7
Patsy hadn’t meant to ignore the man, hadn’t meant to be rude, but he’d been gone before she finished the training opportunity. And fire always took precedence. They’d done well and were, indeed, back down off the mountain in time for pizza and a beer.
Candace had led them to Maxine’s Pizza, a hole in the wall that had no hint of Bavarian from the outside. The insides only confirmed this was a strictly locals’ joint. No waitresses in cute Bavarian skirts, no pomp and oom-pah-pah from the jukebox; the Stones were rocking it over the speakers. She went up to the faded “Order Here” sign, and saw that the options were slices or a whole pie and a pint or a pitcher. No burgers, no soups or salads, just pizza that smelled incredible. Worked for her.
Twenty hotshots, first day on the fireline
