A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy (Love in Sweet Bloom #11)

Chapter 1

KRISTA

They say that those who cannot do, teach…

Or at least that was Krista’s motto, a little sardonic mantra she held close as she watched with breathless excitement. Her heart swelled with joy and a tinge of envy as one of the older teachers, Mr. Jenkins, knelt on the cafeteria floor, the clatter of lunch trays and the hum of chatter fading into the background. He was holding a sparkling ring framed by the golden glimmer of the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Across from him stood Mabel, the beloved lunch lady, who was sobbing with such abandon that it seemed she might float away, buoyed by the sheer happiness radiating from her like warmth from a freshly baked pie.

“Isn’t love grand?” Krista whispered, the words slipping from her lips like a secret prayer as she clasped her hands together, her heart heavy with a mix of self-doubt and wistfulness. Memories rushed back, taunting her with echoes of a conversation she’d had not long ago with a ruggedly handsome firefighter from the Flyboys Sub-Station. He had looked at her with a curious intensity, asking for phone numbers or emails of single, divorced, or widowed women he knew. At first, she’d found it charming, but the longer she’d listened, the more it felt like an intrusion, even if she recognized that he meant well.

One matchmaker could sniff out another one easily.

There was an unmistakable aura about them, a demeanor that screamed devotion to the cause of love. They were always focused on others, pulling lonely hearts together, while she stood in stark contrast, single and alone. All the halfway decent guys in this small town—or anywhere within a two-hundred-mile radius—were either married, engaged, or taken. Some were moving further away, and a few were simply not interested in women like her. It was a bleak prospect for a woman who reveled in the happiness of others. Pairing up the lonely was her calling, a thrill that made her heart race, yet when it came to her own relationships?

Plop, plop, fizz, fizz…

Nothing.

Less than nothing.

The last date she had experienced was nearly two years ago—a disaster that still made her cringe. She had passed off her date to another woman who was nursing a drink at the bar, her eyes filled with starry-eyed hope, only to learn that she had just been dumped. The moment Krista caught her date’s gaze lingering on the other woman, it was over.

“Someday my prince will find me…” she breathed, clasping her hands over her heart as she closed her eyes in a silent prayer. Hope and longing enveloped her, a bittersweet melody that played softly in the back of her mind. She was so tired of being alone, her heart brimming with love to give, and deep down, she fervently believed there had to be someone out there for her… right?

Her musings were abruptly interrupted by the voice of Maybury, a jovial firefighter with a penchant for mischief. He rolled down the window of the fire truck, his grin wide and mischievous. “Look, Matchmaker-Barbie, your next project just landed on the south side of town.” He spit a wad of chewing tobacco near her feet, prompting her to back up slightly, a mixture of annoyance and amusement washing over her.

“You don’t need to be singing, dancing, or parading about in the streets like your Gina Kelly,” he quipped.

“It’s Gene Kelly,” Krista corrected him, her tone laced with playful indignation.

“You a feller now, Krista?” Maybury shot back, a twinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“Well, no, but…”

“Then it’s Gina Kelly from the movies,” he interrupted, his laughter booming as he pulled the cord in the fire truck to make it honk, the sudden noise causing her to jump, her heart racing in her chest.

“What do you mean ‘my next project’?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.

“One of them fellas landed over at the airstrip, and I heard ol’ Cajun talkin’ about how his buddy was coming for a visit this Christmas for a little peace and quiet,” he explained, his voice dripping with intrigue.

“How do you know all of this?” Krista asked, arching an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

“Because Cajun wanted to know if my sister was available for a blind date,” Rodney, another firefighter, guffawed from the back of the truck. “Hi-ya, Krista!”

“Hi, Rodney,” she chuckled, her annoyance fading into a fondness for the goofy man. “And what do you mean Cajun was trying to match his friend with someone? We all know who the matchmaker is in this town—and how hard it is. I mean, some of us are single for a reason because we have dedicated our lives to pairing romantic hearts that are just beating and burning for love or admiration from another hopeless soul…”

“Good gravy, woman, are you prattling on again? What did I tell you about being in the street?” Maybury interrupted, his eyes wide as if she were a deer caught in headlights.

“I wasn’t dancing… much,” she replied, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Look, this ain’t Los Angeleees, but you ain’t got no business doing all your flippery-frippery-brouhaha in the middle of Main Street. You’ll get yourself killed, and then who will tell ol’ Beary? You know how touchy that little pregnant woman gets. I can’t spit near her,” he warned, feigning seriousness.

“I wish you wouldn’t spit near me,” Krista shot back, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“And she done got plum angry when I let one rip at the Fourth of July picnic,” Rodney chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I told her I was far enough from the fire to be safe—and Jude and I figured out that your bum has gotta be plum-blistering to get that flamethrower effect…”

“Oh heavens above…” Krista groaned, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“And t’aint worth the blister nor the explanation when you go to the clinic. They want to test you for ABCs when you show up with a blister on your heinie,” Maybury continued, his laughter echoing through the street.

“STDs,” Krista muttered, mortified, her face burning as she tried to shake off their antics. Finally, she held up a hand to silence them, smiling kindly. “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I assure you I’m safe from being run over on Main Street. Besides, I’m heading to my car now to give Cajun a dressing-down…”

“Doc won’t like you strippin’ her man,” Maybury teased, waggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not,” she yelped, flabbergasted at the misunderstanding. “Haven’t you ever heard that statement before?”

“Don’t sound right, do it, Maybury…” Rodney interjected, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“I don’t know, if Miss Krista wants to dress me down…” Maybury began, and she had to swallow back bile at the thought of this man, nearly her father’s age, imagining anything of the sort.

“I’m going,” she declared, shaking her head in exasperation, though the laughter bubbling inside her made it hard to stay annoyed. As she walked away, her heart still fluttering from the earlier display of love, she couldn’t shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—her own story was waiting to unfold right around the corner.