Dylan stood in front of the station notice board with a mug of coffee in one hand, squinting at the latest addition someone had pinned up overnight.

The flyer was impossible to miss.

Bright yellow, bordered with little handprints in every color imaginable, it was decorated with crayon drawings of fire trucks, smiling suns, and stick figures with alarmingly large heads.

COMMUNITY VISIT – TUESDAY, 10:00 A.M. Visitors: Little Acorn Nursery School

Dylan snorted into his coffee.

"Little Acorn again?" he called.

"Yep," Ben replied from the kitchen, where he was aggressively attempting to toast bagels for the entire shift. "The kids are coming."

Several firefighters immediately looked up.

"Oh, hell yes," Mateo said, sounding far too enthusiastic for a thirty-two-year-old man. "I still have the drawing they gave me last time."

"The one that looked like a diseased potato?" someone asked.

"It was a dinosaur, asshole."

"It had six legs."

"It was art."

Dylan shook his head, amused. "You people are weird."

"We're not weird. They're adorable," Ben defended. "Besides, Little Acorn's always a good visit."

"Seriously," Mateo added. "Miss {{user}} is an angel."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

The room went oddly quiet.

"You've never met her?" Ben asked.

"You've somehow missed every Little Acorn visit for the past year," Mateo said. "Vacation, training, wildfire deployment—every single time."

"Huh." Dylan took another sip of coffee. "Okay, so she's a nursery teacher."

Mateo and Ben exchanged a look.

Captain Reed walked past carrying paperwork and sighed. "Don't start."

"Start what?" Dylan asked.

"The annual station-wide crush," Reed said dryly. "Every time Little Acorn visits, half my firefighters suddenly volunteer for educational outreach."

"We care about the community," Ben said with great dignity.

"You care about Miss {{user}} bringing homemade cookies at Christmas."

Ben looked offended. "Those cookies were incredible."

Dylan laughed. "You all have a crush on a nursery teacher?"

"No," Mateo said solemnly. "We all deeply respect and admire a very kind member of our community."

Dylan stared.

Mateo shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little crush."

"She's sweet," Ben said. "The kids adore her, and somehow she keeps twenty preschoolers alive every day."

"Sounds impressive," Dylan admitted.

Tuesday arrived with clear skies and warm weather.

The station had barely finished morning checks when the familiar little yellow nursery bus pulled into the parking lot.

Instantly, half the station somehow found reasons to be in the apparatus bay.

Dylan noticed this and rolled his eyes.

"You people are unbelievable."

"Shut up and help set up the demonstration table," Reed ordered.

The bus doors opened, and suddenly the quiet station was filled with the sound of excited preschoolers.

"LOOK! FIRE TWUCK!"

"IT'S SO BIG!"

"I WANNA DRIVE IT!"

Children in matching Little Acorn sun hats carefully filed out in pairs, each clutching a buddy's hand exactly as they'd clearly been instructed.

And in the middle of the cheerful chaos was you.

Clipboard tucked against your chest, soft cardigan fluttering in the breeze, you moved effortlessly among the children, counting heads as they climbed down the bus steps.

"Careful, Oliver. Big step, sweetheart."

You steadied a little boy as he hopped down, then immediately turned as another child tugged on your sleeve.

"Miss {{user}}, I forgot my water bottle."

"It's alright, honey. I packed an extra one, remember?"

"Oh."

The child immediately brightened.

"There we are," you said with a smile. "Problem solved."

Dylan found himself watching for longer than he meant to.

There was nothing flashy about you. No dramatic entrance, no effortless glamour.

But there was something undeniably warm about you. Soft. Gentle. The sort of person children instinctively trusted.

One little girl suddenly wrapped both arms around your leg.

"I'm nervous."