The next morning started with the sound of rain. It wasn’t heavy, just a slow steady drizzle tapping on the roof of Carter Fire Services. Jack liked mornings like that. The gray light made the world softer, quieter. He brewed coffee, sat by the window, and watched the drops streak down the glass. Retirement, he thought, was supposed to feel like this all the time. Peaceful, simple, predictable.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the caller ID and grinned. Maggie Lewis.

“Morning,” he said, answering.

“Morning, Jack. Sorry to bother you again, but you might want to come see this. My son tried to help the neighbor fix her lawnmower. Now there’s smoke. Real smoke.”

Jack stood up before she even finished. “On my way.”

By the time he pulled onto Maple Street, the drizzle had turned to mist. He spotted Maggie in her driveway, waving frantically with one hand and holding an umbrella with the other. Next to her, a teenage boy crouched near a lawnmower that was still sputtering out thin gray smoke.

“Shut it down,” Jack called, jogging over.

“I’m trying,” the boy said.

Jack pulled the plug wire free, and the engine coughed to silence. The smell of burnt oil lingered. He squatted beside the machine and looked it over. “What happened here?”

The boy looked sheepish. “I was helping Mrs. Conway next door. It wouldn’t start, so I figured maybe it needed more gas.”

Jack glanced at the overflowing tank. “You figured wrong.”

Maggie sighed. “This is my son, Tyler. He thinks he’s a mechanic.”

Tyler folded his arms. “I almost fixed it.”

Jack smiled. “Almost doesn’t count when something’s smoking.”

He pushed the mower to the side and popped open the filter cover. The foam was soaked with gasoline. “That’s your problem. You flooded it. Next time, small steps.”

Tyler nodded, embarrassed. “I just wanted to help.”

Jack looked at him for a moment and recognized the same eagerness he’d once seen in new recruits—ready to fix everything, afraid of being useless. “You’ve got the right heart for it,” Jack said finally. “You just need patience. Come by the firehouse sometime. I’ll show you how to check equipment properly.”

Tyler’s face brightened. “Really?”

“Really. We could use another pair of hands.”

Maggie smiled, relief softening her voice. “You’d do that? He’s been looking for something to do besides video games.”

Jack shrugged. “Better to burn fuel than brain cells.”

That afternoon, Tyler showed up at Carter Fire Services, soaked from the lingering rain but full of excitement. Jack handed him a rag and pointed toward a shelf of extinguishers. “First rule, everything has a place. Second rule, everything gets cleaned. Go.”

Tyler wiped each extinguisher carefully, asking questions nonstop—about pressure gauges, hoses, and what kind of fires each one handled. Jack answered every question with the calm patience of a man who’d seen too much chaos to be bothered by curiosity.

After an hour, Jack poured them both coffee—black for him, half milk for Tyler.

“You always wanted to be a firefighter?” the boy asked.

“Didn’t know I did until the first fire,” Jack said. “After that, it’s not about wanting. It’s about needing. Some people need to run toward the noise.”

Tyler nodded slowly. “My dad left when I was little. I think that’s why I like this stuff. Feels like something that matters.”

Jack studied him for a long second. “It does matter. Doesn’t mean it’s easy. You have to care enough to stay calm when everyone else panics. That’s the real job.”

The boy nodded again, more serious this time.

When Maggie arrived to pick him up, she found them both kneeling by an old pump Jack was refurbishing. Her smile came easy, the kind that made her eyes crease slightly. “Looks like he’s found a new hobby.”

“Just keeping him out of trouble,” Jack said.

“Good luck with that,” she replied.

As they talked, thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain had started again, soft but steady. Maggie tilted her face toward the gray sky. “You ever get tired of the weather here?”

Jack chuckled. “You forget, I used to work in fire. Rain’s a blessing.”

She looked at him, thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who talks about work the way you do. Most people can’t wait to forget what they did.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe I’m not done with it yet.”

The three of them stood in the doorway as lightning flickered across the hills. Tyler leaned against the frame, grinning. “This feels like one of those movie scenes where something dramatic’s about to happen.”

Jack smiled. “If you’re lucky, it won’t. Real life’s better when nothing catches fire.”

When they finally left, Jack stayed behind, turning off lights and locking the garage door. The rain drummed on the roof like a heartbeat. He thought about the boy, about how easy it was to see a younger version of himself in that restless energy. And he thought about Maggie—the way she smiled through worry, the way she’d quietly started showing up in his days like sunlight breaking through clouds.

He sat for a while in the silence, coffee cooling beside him. Outside, the wet street reflected the glow of the streetlights, soft and gold.

He looked around at his small office, the tools, the helmets, the smell of oil and rust. It wasn’t the same as the firehouse he’d left behind, but maybe it didn’t need to be. Maybe this was where he was supposed to pass the torch, not carry it.

Jack leaned back, closing his eyes as the rain eased into a whisper.

Tomorrow, he thought, he’d show Tyler how to use a pressure gauge properly. And maybe, if the weather cleared, he’d stop by the diner and have breakfast with Maggie. Just coffee, maybe pancakes. Nothing serious.

But for the first time in years, he realized he was looking forward to tomorrow.