Page 55 of The Write Midlife

She leaned against the elevator wall, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

This morning, she had been on top of the world, ready to share amazing news with Nate. Now, she felt like her dream had turned into a nightmare, and the one person she thought she could always count on had let her down.

As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she straightened up, squaring her shoulders. She might be hurt, she might be angry, but she was not defeated.

If Carlisle Publishing and Hollywood thought they could bully her into compromising her artistic vision, they had another thing coming.

THIRTY

The next afternoon,Nate found Alex in the kitchen of Seattle’s Firehouse 25, methodically prepping enough lasagna to feed a small army—or in this case, a crew of perpetually hungry firefighters.

After nearly thirty years of friendship, Nate knew Alex's cooking rotation schedule almost as well as his own meetings.

"You look like hell," Alex said by way of greeting, not looking up from where he was layering pasta. "Let me guess—Melody?"

Nate slumped onto one of the well-worn kitchen chairs. "The movie deal's going sideways."

"When isn't something going sideways with you two?" Alex slid the massive lasagna into the industrial oven, set a timer, then started cleaning up with the efficiency of someone used to being interrupted by emergencies. The heat didn’t seem to bother him.

Dressed in a Firehouse 25 shirt and worn jeans, not a bead of sweat glistened on his furrowed forehead. His golden-brown eyes flickered up and back. “Alright. Give me the condensed version. Some of us actually have to save lives today."

"Paramount wants to butcher her book, the board's breathing down my neck, and my father's probably plotting my disinheritance as we speak."

"So, just another Tuesday?" One side of Alex's mouth ticked up as he tossed Nate a Gatorade from the fridge—his not-so-subtle way of saying Nate looked like he needed electrolytes. "What are you really doing here, Nate? Besides critiquing my cooking skills?"

"I need perspective." Nate cracked open the drink, watching Alex move through equipment checks with practiced ease. "You deal with actual life-or-death situations. This should be simple, right?"

Alex snorted, checking oxygen tanks. "You want firefighter wisdom? Okay. Here's what I know—when everything's going to hell, you trust your gut and protect what matters. The rest is just smoke."

"That's surprisingly profound."

"I have my moments. Between running into burning buildings and watching you set fire to your personal life." Alex marked something on his checklist. "So what does your gut say about Melody?"

Nate took another swig of Gatorade, buying time. "That I'm in love with her."

The alarm suddenly blared through the station. Alex was moving before Nate could blink, but he paused at the doorway. "Stay. This shouldn't take long—probably just Mrs. Ford’s cat up a tree again."

Nate watched through the window as the engines roared to life, sirens wailing. It was strange seeing his usually sardonic best friend in full firefighter mode, all business as he swung onto the truck.

True to his word, they were back within thirty minutes. Alex returned still in his turnout gear, smelling faintly of smoke.

"You're still here. Good." He started stripping off his gear. "Because I've got something to say about this whole situation."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope." Alex hung up his jacket with practiced precision. "Look, I've been doing this job for fifteen years. You know what I've learned? Life's too short for bullshit. Every day, I see people who waited too long, who didn't say what needed saying, who played it safe until it was too late."

He started checking his equipment again—a habit Nate had noticed kicked in when Alex was working through something. "You and Melody? That's not smoke, buddy. That's a full-blown inferno. And you can either let it burn everything down, or you can learn to work with the flame."

"Your metaphors need work."

"My metaphors are perfect. You're just being obtuse." Alex paused in his inventory. "You know what else this job teaches you? Sometimes the safe path isn't the right one. Sometimes you have to run straight into the fire to save what matters."

Nate watched Alex methodically repack his medical kit. It was oddly soothing, this ritual of preparation and care. “Gotta tell ya: You’re not as dumb as you like to play there, Harper.”

“Picked up a couple of things off the streets, somewhere between pulling cats from trees and watching you pine over this woman for months." Alex closed the kit with a decisive snap. "You want my professional opinion?"

"As a firefighter?"