Page 11 of Chasing Mr. December

He stops eating entirely and wipes his face and hands on a napkin. “I’m working on it. It’s been a particularly tough time for us lately. First, Mary hung up her boots to focus on starting a family. Then, before we could replace her, Pete had to go out on extended medical leave for his back.”

Lowering my tone so he knows I’m not the enemy, I add, “I get it, Layton. No one’s blaming you. I swear. I’m only here to help.”

“Hell, Quinn. With so many tech and online jobs now, staffing for fire stations is down across the country. But I admit, having some positive exposure certainly couldn’t hurt.”

“Good. So, I have plans to do some community outreach events that will benefit both your station as well as the local animal shelter. I’m organizing a large event for December 5th, for Bathtub Party Day.”

Layton nearly chokes on his last bite, and in a rush, I fly around the desk to pat him aggressively on the back. “What the fuck, Quinn?”

I step back, alarmed. “What?”

“Bathtub Party Day. Is that really a thing?”

“Yes,” I snap, crossing my arms in indignation. Okay, so I didn’t know it was a thing either until I stumbled on it. But it’s perfect. “It’ll be just the thing we need to get attention. We can use the event to include some kitschy items like receiving a bath bomb with purchase to the event, spa giveaways, and that kind of thing. But one of the headline activities will be dropping thousands of rubber ducks into May River to see which ones cross the finish line first. People will adopt a duck with all the proceeds being split between the fire department and the shelter.”

Layton leans back in his chair. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Let’s hope it stays warm. But so long as I don’t have to swim in it, I guess some little rubber duckies can handle it.”

Clasping my hands together in excitement, I reach for my pen to take some notes.

“What are the other headline activities?”

The blood abruptly drains from my face. “Well, the animals up for adoption will be one highlight. I’m hoping I can count on your team to be there to greet people with the dogs and cats.”

“Of course. You know we’ll do anything we can to help you.”

And there’s my in…

“And it’d be a great time to sell firefighter calendars. People could get pictures and autographs with the monthly firefighter models—”

“I’m sorry, what?” His face morphs from encouraging to expressionless.

“Oh, come on, Layton. Please. I’ve done some research. This is a very popular tool to drive revenue to fire departments who have done it in the past. If the photographer donates his time, and I can get the print shop to give us a discount, that’s a wide margin of profit that will go a long way toward getting you the supplies you need.”

Rubbing his palm down his face, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Quinn.”

“Layton, it can’t be any more embarrassing than shaking your groove thing at the Diddled Fiddle for the World Beard Day competition every year.”

His eyes hold mine, and I think I have him. Ultimately, his heart is with this fire department. He knows as well as I do this could bring some much-needed light-heartedness and hopefully positive attention and funds to a station that sorely needs it.

Deciding to use this opportunity to run with my plans, I switch to planning mode. “You have three twenty-four-hour shifts here, right? A, B, and C?”

“Yes.” Gah, he sounds so defeated.

“How many guys are on each shift? Four?”

He gathers the wrapper and napkin lying on the desk and throws it in the trash. “There are usually three of us on duty, plus two who rotate on the ambulance. We’ve been short on a few shifts, so I’ve been trying to pick up the slack whenever I can until we get some new hires.”

“Wow, Layton. That’s a lot. Do you ever get any time off?”

“Yeah, whenever B shift is here. They’re fully staffed. Plus, it’s Magnolia Point, not Miami. We don’t tend to getthatmany calls. It’s not ideal, but… we’re working on it.”

The last thing I want to do is make him feel worse by coming here. None of this is his fault. “Okay, so who’ve we got? It’s you and John.”

Layton’s face breaks out into a chuckle. “John, the self-described ogre. He’s not a looker. But he sure can cook up a mean pot of gumbo.”

Okay, Layton’s hot. He’s won the World Beard Day competition like five years running. But we might have to be creative with a few of the other guys. “Maybe we can do his shoot in his helmet and a chef’s apron.”

Layton runs his fingertips over his impressive beard and grins. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

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