Page 12 of Steeped In Problems

Aiden spotted him coming and stood, which was either a cop thing or an old friend thing, maybe both. Their handshake had always been the same—two hard pumps, a shoulder clap, and a half hug that said more than words ever could. Tanner felt the heat of Aiden’s grip, the silent message: You’re not alone, even if you act like it.

“Blaze,” Aiden greeted. “Glad you decided to come over and join us.”

Tanner shrugged. “It seemed like you have something to say, Cap.”

“Sit, sit,” Lindsay insisted, gesturing to the bench across from her. Kristy was already there, perched on the edge of her seat, curls fizzing out in the static-charged sunlight.

The four of them filled the little table in a way that felt almost ceremonial. Tanner didn’t love being the center of attention, but with the O’Connells, it was like being in a huddle—safe, for the moment.

“So, how did you two meet?” Kirsty asked, nodding at Aiden and Tanner. “I mean, before the whole Search and Rescue legend thing.”

Aiden barked a laugh. “The legend thing started before we ever set foot on a mountain. Blaze here was the new recruit at Clear Mountain PD. First call together was a drunk-and-disorderly at the bowling alley.”

Tanner shook his head. “That guy could bowl. Never seen anyone land a 7-10 split while handcuffed.”

“Because you helped him,” Aiden said, wagging a finger. “Dragged him up there and lined up his shot. He got a standing ovation. And then passed out on the lane.”

Even Lindsay laughed at that. Kristy’s eyes crinkled at the corners, genuine.

“Sounds like you were the fun one,” she said to Tanner.

He fought a smile. “That was the old me. Now I just obsess about Daisy.” Then, realizing how that sounded, he quickly added, “It’s the nickname Rhonda gave the espresso machine.”

“That makes way more sense. I’ve been trying to fix you up on a date for years now. I couldn’t imagine you finding one on your own,” Lindsay said with a roll of her eyes.

Aiden turned to Kristy, voice dropping into storyteller mode. “You should see the stuff I found up in the attic—the Miller’s Gorge incident. Blaze was a rookie, and the rest of us figured he’d tap out after the first rappel, but a thunderstorm rolled in, and some college kid got stuck halfway down. Rocks were coming loose everywhere. I was ready to call it, but Blaze—” Aiden gestured across the table, “—he ties off, swings under thelip, and gets this kid on his back. Climbs out with a busted hand and made the front page.”

“He got a medal for it, too,” Lindsay added.

Kristy’s mouth made a perfect O. “You never told me that,” she said, almost accusing.

Tanner shrugged. “Aiden always exaggerates. It was three meters, tops, and the hand was just sprained.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “He’s always downplaying. You could put him in a burning building, and he’d swear it was just a little warm in there.”

Lindsay sipped her coffee, watching the banter with fondness. “Do you miss it?” she asked, soft but direct.

Tanner picked at a paper napkin, rolling it between his fingers. He didn’t have to think about it. “Every day,” he said. “But this—” He glanced around the shop, the chatter, the smell of bread and caffeine, “—isn’t the worst gig in the world.”

Kristy chimed in, voice warm. “It’s not. And you keep the espresso machine running like it’s on the final lap at Indy.”

Aiden nodded, suddenly serious. “You’re still making a difference, Blaze. People need a place to land after the hard calls. You’re giving them that.”

The words sat heavy for a moment. Tanner let them settle, felt the comfort and discomfort both, the old mix of pride and guilt. It was easier to talk about rescues than what came after.

Lindsay pivoted. “What about you, Kristy? Aiden said you’re a nurse?”

“Was,” Kristy said, half-shrugging. “County General, mostly trauma. But after a while, I realized I couldn’t fix the world. So now I fix coffee. Or try to.”

Lindsay’s eyes lit up. “I pop in there often for my job as a social worker. I bet they miss you. They had a temp last week who couldn’t even figure out how to take the blood pressure of one of my kids. You’d have run circles around her.”

Kristy laughed, all teeth and honesty. “Some days I miss it. Others, I like that the only thing I have to clean up is spilled milk.”

The table relaxed, the mood lighter. Stories traded back and forth, not all of them heroic. Aiden told one about accidentally deploying an airbag in a sheriff’s cruiser; Lindsay countered with a tale about saving one of her foster kids from a school bully by making them have a dance-off. Kristy topped it all with a story about an ER patient who’d walked in with a live parrot in his jacket. Even Tanner had to admit, it was the best story at the table.

He watched Kristy as she talked—how her face animated with every word, how she pulled in Lindsay and made her laugh with half a sentence. Tanner was good with people, in a limited way. Kristy had a gift for making strangers into allies. He liked that about her, even if he’d never admit it to anyone.

Rhonda checked in once, asked if they needed anything, then disappeared with a wink at Kristy.

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