One Fine Fireman by Jennifer Bernard Page A

his throat. “I wanted to let Pete know that I’ve located Gonzalez, Hagrid’s former owner. He’s in Colorado. I sent him an e-mail letting him know we found Hagrid, though I remembered his name used to be Z-boy. Short for Zeus.”
    “Zeus? Like the god Zeus?”
    Duncan looked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
    “Yep. No idea why. Not sure why I forgot either, because the guys at the firehouse call me Thor, and Gonzalez always got a kick out of that. At any rate, I’ll let Pete know as soon as I hear anything. For all we know, Gonzalez lost track of the dog and wants him back.”
    “Oh, that would be wonderful! I mean, if he could be reunited with his real owner. Even Pete would be okay with that.” Pete was in his room, staging his usual late appearance at breakfast when Duncan was visiting.
    “It seemed like a good solution all around.”
    “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Pete’s gotten so attached to him in such a short amount of time.” She bit her lip. Hagrid wasn’t the only one Pete had gotten attached to.
    “Maribel . . . wait, don’t hang up. I’ve been beating myself up all night over the things I said.”
    “This isn’t . . .” Feeling her face heat, she glanced at Duncan, who, mercifully, seemed oblivious to her embarrassment. “Wait, you’re saying you didn’t mean those things?”
    “Oh, I meant them. Every word. And then some. But I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. You have enough to worry about.”
    “Oh.”
    He was doing it again, trying to spare other people the trouble of . . . what? Worrying about him? Caring about him? But she couldn’t say all that, not with Duncan sitting right there in his tan-and-white—sorry, fawn-and-mint—striped silk.
    “So don’t feel awkward next time I come into the coffee shop, okay?”
    “I won’t. But . . .” She trailed off, hating the fact that she couldn’t speak freely. Words choked in her throat like debris piling up at a dam.
    “And don’t feel funny about the photos. I think they’re a good investment.”
    She murmured, “If you like that sort of thing.” Duncan looked up sharply.
    “So we okay?”
    “Of course.” She hung up numbly. Even the phone felt funny in her hands, as if the sensation of it was muffled. Duncan’s voice seemed to come from some other planet.
    “Who was that?”
    “Oh, just a friend.”
    With a sidelong glance, she noticed the suspicious furrow between his eyebrows.
    “Of Pete’s.”
    “A friend of Pete’s?”
    “Well, of both of us. There’s this dog, and Pete’s really worried about him, and this fireman is helping find the owner, and . . .” But Duncan had apparently heard enough to realize he wasn’t really that interested. He waved a hand and went back to his texting.
    “I’m going to let Pete know the pancakes will be ready soon.”
    “Mmmhh.”
    She knocked on Pete’s door, then went inside. Pete was, as usual, sprawled facedown on the floor, chewing on the end of his pen, his notebook under his chin.
    “Pete, I . . . uh . . . Kirk called about Hagrid.”
    Pete looked up eagerly. “Yeah?”
    “He might have found his original owner.” When Pete scowled, she added, “That’s good, right?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “His owner abandoned him, that’s why not! He doesn’t deserve to have him back.”
    Maribel walked all the way in and sat on his bed. ”We don’t know that. Maybe he just lost him.”
    “Same thing. If I had a great dog like Hagrid, I wouldn’t lose him. That’s just stupid. I bet Hagrid ran away from him. He’s probably a big jerk.”
    “Pete. Let’s give him a chance, huh?”
    “You always say that. Give him a chance, give him a chance! I’m sick of giving people a chance. What difference does it make anyway? Nothing changes!”
    Maribel knew what he was talking about. Duncan. How many times over the years had she urged Pete to give Duncan a chance?
    “Sweetie, I know you don’t really like Duncan.