Page 28 of Engulfing Emma

He goes around the corner, but there are windows that separate the hallway from the garage, and I can still see him. He runs down the hall. That puts a huge smile on my face.

Nine minutes later—but who’s counting?—Brett joins me on the bench, popping the last bite of a croissant into his mouth. “This is really good. If you ever wanted to moonlight as a baker, you’d make a fortune.”

“Nah, they have to be up at like four in the morning. I’m not really a morning person.”

He eyes me speculatively. “What kind of person are you, Emma Lockhart?”

I blush at his seductive use of my full name. “I don’t know. A regular one, I guess.”

He laughs. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Were you at a fire this morning?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You were dirty when you came back.”

“A dump truck full of dirt overturned in a ditch, and the driver was pinned underneath it.”

“Oh, gosh. That’s horrible.”

“He’s fine. We got him out. But Mrs. Petrucha’s flowerbed may never be the same.”

“Mrs. Petrucha?”

“Her house is on the corner and her yard literally has a ton of dirt on it.”

“Oh, no.” I giggle.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

My heart pounds.Please don’t ask me out.

“The other day—did you know I was going to be on shift? I mean, did you specifically come to the firehouse to see me, or was it to give a general thank you to everyone?”

“I may have called ahead to see if you were there,” I admit. “I wanted to thank you for saving Carter. He’s alive because of you.”

“He’s alive because of you, too.” He frowns. “I heard he lost his leg though.”

“I heard that too. But he’s young. He’ll adapt.”

“The department is putting together a fundraiser to help pay for a prosthetic leg.”

My eyes light up. “They are? Please let me know how I can donate.”

“Sure. I think it will be a picnic later this summer with games and auctions and stuff.”

“I’d love to help. Maybe I could sell some of my baked goods. Between Evelyn, and my mom, and me, we could make enough to set up an entire booth.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll let the organizer know.” He stands up and gestures down the street. “What do you say? Are you ready?”

I look at the ground and then at him. Then I nod.

He holds his hand out. When I put my hand in his, I feel I can do anything. It’s as if holding his hand gives me some kind of superpower. But once I’m standing, he lets go.

Brett leads, walking slowly, letting me take this one step at a time. The closer we get to the school, the faster my heart beats.

He tries to make conversation with me, but I’m too busy thwarting a panic attack to hear him.

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