Matchmaking the firefigh.., p.1
Matchmaking the Firefighter (Just4You Matchmaker Series), page 1
Matchmaking the Firefighter
Madison Love
3n1 Publishing
Copyright © 2023 by Madison Love
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact 3n1publishing@gmail.com/madison@madisonloveromance.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by GetCovers
Contents
1. Callie
2. Callum
3. Callie
4. Callie
5. Callum
6. Callie
7. Callum
8. Callie
9. Callum
10. Callie
11. Callum
12. Callie
13. Callum
14. Callie
15. Callum
16. Callie
17. Callum
18. Callie
19. Callum
20. Callie
21. Callum
22. Callie
23. Callum
24. Callie
25. Callum
26. Callie
27. Callum
28. Callie
Epilogue
Also By Madison Love
Coming Soon!
Callie
I’m nearly out of breath as I run through the woods, the trees closing in around me. I duck behind a large Salem Oak, hoping for a chance to get my bearings and fill my lungs with much-needed air. My reprieve doesn’t last long, as I hear a taunting sound echo through the trees.
“You can’t hide from me, Callidora! I will always find you!” yells a booming voice that is all too familiar to me. I can hear the crunch of his footfalls through the leaves that have fallen to the ground, leaving the trees bare.
I try to calm my breathing, knowing that the crisp December air would cause every exhale to fog up and give away my position. It’s just the two of us out in the barren forest not too far from my grandparent’s home. The man hunting me knows this area as well—if not better than I do—and I don’t know if I’ll be able to evade him forever.
I grip my rifle, muzzle pointing up in the air, taking one last calming breath as I try to listen for my pursuer’s position. I hear the crack of a twig less than 50 yards away, and I swing around the tree to quickly line up my shot.
“Pfft,” goes the gun as the projectile rapidly leaves the barrel, only to be silenced by the attached suppressor. Realizing I only have a split second to escape, I take off in search of the next place I can take cover. I see a fallen log not more than a dozen feet ahead of me and race toward it. My foot clips a root, and I start to go down. With my hands securely holding onto my weapon, I am forced to tuck my head and shoulder, continuing my downward trajectory.
Rolling onto the ground, I narrowly miss a large rock in my path. I feel, rather than hear, something whiz by my head. That was close—too close!
I know I don’t have much time left before my assailant catches up to me, so I scramble to my feet and climb over the downed tree to hide on the other side. With only seconds to spare, I calm my nerves and prepare to take another shot.
No sooner than I pop up to fire my weapon, I feel three sharp impacts to the chest and go down hard. I fall backward and land flat on my back, the wind out of me nearly knocked out of me. My chest heaves as I fight against the sharp, stinging sensation resonating through my torso.
Unable to move, I hear my attacker slowly and cautiously approach my position. I look up, watching as his head slowly peeks over the log to stare down at my prone form. I can tell the moment he realizes I’ve been bested because a slow smile forms below the visor line of his helmet.
“Pink is a good color on you, Sis!” he laughs, noticing three tightly grouped neon pink paint splotches center mass on my padded chest plate. I lift my head to see the evidence of his victory.
“Nice shot, Sebastian. Dang, it hurts like the dickens, though. Was it really necessary for you to take three shots at such close range?” I ask my brother. I lift my hand to him, hoping he might be a gentleman and help me up. Thankfully, he does.
“I had to dethrone the reigning champion for the last three years running! I didn’t want to take a chance and miss. You’re a hard target to hit with such a small profile.”
On a good day, I’m 5' 2", so he’s not wrong with his assessment. All three of my brothers are over six feet, and my two younger sisters tower over me at 5' 10" barefoot. My twin sister, who passed away four years ago, was the only other family member to share the “short” gene with me, and together, we were unstoppable in the family paintball wars.
When I think about our sister, my smile slowly dissipates, and I rub the spot over my heart where she took a piece with her when she died. Sebastion notices the movement and puts his arms around me to draw me close, providing me with some much-needed comfort. I look up at him and give him a small smile in appreciation as we head for the back patio that is still a few acres away.
After a ten-minute walk, we finally reach the rest of the family, who are gathered together. I see them waiting for us with mile-wide grins on their faces and covered head-to-toe in paint. My brother Ansel holds out a beer for each of us. We gladly take it and sip the refreshing beverage.
“I see the queen has been dethroned, and a new champion has emerged! To the winner, go the spoils!” Ansel declares and then starts to dance a little jig. As if that weren’t bad enough, Brody and Sebastian join him and start doing a Russian squat dance to celebrate their victory.
Rolling my eyes at their antics, I turn toward my sisters, Leanna and Daphne, only to face crossed arms and disappointed looks. Leanna stares me down and says, “You know they’ll never let us live this down, right? I’m pretty sure they’ll dirty every dish in the house just so they can watch us clean them. They’ll probably even make popcorn as they enjoy the show!”
“You should have thought about that last year when that’s exactly what you did to them! What goes around, comes around,” I tell them. Every year, the loser of the paintball challenge has to do the dishes for every family event until the next challenge. It’s not going to be a fun year for us girls, that’s for sure.
“Aunt Callie!” a small voice screams out my name. My niece Izzy—short for Isadora—comes running up to me with arms open wide and tears streaming down her face.
“What is it, baby girl?” I ask, concerned. I wonder what could have happened to make her so upset. The next words out of her mouth answer that question for me.
“I don’t know how to do dishes!” she wails as if her life is over and all is lost.
I try not to laugh at her distraught state, but I can’t contain myself when the entire family starts cackling at her expense. “Sweetie, no one expects you to do the dishes,” I say, trying to calm her down.
There are a few more sniffles, and Izzy makes eye contact with everyone to ensure I’m telling the truth. Without any words, they each nod their head. She looks back at me and asks, “You promise? Because I’m not tall enough to reach the sink yet.”
“I promise. Cross my heart and all.” I never say the phrase, “Cross my heart and hope to die,” because our family has experienced enough heartbreak—and me doubly so—to ever wish that on myself or anyone else. Not only did we lose our sister while she was deployed overseas, but my husband alongside her.
I met Jackson through my sister at one of her Squadron Christmas parties five years ago, and it was a whirlwind romance for us. Their unit was deployed to Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan four months after we were married. During their deployment, there was a base attack in which a mortar hit a parked plane on the airfield. While fighting the fire, a fuel line ruptured and caused a massive explosion. Jackson, my twin sister Isabella, and four other members were killed instantly. It was a tragic day for our family, and tomorrow is the anniversary of their deaths.
Rather than mourn their loss, we celebrate their life doing something we have always loved. My niece, Izzy, is Isabella’s daughter, and we want her to know her mother in a positive light surrounded by warm memories.
Izzy was only a year old when she came to live with me, but I’ve always made sure to tell her all the wonderful and funny stories about her mother. In her will, my sister granted me sole guardianship of Isadora even though every one of them would have taken her in without a second thought. I felt truly blessed and honored to be chosen. I have done my best to provide her with a life full of love, laughter, and family.
Until recently, none of us even knew who Izzy’s father was, and Isabella had refused to tell us. I wish I knew why because three months ago, I was slapped with a custody suit by a man claiming to be Izzy’s biological father. I had no idea what to do, so I turned to my family for help. I can’t lose Izzy. I love her like she’s my own.
My parents immediately contacted a lawyer for me, and it’s been an uphill battle ever since. Simon—Izzy’s supposed father—has only recently agreed to submit to a paternity test. He’s a handsome man, and I can see why my siste r would have been ga-ga over him. He’s 6' 3" tall with reddish-brown hair, chiseled features, and green eyes. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he also has broad shoulders and a tapered waistline that cuts into a V, which is expected of almost every firefighter under the age of 40.
Most of the family is associated with firefighting in some way, shape, or form. My three brothers are firefighters, while our father is a fire chief. My sister, Leanna, is an EMT, while Daphne is a fire engineer. I’m the arson investigator in the family. With our deep ties to the profession, it’s no surprise that my sister fell for a firefighter. What is surprising, though, is that she never talked about him with us—with me.
Isabella was as focused on her career as the rest of us and often kept her romantic interests private. Only once did she ever mention a man to me, and that was in a letter while she was deployed. It was some guy named Calvin. Or maybe it was Callen? I can’t recall off the top of my head, but he sparked her interest enough to mention him. She never mentioned Simon, and he’s supposedly the father of her child.
When I talked with the lawyers, they said that since Isabella granted me guardianship, I stand a very good chance of keeping her even if the paternity test proves Simon is Izzy’s father. But they also said they can’t guarantee that since Simon has nothing negative in his background preventing him from gaining custody.
My legal counsel casually mentioned that it would be a boon for me if I happened to be married, proving to the courts I could provide stability for Izzy. It’s not as if I could just go out and find a husband on a whim. I practically laughed in their faces before going to my car for a good cry. No one laughed with me when I told my family what the attorney had said. In fact, they were all silent and contemplative.
“Earth to Callie!” my brother Brody says, waving his hand in front of my face to bring me back in the moment. I blink a few times and then slap his hand away.
“Ow!”
“Don’t go waving your hand where it doesn’t belong, and I won’t have to smack it!” I tell him teasingly.
Leanna and Daphne walk up and stand next to me. “We think it’s time for you to get back in the game,” Leanna says loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“And what game would that be?” I ask.
Daphne chimes in, “The dating game. What other game is there?” Of all of us girls, Daphne is the one that is most “boy crazy.”
“How else will you get yourself a husband so you can keep that precious little girl? She means the world to all of us, and we just want to help,” says Leanna.
“It takes time to find a husband. Time, I don’t have.”
“You married Jackson within weeks of meeting him. What’s to say that can’t happen again? Love at first sight happens all the time. It’s not like lightning. It can strike in the same place twice,” she says. Daphne bobs her head in agreement.
“It’s not love at first sight, Leanna. It’s lust at first site. Your body is inundated with an overabundance of serotonin and dopamine, making you feel good. Love requires a work ethic, not a drug addiction,” says my mom. My mom, Elena, is a chemistry teacher and the only one of us who isn’t connected to firefighting as a profession. She met my dad more than thirty years ago when one of her science experiments exploded, and a fire broke out in her lab. My dad, Nicholas, was one of the first responders. He would disagree with her love at first sight theory since he says he loves her more today than when he first laid eyes on her.
Leanna waves away my mom’s comment before turning to me to say, “We thought we would make it easy for you and take the guesswork out of finding true love.”
“What have you done?” I ask, fearing what their answer will be. With these two, it’s most likely some outlandish scheme they’ve cooked up.
“We hired a matchmaker for you!” Daphne exclaims. She claps her hands and jumps up and down like a little girl who just got a pony.
“YOU WHAT?!”
Before she can answer, all three of my brothers start laughing hysterically, almost to the point of tears.
“We hired New York’s premier matchmaker for you! Her name is Amelia Cooper, and she owns Just4You!” Leanna states emphatically.
“I think it’s Amelia Knight, now. The gossip magazine I read at the store yesterday said she and Ethan Knight eloped the day after Thanksgiving. He was the lead singer for Agent Black before he left the group to start some security agency,” says Daphne, the source for all our celebrity gossip needs.
“You need my permission to hire a matchmaker for me, and you don’t have it,” I tell them both, crossing my arms over my chest and taking a wide stance. I’m not going to budge on this.
Leanna stands in front of me, taking my tense shoulders in her hands. “Callie, we’ve already paid the fee and completed the application. Amelia will not match you with anyone until she talks to you directly, whether in person or on the phone. So, you’re right that we can’t move forward without your blessing. We wanted it to be a surprise, but we can’t proceed until you talk to her. Please talk to her, Callie. What will it take for you to agree?”
I shake my head at her in dismay when Daphne says, “I know! We will do your share of the dishes this year! You won’t have to lift a finger.”
Okay, I might have to budge a little bit because that is an offer I cannot refuse. When we’re all together, our family functions can have a crazy amount of people. And we like to get together…often.
“Fine. What do I have to do?”
Callum
“Watch me!” I yell out, preparing for a fall that’s inevitable. My legs are beginning to spasm, and my arms are trembling from exhaustion. Beads of sweat roll down my face, and I can taste the salt as I lick my lips. I’m barely holding on as my fingers slowly slip from the sloper in my grip, but I manage to find the strength to make a final push for the jug just out of my reach. The tips of my fingers graze the hold, but I don’t find purchase and start to fall.
“Falling!” I scream, momentarily weightless, before gravity begins to pull me down. Luckily, the warning I yelled to my belay partner below was in time for him to tighten the slack. Once I’ve stopped swinging, I call out, “Tension!” so he knows I need to take a second to catch my breath.
I regain my position on the wall and let my partner know that I’m ready to lower myself. I slowly descend the wall until my feet find purchase on the ground. “Off belay,” I say.
“Belay off,” my friend says. “I thought you were going to make it this time for sure. What happened?”
“I don’t know, man. I think I read the route wrong and miscalculated a hold I needed, grabbing the wrong one instead. After that, I couldn’t seem to get in the proper position. I should have reversed down, but I kept pushing a bad situation. Lesson learned.”
I’ve been coming to Norman’s Rockwall for several years and have been trying to master this particularly grueling wall for quite some time. This is the highest I’ve managed to get, but I still haven’t made it to the top without falling. It’s become my nemesis and a challenge I need to conquer.
Last month, I was supposed to meet one of my firefighting buddies here to tackle the “Stormin’ Norman,” but he got called into work at the last minute. Since I was left without a partner, I figured I’d climb one of the intermediate walls solo. That’s when I met Carter—who offered to partner up with me—and we’ve been climbing together ever since.
Carter and I have a lot in common, both of us having been in the military. I was in the Air Force while he had served in the Army. Interestingly enough, we had both started our careers in logistics, which gave us plenty to talk about. He left the Army after four years to utilize his Post 9-11 G.I. Bill and get his degree, while I cross-trained and became a firefighter, a life-long passion of mine.
I completed my education while serving out my term of enlistment and received my Fire Sciences degree. I used it to earn my commission as an officer. However, an incident four years ago changed the trajectory of my life, and I’m no longer on active duty.
My squadron was deployed to Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan and was working in joint operations with an Army firefighting unit. There, I met Captain Isabella Arboroa and experienced “love at first sight.” While I didn’t love her, per se, I was very much attracted to her and enjoyed her company. We didn’t know each other for long, but we spent most of our free time together for nearly two weeks. If I played my cards right, I had every hope of turning that into forever.
