Sidney remains cautious around the local amateur matchmaker, adopting a level of vigilance, one not unlike that of the state he experienced while on duty, whenever she and her cohort openly collude on his behalf. Unfortunately for him—and anyone else audacious enough to be single in their vicinity, their movements are as unpredictable as they are assured to occur.

He could be milling around the market down the block from the station, or waiting for his order at the hole-in-the-wall café beside your shop—even his mailbox was fair game. Blissfully alone one minute, and the next? He's center stage as Halifax's Most Eligible Bachelor, unwittingly sifting through a rolodex of eager contestants, many of whom present in name only.

Their community wasn't remarkable small, but it was quiet. So, Sid could understand the appeal. The residents, many of whom were nearing retirement or already had been for several years, had little else to fuss over. It wasn't uncommon for a single person to become a central topic of conversation at the bingo table or the church pew. Everyone got their turn.

But, of the community's ever-dwindling pool, Sidney Crosby is most definitely the favorite, with you not far behind.

When you arrived, Sid breathed a sigh of relief. Fresh meat meant that, at least a little while, the heat would be off his back. He could go about his business without a peanut gallery or having to stand trial over the state of his (non-existent) romantic life.

It felt somewhat callous to hope for someone else's life to be probed and scrutinized the way his has been, but his reprieve was long overdue. And it wasn't as though he intended for you to fend for yourself. He knew firsthand how relentless Madame Matchmaker—as she liked to be called—could be, and therefore, he could be a vital resource and a nice shoulder to lean on.

You were receptive to his aid and grateful for his kindness, and while Sidney anticipated this alliance of sorts would be largely one-way, he was pleasantly surprised to realize a positive, unintended consequence—a deterrence to meddling. With you by his side, Sidney was approached significantly less.

You both were.

And you knew why. It wasn't hard to connect the dots; appearing together effectively marked you as "off-limits," and, therefore, not worth their time or help.

However, it soon became clear the rouse worked a little too well. And, unwilling to fabricate a half-truth or outright lie, the horde of Cupids found reason to descend with renewed fervor. This time, with a fresh initiative: to bring their fantastical assumptions to fruition.

Today's doings were further fodder, and the pile of pooped toddlers curled between you being the chief culprits.

For nearly eight hours, you looked and behaved like a stereotypical nuclear family out for field trip. The day began with a breakfast spread seated at your breakfast nook and a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. Then, a trip to your shop for a light lesson in floriculture and an introduction to bouquet arrangement, before the four of you made your way to the station for an edu-chat on fire prevention and safety. And, of course, a gear try-on and (assisted) turns with the fire hose. (Sidney wishes he would've snuck a photo of you donning his helmet.)

As the sun slipped closer to the horizon, you crumpled onto a bench framing the park in the center of town.

Managing two children together for Mentor Day seemed less daunting than going it alone, and it had been—but at what cost?

The hushed giggles just within earshot are measure enough.

"We're never going to hear the end of this, are we?"

Sidney hides his splitting grin behind his hand, all too aware of the typical spectators not two yards from where you're sat. It was best to find amusement in their meddling whenever possible.

"Definitely not," he concurs.

You lapse into comfortable silence, as you usually do around this hour on one of your back porches. The fading sun paints the town square in a buttery golden light soon after. Neither of you can resist stealing glances, open and lingering, too eager to watch the color dance across the other's face to worry about public perception and speculation.

Tired eyes tracking over your face, Sidney hums, "Today was a good day."

He watches you nod in agreement, a dreamy little smile pulling at your mouth. Behind the children's heads, your warm fingers tangle in his. His heart thuds when your hand gently squeezes his three times.

"Yeah, it was."

—

someone let me give him kids! now!

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

Sid and yourself are in silent agreement—Emerson did this on purpose.

But any nerves he might've had after unexpectedly running into you at the station melted watching you become a flustered mess when his turnout jacket parted to reveal bare skin and toned muscle.

Pride bloomed recklessly in his chest realizing you couldn't keep eye contact for more than a few seconds. And, that you avoided his torso entirely. He grinned harder than he had in years watching you invent tasks to busy your hands with—to distract your wandering mind.

"Remind me again; what exactly do floral arrangements have to do with fighting fires?" Sidney hears you hiss at your best friend twenty minutes into the session.

He stifles a laugh while as he holds the pose he was given.

Emerson, the town's best (and only) professional photographer, only chuckles. The sound of smug satisfaction slips between shudder clicks.

"Not a damn thing..."

You pin her with an unamused grimace, your arms folded tautly over your grass-stained overalls. The adorably pinched expression reminds him a lot of the furry friend he plucked out of that tree not too long ago.

She sighs, rolling her eyes. "I thought it'd be a nice way to jazz up the background a bit. Maybe give some variety to the calendar, y'know? There's only so much I can do with a red brick wall."

You scoff in disbelief, but keep any further gripes to yourself.

Lowering the camera, she drops her voice to a half-assed conspiratorial whisper, "—and I wanted to give you an opportunity to finally see him shirtless. You're welcome, by the way."

"Because I needed your help the first time," you bite back thoughtlessly.

You petulantly kick at nothing before freezing, eyes blown wide. Stunned into silence by your unplanned candor, you can barely sputter out fragments... which only serve to strengthen the initial innuendo.

Sidney's thunderous laughter nearly drowns out the unfortunate sound of Emerson's R6 crashing to the floor.

—

ahhhh this is verse so !! and sugary!! makes my teeth ache (in the best way)

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

To Sidney, this sham is nothing more than a meat-market legitimized. His fierce, formidable crew, flaunted and auctioned off in the name of "charity," as upstanding members of the local community brazenly gawk and drink themselves into a courageous stupor.

Gathered in packs around the local watering hole on a Friday night, the only things missing are high-res Animal Planet cameras and the calm wonder of Sir David Attenborough. It's only a matter of time before they start throwing themselves at each other like elk during mating season.

It's a shame Sidney won't be around to see it.

"Don't even think about it, Chief."

Sidney slumps; he spoke too soon.

Now, he's caught between cracked-door freedom and the firm grip of his Assistant Fire Chief. Kneading at the annoyance budding between his brows, Sidney turns on his heel to face his childhood best friend.

"C'mon, really? This is a circus, Nate. I shouldn't—Is this really something I should be doing? Y'know, it's not exactly... becoming of a civil servant."

"I'm doing it," Nate shrugs. "You don't see me pitching a fit."

The Chief glares. "Yeah, because you already know who you're going home with."

"Not true; tonight's could be the night Emmy decides to act on her grade school crush," the blonde jokes, his chin tipped across the gymnasium. "And who'd blame her? Flower's lookin' better than usual tonight."

"Nate."

The younger of the two only laughs in response to the dramatic groan of his name.

"No, I get it. You're acting pissy because your flower's stuck at home with a stomach bug, and, subsequently, you've been condemned to the terrible fate of having Cole Harbour's hottest fight tooth and nail for a date with you—oh, the horror! Truly, I feel for you, Saint Crosby."

"Bandwagon much?" he grumbles.

As Nate's grin widens, Sid's frown deepens.

Blue eyes twinkling with satisfaction, Nate teases, "You didn't deny it this time."

"D-Deny, what?"

Nate rolls his eyes; Sid's refusal to acknowledge anything, let alone something so obvious to anyone with eyes, was starting to get old, and fast.

"Yeah, sure, okay. Play dumb if it makes you feel better. But I'd figure my shit out sooner rather than later if I were you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sidney blinks.

"Oh, nothing... Just that you aren't the only civil servant sniffing around Blossom & Bloom these days."

With a parting wink, Nate vanishes into the crowd, leaving Sidney to stew in a fresh pot of bubbling unease.

—

and the plot thickens... hehehe 😈

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!