Jason Brooks stood with his arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose, and an expression of barely restrained judgment. Across the town park, firefighters were gathering with water hoses, plastic cones, and far too much enthusiasm for 8 a.m.
It was time for the Annual Interdepartmental Safety Drill — also known as "the one day a year when fire and police tried not to murder each other."
Jason had hoped this year would be uneventful. He should have known better the moment Maggie Greene showed up in aviator sunglasses, a backwards fire department cap, and a smirk that said bring it on, officer.
"Nice clipboard," she said as she strolled past him, eyeing the detailed drill schedule in his hands.
"Nice disregard for professionalism," he muttered, flipping the page with purpose.
She stopped and turned, cocking her head. "You know, I read somewhere that people with clipboards are 87% more likely to be ignored in emergencies."
Jason didn't blink. "I read somewhere that people who mock emergency protocols are 100% more likely to trip over their own hoses."
"Was that from your thesis at the Academy of Killjoys?"
"Page one," he replied without missing a beat.
The tension between them had grown since their unfortunate coffee shop encounter. Now it simmered just under the surface — like a pot of chili that everyone was pretending wasn't about to boil over.
Mayor Douglas stepped up onto the makeshift platform. "Ladies and gentlemen! It's time to show Eastborough how seriously our departments take safety… and friendly competition."
There were cheers, whoops, and someone from the firehouse yelling, "Let's toast the cops!"
Jason's jaw twitched.
Maggie just grinned.
The rules were simple: three stations. One obstacle course, one safety trivia challenge, and one simulated rescue scenario. Points were awarded for time, accuracy, and "team spirit" — a category Jason was already planning to lose.
First up: Obstacle Course.
Jason adjusted his badge and stepped into the chalk-marked starting area. Maggie sauntered over to the lane beside his, cracking her knuckles like she was about to enter the ring.
"Try to keep up, officer," she said.
"I don't race. I execute strategic movement."
"Strategically behind me, then."
The whistle blew.
Jason sprinted forward, leapt over a mock fence, ducked under caution tape, and navigated the ladder bridge with clinical precision. He was focused. Efficient. In control.
Until Maggie launched herself over the tire pit like some kind of firefighting gazelle, landed in a roll, and managed to give him a wink mid-sprint.
He stumbled. Just a little.
She beat him to the finish line by three seconds. He knew because he timed it himself.
"I believe that's called ownage," she said, slightly winded and grinning as the firefighters erupted in cheers.
"You skipped two steps in the ladder section," he said.
"They're suggestions."
"They're literal steps!"
Maggie shrugged, grabbed a water bottle, and high-fived her teammates.
Jason scribbled a note on his clipboard, then made a mental note to petition the mayor to install regulation-sized ladder bridges next year.
Station Two: Safety Trivia.
Jason was back in his element. He recited facts, quoted bylaws, and named fire extinguisher types in alphabetical order. Maggie, for all her bravado, only managed to guess "C is for chemical!" before she accidentally said "stop, drop, and sizzle."
The police won that round. Barely.
"You got lucky," Maggie muttered as they walked to the final station.
"You tried to list the five fire safety tips and included 'don't microwave aluminum foil' twice."
"It is important."
The third station was a simulated rescue: rescuing a dummy from a staged car crash, then carrying it to safety while applying first aid under a time limit.
Maggie and Jason were, unfortunately, paired together.
Mayor Douglas handed them helmets and said, "You two make a great team!"
Jason and Maggie exchanged a look of pure dread.
"You lift, I stabilize," Jason said as they approached the wrecked sedan. "We coordinate in steps. No improvising."
Maggie rolled her eyes. "Relax. I've pulled three real people out of burning buildings this year alone. I think I can handle Bob the Dummy."
"His name is Victor," Jason corrected, patting the dummy's helmet. "And he represents an actual civilian in distress."
Maggie saluted sarcastically. "Yes, sir."
The exercise began.
They moved surprisingly well — almost in sync. Maggie stabilized the neck brace while Jason cut the fake seatbelt with a dummy tool. They got Victor out in record time.
Then Maggie tried to carry him over her shoulder like a sack of flour.
"Gentle! He has internal injuries!" Jason hissed.
"He's plastic!"
"He has feelings!"
They bickered all the way to the finish line. Somehow, they still scored second place.
"Team spirit score: two out of ten," announced Mayor Douglas.
"I'll take it," Jason muttered.
Maggie leaned in. "You know, for a guy who acts like fun is a felony, you didn't totally suck today."
He glanced sideways at her. "And for someone who treats rules like napkin doodles, you actually have some skill."
"Wow," she said, mock-gasping. "Is that… respect?"
"Temporary," he replied. "It evaporates if you call me 'Officer Clipboard' again."
Maggie smirked. "Noted, Officer Clipboard."
Jason sighed. "We are going to get assigned to community outreach duty together, aren't we?"
"Oh, absolutely," she said with a grin. "And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."
He didn't answer. But as he watched her walk off toward the fire truck — laughing with her teammates, shoulder pads crooked, ponytail swinging — he wasn't entirely sure he'd hate it.