so hard it hurts. He nods once, slow. “Yeah,” he says, because he can’t give Buck that yet, not today—but he can give him the truth. “I’d like that. Eventually.”
Buck’s eyes shine. “Yeah?”
Eddie nods. “Yeah.”
Buck looks like he might combust from joy. “Okay. Great. Cool. I’m going to go before I say something insane.”
Eddie watches him go, feeling like his life just got flipped over and somehow landed right-side up.
As Eddie walks back toward the rest of the team, Chimney calls out from across the room, “HEY NEW GUY! YOU AND BUCK DATING OR WHAT?”
Buck makes a strangled sound. “CHIM!”
Hen laughs.
Eddie stops, because apparently this is his life now.
He looks at Buck—Buck staring at him like a man caught in a spotlight—and Eddie realizes something with startling clarity:
He can do this.
He can be brave.
He can let himself have more.