Page 3 of Curvy Girl and the Firefighter Chief

"How long have I been here?"

"Half a day," he answers, settling back into his chair. It looks comically small beneath his large frame. "You've been in and out, mostly due to the mild sedative they gave you for the pain. Do you remember anything about what happened?"

I close my eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of memory.

"I was working on a deadline... I remember smelling smoke, and when I opened my office door, the hallway was already filling with it. I couldn't get downstairs, so I grabbed a wet towel from the bathroom and..." I shake my head. "Everything after that is fuzzy."

"You did exactly the right thing with the wet towel," he says, and there's something like approval in his deep voice that makes mystomach flip. "It probably saved your life. We found you in your bedroom, unconscious but breathing."

A flash of memory – strong arms lifting me, feeling safe despite the chaos around me. "You carried me out?"

He nods, and I swear I see a faint blush creep up his neck.

"Your house suffered significant damage, but the structure is salvageable. The fire started in your office – looks like an electrical issue with your computer setup."

My heart sinks. "My work... all my illustrations..."

"The fire damage was contained mostly to that room, but there was significant smoke and water damage throughout the upper floor," he explains gently. "I'm sorry."

Tears prick at my eyes as I think about all the lost work, but I force them back. I'm alive – that's what matters.

Looking at him now, I notice more details about him in the morning light. Though his current expression is serious, there are tiny laugh lines around his eyes. A small scar near his right eyebrow. The way his black t-shirt pulls across his chest when he moves.

He's not conventionally handsome like a movie star, but there's something magnetic about him, something that makes it hard to look away.

"Have you been here all night?" I ask, suddenly realizing what his presence might mean.

He runs a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. It's part of the job."

Somehow, I doubt the fire chief regularly holds vigils at victims' bedsides, but I don't call him out on it. Instead, I say, "Thankyou. For saving my life and for staying. But where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do now?"

His blue eyes seem to darken with some internal struggle before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Listen, we have a spare room above the firehouse. It's nothing fancy – just a bed and a bathroom – but it's clean and safe. You could stay there for a few days while you figure things out."

My heart skips a beat at his offer. I know I should probably decline, find a hotel, or... well, I'm not sure what else. I only moved to Pine Valley three weeks ago to get a fresh start, drawn by the cheap housing prices and quiet atmosphere that seemed perfect for an illustrator who works from home.

I haven't exactly had time to make friends yet, and my closest family is three states away.

"I wouldn't want to impose," I say weakly, even as my mind screams at me to accept.

The thought of being near this mountain of a man, of having his protective presence close by, is far too appealing.

"It's no imposition," he says firmly. "We've put up people there before in emergencies. Besides," and here his voice softens slightly, "you shouldn't be alone right after something like this."

Before I can respond, there's a knock at the door, and a doctor enters with a chart in hand. He's young and cheerful, starkly contrasting Luke's brooding presence.

"Ms. Morrison, good to see you awake! I'm Dr. Peters." He moves to check my vitals, glancing at the monitors. "How's the throat feeling?"

"Like I gargled with sandpaper," I admit honestly.

He nods. "That's to be expected after smoke inhalation, but your oxygen levels are good, and your lungs are clear. The bump on your head is minor – no concussion. Honestly, you're incredibly lucky."

I glance at Luke, who's watching the examination with intense focus.

"I had help."

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