Page 1 of Startup Fire

Chapter 1

Sleep Interrupted

Ring. Rrrrring.

Wayne pulled the pillow over his head.

Nope. Not happening.

He'd just gotten home from a mutual aid call that had turned into a twelve-hour nightmare. The industrial fire in McCaysville had required every available crew within fifty miles, and Wayne had spent most of the night hauling hose lines through a labyrinth of machinery. The acrid smoke had gotten into everything, and even after the station shower, he could still taste it at the back of his throat. His muscles screamed. And some persistent jackass was leaning on his doorbell like their life depended on it.

Rrrrring. Rrrrring. Rrrrring.

“For the love of—” Wayne threw the pillow aside and squinted at his phone. Ten thirty in the morning. He'd managed exactly two and a half hours of sleep.

The ringing stopped.

Thank God.

Wayne closed his eyes, felt his body start to sink back into the mattress, felt the blessed pull of unconsciousness—

Knock knock knock knock knock.

He was going to murder someone.

Wayne rolled out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He could still smell smoke—on his skin, in his hair, somewhere. Probably just paranoia, but he couldn't shake it. His reflection in the hallway mirror showed exactly what he felt like: a man who'd been dragged backward through hell and spit out the other side. His hair stuck up at odd angles, pillow-creased and wild.

Screw it. Whoever was interrupting his desperately needed sleep could deal with what they got.

He yanked open the front door, prepared to unleash a string of profanity that would make his fire crew proud.

Instead, he found himself staring at a woman who looked like she'd just stepped out of a coffee commercial.

She was maybe early thirties, with short dark hair that somehow managed to look stylishly tousled instead of messy, and brown eyes that were bright and friendly. She wore jeans and a fitted t-shirt under an open flannel, work boots, and carried a portfolio case under one arm. Her expression was pleasant, expectant—like someone arriving for an appointment they'd been assured was all arranged.

“Wayne Drummond?” Her smile was warm but professional. “Hi! I'm Jessica Hartley. Jess. My grandmother said you'd be expecting me? About the workshop space?”

Expecting her? Wayne blinked, trying to remember if he had actually agreed to anything. But of course he wouldn’t have, as the barn is his safe space. The name sank in. “Hartley? Brooke Hartley’s granddaughter?”

The woman in front of him nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Nope. Never talked to me about my barn. Not interested in sharing space." Wayne started to close the door.

Her smile faltered, confusion replacing the friendliness. “Oh. I—Grandma said she'd spoken to you about it? About me using your forge setup for glassblowing? She said you'd agreed—”

“I never talked to your grandmother.” Wayne could hear how harsh he sounded, but he was too tired and too irritated to soften it. “I don't know what she told you, but I'm not running a community workshop. The barn is private.”

“But she said—” Jess stopped, and Wayne watched realization dawn across her face. Her cheeks flushed. “Oh God. She didn't actually ask you, did she?”

“Nope.”

“I'm so sorry. I should have—she was so certain, and I just assumed—” She took a step back, clutching her portfolio case. “I'm really sorry for bothering you. I'll talk to her about—”

“Look,” Wayne interrupted, because now he felt like a jerk for snapping at her when she'd clearly been set up by her meddling grandmother. “It's not personal. I just got back from a twelve-hour fire call. I’m all dirty, I smell like an ashtray, I haven't slept, and I'm not in the mood for—whatever this is. But even if the timing was better, the answer would still be no. I don't share workspace.”

She nodded quickly, still backing away. “Of course. I understand. I'm sorry again.”

But as she turned to go, she paused and looked back at him. “For what it's worth? You really don't smell like smoke. I'd tell you if you did—I work with heat and glass all day, I know the smell.”