Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Because if I cross that line, I might lose you.
I don’t say any of it.
Instead, I smirk. “Occupational hazard. Firefighters are trained observers.”
She scoffs. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re glowing,” I say quietly, glancing at the lights above her head. “Valentine’s suits you.”
Something shifts in her expression—softens. “You think?”
“I know.”
She looks away first.
I take the win, small as it is.
When I finally grab the carrier of cups, she walks me to the door. “Be careful out there.”
“Always am,” I say, then pause. “You working late tonight?”
She hesitates. “Probably.”
I nod, heart ticking louder. “Good.”
Her mouth twitches. “Why?”
“Because I like knowing where to find you.”
She exhales, slow and shaky. “Dax…”
“Yeah?”
She shakes her head, smiling like she’s annoyed with herself. “Nothing. See you tomorrow.”
I step outside into the cold, the bell chiming behind me, her warmth still burned into my hands.
As I walk back to the truck, one thought keeps looping, dangerous and intoxicating.
For the first time in years, I let myself wonder—
What if she feels it too?
And what the hell am I going to do if she does?
Chapter 2
Rory
The espresso machine hisses like it’s mocking me. Steam clouds the air, fogging the windows, giving me something to hide behind. I grab a mug, my favorite one—the chipped red one with bean there, done that printed on the side—and tell myself I’m perfectly fine.
I am always perfectly fine.
So when he walks in the next morning, my mind falls back to the moment he caught me when I toppled off the ladder yesterday. My heart hammers out of my chest at just the thought of Dax’s hands warm on my waist—I can still feel the exact place his thumbs pressed against my hips like they belonged there.
Heat crawls up my neck when he catches my eyes.
I turn away before he can see it.
“Morning, Firefighter. You want the usual?” I ask over my shoulder.
“For the whole house,” he says. “But I want mine first.”
“Demanding today.”
I glance back at him. He’s leaning against the counter like he owns it, jacket unzipped, sleeves shoved up, that easy confidence rolling off him like heat from a fire pit. He looks unfairly good for someone who smells like smoke and winter air.
“Come here,” I say before I think better of it. “I’ll show you something.”
His brows lift. “That sounds dangerous.”
I pull a shot, steam the milk, then make a little design as I pour before sliding the cup toward him. A heart blooms on the surface, slightly crooked but intentional.
“Latte art,” I say. “That’s talent.”
He squints at it. “Fancy.”
“It’s a skill.”
“Prove it.”
I laugh. “You want a lesson?”
He nods once, shrugging off his Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue coat. “Teach me.”
My skin prickles under his heated gaze.
I move closer, guiding his hands to the pitcher, my fingers brushing his knuckles. He’s warm. Solid. My stomach flips like I’m sixteen again and standing too close to him behind the bleachers.
“Slow,” I murmur. “Don’t rush it.”
He watches my mouth when I talk.
“Like this?” he asks, pouring.
Milk splashes everywhere, including on us.
I gasp. “Dax!”
He laughs, the deep sound causing my heart to flip-flop in my chest. Foam drips onto the counter. “You said slow, not graceful.”
“You’re impossible.” I grab a towel, but he’s already lifting the hem of his shirt.
“Don’t—” I start.
Too late.
The shirt comes off.
I freeze.
Oh.
Oh no.
He’s all muscle and lines and familiar scars I’ve seen a hundred times without ever really seeing. Steam curls around us, the café suddenly too small, too quiet.
My ovaries stage a full rebellion.
“You okay, Red?” he asks, innocent and absolutely not.
I clear my throat. “You’re… dripping.”
“Oh yeah?” He grins. “Foam does that.”
I swat at him with the towel, laughing too loud, too breathless. “You’re banned from touching expensive equipment.”
“Worth it,” he says.
The bell above the door chimes then, sharp and perfectly timed.
Mail.
My smile falters.
The mailman drops the stack on the counter, nods at Dax, tips his hat at me. And there it is—right on top.
The red envelope.
My heart stutters.
Dax notices immediately. Of course he does. He notices everything.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I hesitate.
This is stupid. I’m an adult woman. I run a business. I can handle this.
Still, my fingers curl around the envelope like it might vanish if I don’t hold on tight enough.
“It’s… nothing,” I say, then sigh. “Okay. That’s a lie.”
His expression softens. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.” I lean against the counter, turning the envelope over. “But I want to.”
His attention sharpens, all teasing gone.
“Last Valentine’s Day,” I say, “there was this… thing. At the town hall. Anonymous pen pal exchange.”
He stills.
“Someone entered me without asking,” I continue. “I thought it was a prank. But then I got a letter. And then another. And another.”
“How many?” he asks quietly.
“A year’s worth.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“They’re thoughtful,” I say. “Kind. They ask real questions. Not small talk.”
“Do you know who it is?”
I shake my head. “No names. No clues. Just words.”