Page 19 of Saved By the Firefighter

She only chuckles. "I appreciate it. You saved me from having to deal with my brother for at least a few days." She stabs a cherry tomato and pops it in her mouth. "But we will definitely have to keep this a secret from him. I told him I was at a hotel."

I don't laugh. The thought of Marcus finding out about my proximity to his sister is as appealing as walking back into that burning forest without gear.

Her expression drops and she contemplates a cucumber for a moment. Then she shifts gears, her brown eyes clouded. "You've been fighting that fire for weeks. Must be tough."

I nod.

"Well, if it helps, I'm proud of you," she continues. "Everyone in town is talking about how brave the firefighters are. You're doing something incredible."

I just keep eating, the steak suddenly tough in my mouth. Praise from Ellie does things to me that I can't explain, lights up parts of me that are better off dark. But I'm no hero, just doing my job.

"Thanks," is all I manage to say, the word almost sticking in my throat. Suddenly, I'm a bit too exposed, so I grab my plate even though it isn't yet empty. "Thanks again for cooking. It was delicious. I should call it a night."

"O-oh, okay. Um—"

As she's fumbling for a response, I leave the dining room and hurry to the kitchen. I wrap up my food and set it in the fridge.

I retreat to the sanctuary of my room, closing the door. Alone, I lean against the wood. I don't trust myself around her, so no matter what, I need to avoid her this weekend. She's off-limits. Always has been, always will be. No matter how much I'm attracted to her.

Chapter 9

Ellie

Ipush the last plate into the dishwasher, its clink echoing too loudly in the silence Jake left behind. A sigh escapes me as I wipe down the counter, my movements mechanical and my mind a jumbled mess. What is Jake's deal? He invites me for the weekend, then seems to want nothing to do with me, not even finishing dinner. He's like a book with half the pages torn out, leaving me to guess what happens next—and it's infuriating. I thought that maybe we'd talk about that kiss, but he seemed uncomfortable talking to me about anything.

And I did catch his subtle hint that he's letting me stay "just" for the weekend, which, again, doesn't make sense. Why not just let me stay with Marcus? Why send a driver so I can stay two days? I'm not trying to impose or demand to stay longer, I just know that repairing the duplex will take weeks, so I could have just settled in with Marcus and...I'm just thinking in circles. I clearly don't understand anything about Jake, so leaving Monday is probably a good idea. Maybe he regrets extending an invitation to me. Maybe I should just leave in the morning.

Jake's walls are too high for any woman to climb.

But that's fine. It's not my job to scale those walls or heal whatever past wounds carved them so deep. I came here thinking...hoping...well, it doesn't matter now.

With the kitchen spotless, I grab my phone off the table and notice a string of texts from Marcus: Ellie, are you sure you don't want to crash at my place instead of some hotel? I don't like the idea of you staying alone.

Stiffing a sigh, I text back: Cedar Ridge is a safe place. What are you so concerned about?

His response: You've been getting in bad situations a lot lately. I just think it's better if you stay with me. I don't want some asshole taking advantage.

What asshole? The only person I interact with regularly is Danielle. You think some random guy is going to hit on me in the hotel lobby?

It's possible.

I roll my eyes and message: I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Just holed up in my hotel for the weekend.

After I hit send, I glance around the beautiful, rustic decor of Jake's home, the lies eating away at me. But still, Jake isn't some asshole trying to take advantage of me, and I am perfectly safe here. Well, my heart probably isn't, but the rest of me is.

I send Marcus a smiley face for good measure, even though I feel anything but smiley. Slipping into the cool night air, I head back to the guest house with a heart heavier than when I arrived.

Hours later, I lie awake in bed, the digital clock casting 11:00 PM in ghostly green. Restlessness gnaws at my stomach—or is that hunger? Either way, Jake said to make myself at home, and I could kill for something sweet.

I wrap myself in a warm blanket and trek back to the main house, admiring how many stars I can see in the night sky. Once in the main house, I tiptoe through the house, which has some creaky floorboards. The kitchen glows with the soft hue of under-cabinet lighting. I freeze mid-step as I spot Jake by the fridge, clad in sweats and a tank top that clings lovingly to his broad chest. My mouth goes dry, and there's a flutter low in my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.

He doesn't seem surprised to see me, probably hearing my creaky footsteps approaching. He glances my way as he spreads mayo on some bread. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks. His voice is softer now, the rough edges from dinner smoothed away.

"Could say the same for you." I lean against the archway, crossing my arms, an attempt to guard myself against the sudden rush of desire I'm having from seeing his huge pecs under that flimsy white tank.

"Sandwich?" He gestures to the one he's making, but I shake my head.

"More of a sweet tooth," I confess, watching him closely.

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