If you are curious about Greyson’s book, here is the first chapter of Frost and Flame, the final story in The Firemen of Waterford TN.

Hallie takes the rookie position at Waterford Fire about nine months after Cody takes over as captain (you’ll know about Cody and Carli and that progression in Smoke and Ash).

Frost and Flame should come out April 14th, 2026.

ARC Team sign ups will open March 10th and the ARC copy should go out to launch team readers on March 24th.

Here you go … Chapter One of Frost and Flame …

Chapter One

Hallie

“I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz 

 

“Mommy! Are we still in Maryville?” Mia shouts from the back seat, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. 

I glance back at her, sitting high in her booster seat, eyes wide, taking it all in. She woke up from her car-induced nap when our speed slowed as we entered town. 

“No,” I say, smiling at my daughter and then returning my attention to the road in front of me. “We’re in Waterford.”

“It looks the same like Maryville,” Mia says, her face soft with that just-woke-up glow. 

I turn down a street that curves into our neighborhood, dipping and rising before the stop sign that meets our street. Houses are staggered and separated by driveways and grassy lawns, most of them on lots without any fencing, but a few have low pickets. It’s a quaint, warm community, one that looks like it has stories to tell. 

Waterford could be nearly a twin to our hometown. I thought the same thing when I drove through on my first trip here to interview for my position at the fire station. The historic brick buildings downtown and tree-lined streets feel similar, even though the surrounding hills and low mountains aren’t as pronounced as the Smokies. 

“This little town’s adorable,” Mom says from her spot in the passenger seat. “And I need to pee somethin’ fierce.”

“Nana, you can say use the restroom,” Mia corrects Mom. “It’s more polite.” 

Mom tries to keep from laughing, but a snort escapes as she shoots me a look that says, Are you kidding me? 

I shrug. Some days it’s as if someone tipped our family structure like an hourglass and our roles started sliding in the opposite direction. 

I blow out a breath. 

“Okay, Miss Queen of England,” Mom says. “I’ll get you tea and crumpets as soon as I set my hiney on a toilet.” 

Mia’s eyes go wide and I stifle a smile. 

Mia recovers quickly, though. “You can call me Spike. I’m not the Queen of England. I’m going to be the next queen of baseball.” 

“Don’t you know it!” Mom says with a laugh. “And I’m going to be the queen of the Depends!”

We pull up in front of the folk Victorian home we’re renting with an option to buy. The wide porch looks as welcoming as I remember, a fresh coat of light-green paint and the white trim with Queen Anne details giving it the appearance of a cottage or dollhouse. 

“This is it!” I say just before the moving van pulls up behind us. 

I park across the street, leaving the movers room to take the space in front of the house. 

“I hope your plumbing works!” Mom says, hopping out of the car and practically duck walking to the front door. Waddle, waddle. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Waddle, waddle. Bounce, bounce, bounce. 

“Keys, please!” Mom shouts when she jiggles the doorknob and finds it locked. 

She’s stopped just short of crossing her legs but she’s still bouncing impatiently.  

I tell Mia, “Wait here,” and jog across the street to Mom while the silver-haired man next door watches on from his porch with a wry grin on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Never seen a woman who needs to use the John?” Mom shouts over at him. “We’ve been on the road for two hours straight and my bladder’s as old as I am!”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. 

“Nice to meet you!” I yell across the long driveway that divides our two properties, practically shoving mom through the door after I unlock it. 

Mom darts down the hallway, scolding me, “Next time I ask for a pit stop, for the love of Dolly Parton, listen to me!”

“Okay. Okay,” I say, turning to get Mia. 

As soon as she’s unbuckled, Mia hops down out of the car and takes in our new neighborhood. Her eyes rove the houses next to ours and then she turns and scans the ones across the street. 

“Nice,” she says with a nod. “I hope there’s  kids.”

“There will be children here in town,” I assure her. “You’ll make friends in no time.”

“I know that, Mom.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I’m certain her voice is a foretaste of years to come. “I just wonder if any kids live here, on our street.”

She looks around again. “Hey! That’s a treehouse.” 

I follow her pointing finger. Sure enough. Four houses up toward the back of the lot, the top of a wooden treehouse sticks up past the neighbor’s roofline. 

The movers exit the moving van and lower the ramp. Mom emerges from the house, turning to stare at our neighbor who’s still checking us out from his spot on his porch. 

“Retired?” she shouts over. 

Internally, I palm my forehead. Grabbing Mia’s hand and keeping my words between the two of us, I say, “Let’s go meet our new neighbor.” 

She looks up at me. “Without a plate of cookies?”

“No time for that,” I say with a smile. “We’ve got to head Nana off at the pass.” 

Mia picks up her pace. 

Mom’s headed straight for the man who looks to be her age or a bit older. He’s eyeing her like a rabbit eyes a coyote. Wise man. Mom’s not mean, but she’s blunt, and sometimes that feels the same to the untrained palate. 

“Hi!” I say, raising my hand in the air and waving. 

His head turns in my direction. 

Mia and I are basically at a trot at this point. Who knows what will come out of Mom’s mouth, and I have to live next to this man for the foreseeable future. First impressions are not my mother’s strong suit. 

“Margie. Margie Caldwell,” Mom says to the man. She’s practically storming across his yard. 

He looks at her, an expression that’s either amused or bewildered on his face. 

“And I’m her daughter!” I say, tugging Mia along and beating my mom to the spot in front of my neighbor’s porch. 

“And I’m her granddaughter,” Mia says. “My nana says crazy things sometimes. Don’t let it bother you.”

At this, our neighbor smiles. It’s a nice smile—warm and full of kindness. 

“Jonathan Michaels,” he says. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s just Mia and me. We’ll be the ones you’re welcoming. My mom’s only here for moving day.” 

Mom stands next to me, her arms crossed over her chest in a mirror pose to Jonathan, eyes roving over my new neighbor with the thoroughness of a crime-scene detective. 

“I’m staying a week,” she says, her eyes never leaving Jonathan.

“You’re staying a … ?” This is news to me. 

My sister had agreed to drive mom back to Maryville in the morning. 

“Ma’am?” one of the movers shouts from across the lawn.

“Oh! Yes?” I temporarily forgot about the massive truck filled with everything we own. I was too busy rushing in to protect our neighbor from whatever my mom was about to say or do. 

The mover approaches with an iPad for me to sign. “I’m Shep. Let’s walk the house so you can tell me where you want us to set everything.” 

“It was nice meeting you,” I say to Jonathan.

“You too,” he says. Then he looks mom in the eyes. “And you.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Mom says. 

“Nana,” Mia says. “Where’s your manners?” 

I shoot my mom a warning glance. “Don’t answer that. Please. Let’s go tour the house. Okay?” 

Shep walks toward the house. 

Mia and I follow him. 

Mom takes one more glance at Mr.Michaels and catches up with us.  

The floorboards creak just the slightest when I step through the front door. I smile. There’s something about a home that’s been around a while. This one was built in 1900. The woodwork and construction details are ones you never see in modern builds. My chest fills with warmth for the first time in a while. This is just what we needed—a fresh start in a new town, and our own cozy place to call home. 

I point around the room, telling Shep where furniture should go. He follows me into the first bedroom off to the left. 

“I don’t know what this room will be,” I say. “You can put one of the queen beds in here and any extra boxes that aren’t labeled.”

“This is where I’ll stay when I visit,” Mom says, popping her head in the doorway. Mia’s right behind her. 

Mom looks down at my daughter and says, “Nana’s room.” 

Mia glances around and nods her approval. “You can have this one.” 

“It’s a guest room,” I say to Mom. “And that means it’s your room when you’re visiting.” 

The past year has been filled with surprises. The biggest one came in the form of my parents’ divorce. It’s nearly final. Mom’s planning on keeping our childhood home in Maryville. Dad already moved out. He doesn’t say anything about where he’s living when we see him, but I suspect it’s already with his secretary turned girlfriend. But he still insisted on covering the cost of the movers. I tried to turn him down even though the expense would have set us back, but Dad insisted, so I gave in.

“Can I pick my room?” Mia asks.

“I’ve got the perfect one picked out for you,” I smile down at her. “Why don’t I show you and then you can tell the movers exactly where you want your bed and dresser?”

She agrees and we make our way down the narrow hall leading off the living room. “Those stairs lead up to the attic space and finished loft,” I tell Mom and Mia, tapping my finger on the door to the staircase. “We’ll make it into an all-purpose: playroom and lounge.” I turn to Seth. I want the smaller loveseat and chairs up there.”

Mom opens each door as we move through the rest of the downstairs, inspecting the full bath off the hall and the other three bedrooms—mine and Mia’s and the one right off the kitchen where my younger sister, Avery, will stay when she’s here to care for Mia whenever I’m on shift. I fill Seth in as to which boxes to put where as we enter each room. 

“A window seat!” Mia practically squeals when we open her door. 

Avery’s voice rings through the house just as we’re stepping into the kitchen which fills the entire back of the house—including a large island in the middle and a breakfast nook with a bay window bench seat. 

“Anybody home?” Avery’s voice carries down the hallway.

“We’re back here!” I shout. 

“Aunt Avery!” Mia says, taking off at a sprint down the hall.

“Oof!” my sister says with a laugh. “Man, girly. You have to be careful. You’re getting to be a mighty little beast.”

I can’t see Mia, but I know she’s beaming. Calling her a beast is her version of a compliment.

“Sorry I’m late!” Avery says, walking through the kitchen doorway holding Mia’s hand. “I had to stop at the new Buc-Ee’s and I got lost at the taffy wall.” 

“You got to stop at Buc-Ee’s?” Mom says, eyeing me. “Next time I’m riding with you, Ave. This one wouldn’t stop for anything.” 

“I would have,” I defend. “I just wanted to beat the movers here.” 

Seth takes that as his cue to head back out to the moving van. “We’ll get to work,” he says. 

We spend the next hours working around the movers. The beds and furniture are placed, and everywhere you look boxes are stacked or open or empty and collapsed. 

“I need pizza,” Avery announces. “Feed us.” 

“I planned to,” I tell her. “I’ll go on a run. What do you want?”

“Anything but chicken,” she says. “Chicken does not belong on pizza.”

“I thought that was pineapple,” I tease. 

“Ask the owner what their best seller is,” Mom says. “That’ll be the one.” 

“Okay,” I say, grabbing my keys off the island. “One best seller and one half cheese, half pepperoni. And I’ll grab one for the movers while I’m at it. I’ll be right back.” 

In my van, I search maps for pizza places near me. The two top listings are Gino’s Pizza and The Pizza Den. I’m a sucker for places with Italian names, so I’m about to head to Gino’s. 

One glance at myself in my rearview mirror has me picking the Pizza Den. I look like a woman who drove across the state and spent the day rifling through boxes. My wavy brown hair is sticking out from my pony tail in unruly wisps. 

I call the order in on the way over and pull up in front of a row of shops on one of the side streets just off the main downtown. I park the van in front of the shop. The smell when I open the door makes my stomach growl. 

Several people are standing around the counter waiting for to-go orders. A woman is paying at the register. A few other families or groups of friends are eating at the booths along the walls and the tables near the front window. 

A man steps up to grab seven boxes of pizza from the employee behind the counter. He’s tall and built, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and a body that demands attention. He’s all muscles and hard edges. 

I clear my throat and glance up at the overhead menu, waiting my turn to order. My eyes drift back to the man with tousled light brown hair and a dusting of stubble softening his otherwise chiseled jaw. His expression is confident and calm, not stern, but definitely not warm. His eyes, though. They look like they’re seeing everything—even things that aren’t here and now. 

“That’s the whole order, Greyson,” the worker at the counter says to the man. Greyson. The name fits him. “And Dustin asked for garlic knots.” The worker places a smaller box on top of the stack of pizza boxes.

Greyson lifts the stack with one hand, balancing them on his arm. In a deep, serious voice, he says, “Thanks, Tommy.”  

I’m standing near the door, so I step out of the way to let Greyson pass. He stops short a few feet away from me when our eyes meet. His gaze narrows, his brow drawing in. Then, as if shaking off a thought, his face goes neutral and he walks by me, glancing over at me one more time before heading out the door. A tingle runs up my spine when our eyes connect and he looks away. 

I watch him walk to a jeep, setting the boxes in the back seat. He has the kind of face that makes him feel familiar—sort of like how Waterford invoked memories of Maryville the first time I saw it. He reminds me of someone. I just can’t remember who. 

I’m exhausted and starving. It’s entirely possible that everything feels and looks familiar at this point. Besides, it’s Tennessee. If you’ve seen one small, historic town, you’ve seen them all. That’s true, isn’t it? 

Still, something prickles across my skin. I rub my hands down my forearms. 

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” the worker behind the counter asks. 

“Oh. Yes. Um …” I step up to the register. “What’s your best seller?” 

“Besides cheese and pepperoni?” the kid asks. “I’d say that’ll be our Nashville hot chicken pizza.” 

I chuckle. Of course it’s chicken. 

“Well, give me one pepperoni, one half cheese, half pepperoni … and one of The Works.” 

“You got it. Name for the order?” 

“Hallie.” 

“New to Waterford?” he asks. “Or just visiting?”

“First day in town.” 

“Well, then. First pizza’s on the house.” 

“Oh. You don’t have to do that.” 

“Yeah. I do. Or my manager will get on me. Welcome to Waterford, Miss Hallie.” 

I arrive back home carrying three pizza boxes and a complimentary box of cinnamon sugar twists the worker threw in at the last minute. I offered to pay for them and he said I ought not look a gift horse in the mouth, so I just stuffed a ten in the tip jar. 

“Pizza!” Mia shouts when I step through the front door. Moving paper is still secured to the floor in the living room and down the hallway. 

I hand a pizza over to Shep. 

“We’re ’bout finished here,” he tells me. “Just a few more boxes.”

“Thank you so much,” I tell him.  

We devour the pizza in record time, stashing the rest in the fridge. The movers drive away—Mia watching them from the front bay window in Nana’s bedroom. The guest room. It’s a guest room. Not my Mom’s. 

“Time for your first night in your new home,” I say to Mia. “Let’s brush teeth.” 

“And read a story?” she asks. 

“Yes,” I say, even though my eyes tug with exhaustion. 

Keeping her routine in place trumps my need for sleep. 

Once Mia is tucked into bed, her pajamas on and her favorite stuffed bear in her arms, I sit on the edge of her bed, holding Ramona and Bezus. She can read chapter books to herself by now, but we’ve kept our habit of nightly reading anyway. 

“Mommy?” Mia’s voice is drowsy and slurred.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“When do we sign up for baseball?”

“Avery’s taking you this week on one of the days I’ll be at work.” 

“Don’t let her forget.” 

“Never.” 

“What will you do at the fire station for a whole day?” she yawns and looks at me through half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll do equipment checks and write a bunch of things down. Then if there are emergencies or fires, I’ll go with the rest of the crew to put the fire out or to help people.” 

“Are you scared?” Her eyes widen just the slightest.

“I’m not scared,” I assure her. “I know how to be really careful. That’s what I learned when I went through training. And a fire crew looks out for one another. I’ll be very safe.” I brush a lock of her wavy brown hair off Mia’s forehead and trail my finger down her cheek. “Are you scared?”

“About you being a fire girl?” 

I chuckle softly. “A firewoman. And, yes. Does it scare you?”

“No. Because you’re careful. But … I am scared about school.” 

“First days can be scary,” I agree. “But you’re going to do great. And I’ll come home on my break to see you after school so you can tell me all about it, okay?”

Mia nods. “Okay.”

“And you don’t have to be brave all day—just brave enough to walk in. Your teacher will be looking out for you and I’ll be right here when you get home.” 

She smiles a soft smile. “Bezus, please.”

“Okay. Let’s read and then you can have sweet dreams of friends you’ll make and home runs you’ll hit on your new team. We’re both about to have an adventure.” 

She smiles wider. “I love adventures.”

“I know you do. You’re my brave, adventurous girl. And you even take adventures when they scare you a little. That’s the best kind of brave.” 

I talk a big talk. It’s what moms do. My stomach swirls with thoughts of my first day. 

I crack the book open and start reading at the spot where we left off last night. You just have to be brave enough to walk in. I echo the wisdom I just fed my daughter, trying to convince myself it’s that simple.