Gil Keane worked the day shift as a short order cook down at the rhythmically named Shiner’s Diner, and he’d been looking for more out of his ho-hum life, especially with the long, dark winter looming. So, reading an article in the White Pine Gazette and after a sleepless night alone in his empty bed, Gil marched on down to the station house and passed muster with Chief O’Connell. The fact he flipped burgers over a hot flame meant he wasn’t intimidated by fire.

“It takes a strong man to want to fight fire,” the chief had said to his new recruit.

While the chief sized him up, Gil had given himself the once over, taking note of his less than muscled body. He was fast, agile, and alert, that much he knew, if not possessing natural brute strength. Burly would never be a word to describe him.

“I mean here,” the chief had said, pointing first to his head, then his heart. “Fortitude.”

“I’m not afraid of fire.”

“Hmm. You should be. But welcome aboard.”

“I’m honored, sir.”

“The training will be brutal. You won’t see action for a while.”

“I’m patient. I have to be. I live in White Pine.”

And that had been that, Gil Keane was a member of the White Pine Fire Department.

Just now, from inside the station house he heard the sharp crackle of voices coming over the radio monitor. They’d reached the house in question and Dickey was barking out orders like he was channeling the late Chief Rodgers.

“The flames are nipping at the roof, foam it down boys, don’t let it spread.”

Gil, not accustomed to having the station house to himself and who hating being alone -- it’s one of the reasons why he’d joined, to be part of something good -- listened in on the action, mentally inserting himself into the melee, grabbing equipment, holding on while the water shot forth from the thick canvas hose. He could feel the rush, the back-spray, but he stayed firmly planted on the ground, the shooting flames a fiery enemy that would not burn him. With his fists tight, he leaned in further to the speaker as he heard further orders being thrown out by Dickey.

“No, not there ... there. I don’t care about the f-ing turkey, we’re not here for dinner!”

From behind him Gil heard a slight chuckle and quickly he turned, surprise written on his face. He looked straight ahead, then up, and up still, finally coming to rest on the face of a man who redefined tall, at least to a hunched-over Gil. The guy was shoulder-wide, too, with a thick dark beard that made Gil wonder if he was gazing at Paul Bunyan himself, except there was no axe resting on those big shoulders and his name was of course Joey Silva. He’d seen the man’s picture in the Gazette, and he also knew him by reputation. Still, looming before him with that cocksure grin, the new deputy chief of the White Pine Fire Department cut an imposing figure.

“Uh, hi.”

“Evening. Boys out on a job, I hear?”

“Fried turkey gone wrong.”

“Ah, now that comment makes sense.” He extended a hand. “Joey Silva.”

“Hi, I’m, uh, Gil Keane.”

“Why aren’t you out fighting that fire?”

“Someone’s got to mind the store.”

“New recruit?”

“Newest volunteer.”

Again, he nodded. “Sorry I’m missing out on the action. Had my own fire to put out.”

Indeed, beneath the heavy beard, Gil could see ash-coated cheeks and he smelled, faintly, of gasoline. Like a car fire had needed to be doused. Gil imagined the hot beast before putting the flames out all on his own, probably just lifting the car on his strong shoulders and throwing it into the rushing waters of the Iroquois River that separated White Pine from the rest of the world. Gil swallowed hard at the image and then said, “Anything I can do to help?”

Rubbing his bearded chin while peering around the station house, the deputy appeared to already be looking for ways to improve efficiency. But then he said, “Just point me toward the showers, might as well get cleaned up and look all nice for the boys when they return. Though I don’t really officially start until tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, sure, upstairs. Down the hall, last left.”

“Thanks ... uh ...”

“Gil. Gil Keane.”

“Right. Sorry, got a few names to remember.” He paused. “Austin out on that truck?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good firefighter.”

“Sure, the best.”

“Wrong, Gil. That would be me.”

With that, Joey Silva strode determinedly toward the stairs and took them two at a time, like they’d been built for children, his large frame disappearing into the environs of the station house. Gil found that he was still staring at the space Joey had filled, wishing he hadn’t been caught so unawares, thinking about how sexily distracting he was, and then wondering why he’d asked after Austin? Wanting to make a good impression on the new Deputy Chief, he too went upstairs, intent on fetching the guy a beverage. Probably parched after fighting his own fire. He wasn’t on duty, maybe Joey would appreciate a beer.

Grabbing a cold Saranac Lager from the fridge, Gil made his way down the corridor.

He could hear the shower already. Guy didn’t waste time.

Gil opened the door to the showers, intent on leaving the beer on the sink basin.

That’s when he caught a glimpse in the steamed mirror of a naked Joey Silva.