Page 11 of A Very Grumpy Firefighter

I smile every time I think about heading home with my girl.

Speaking of Lilou…

I watch as she gets her things and turns off the lights. When she heads up front to lock the door, I hop out and head around to open her door for her.

“Hey,” she says, seeming surprised to see me.

“Hey. I thought I’d drive you home,” I explain, and she nods and heads my way.

I hold her door open for her, then close it and head back around to the driver’s side. I climb behind the wheel and startthe truck, backing out of my spot and turning to head to her apartment.

We drive in silence for a minute, and I take a deep breath, inhaling her sweet vanilla scent.

I want to hold her hand.

You’re already pushing things. Don’t scare her off now! Not when you’re finally making some headway with her,I warn myself.

I peek a glance at Lilou sitting in the passenger seat. She looks so perfect there, and I smile as I turn onto her street.

Our street,I correct myself.

“We’ll have to get you a car soon. Or we can find a bigger place in town if you like living closer to everything,” I tell her as I pull into my driveway.

“Yeah, I like being able to walk to work. I’ve never really liked driving,” she says softly.

“Okay, we can look for a place tomorrow.”

“Are you sure that you want to move in?” She asks me, and I frown.

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s pretty small,” she warns me, and I shrug.

She gives me a small smile, and I return it.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“No, I had a smoothie and a panini on my lunch break.”

I nod and continue towards her apartment. I can’t help but sneak looks at her from the corner of my eye. Lilou is sitting in the passenger seat, her pretty face illuminated by the glow of her phone.

“Do you want a big wedding?” I ask her, and she blinks.

“Um, I don’t think so. I don’t really have that many friends or family to invite,” she says, and I can see when the grief hits her.

Tears well up in her eyes, and I pull over to the side of the road and unbuckle. Then I’m reaching for her and dragging her across the seat and into my lap.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m just so scared about my grandpa.”

“I know, baby. I?—”

“Don’t call me that!” She snaps, annoyance and pain swirling in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be snapping at you. My mom just calls me that, and I’ve always hated it.”

“No worries. I won’t call you that again.”

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