Page 17 of The Flames Between Us

The truck's cab smells of smoke and sweat after our morning calls—familiar, grounding scents that usually help me stay focused. Today, they're competing with the lingering memory of Everly's subtle perfume across that diner booth.

Grant snorts from the driver's seat. "Someone you know who happens to be gorgeous and had you sprinting across Lou's like the place was on fire."

"I wasn't sprinting," I mutter, though I can't exactly deny the rest.

Everly Morgan is beautiful—something I've been aware of since our first session, but tried to file away as irrelevant. Seeing her outside the controlled environment of her office, dressed in casual clothes with her hair loose around her shoulders, only confirmed what I already knew.

"Wait," Lewis says suddenly, narrowing his eyes at me. "Is she the therapist Brock's making you see?"

I shoot him an irritated look as Grant pulls away from the curb. "Patient confidentiality, remember? Goes both ways."

Lewis raises his hands in mock surrender. "Just connecting dots, bro. You start therapy, suddenly you're paying for some woman's breakfast at Lou's..."

"It was professional courtesy," I insist. "And I pay for people's meals all the time."

"Sure," Grant chimes in, taking the turn toward the station. "But you don't usually stare at them from across the diner first."

"Was I that obvious?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Lewis and Grant exchange amused glances. "Like a teenage boy at prom," Lewis confirms.

I groan, leaning my head back against the seat. "Perfect."

"Relax," Grant says. "Not like there's a rule against finding your therapist attractive. Acting on it would be another story, but looking? That's just human biology."

"Can we drop it?" I request, though I know it's futile. Firehouse culture thrives on exactly this kind of good-natured harassment.

"For now," Lewis concedes as we pull into the station. "But only because I want a shower before the briefing."

Back at the station, I head straight for the showers, eager to wash away the morning's smoke and soot—and maybe clear my head in the process. The hot water beats against my shoulders, releasing tension I didn't realize I was carrying.

Seeing Everly at Lou's threw me off balance. In her office, our roles are clearly defined: she's the professional helping me work through my issues, and I'm the patient following her guidance. But across that diner booth, those roles blurred. She was just a woman having breakfast. I was just a guy stopping by her table.

Except we're not just anything to each other, and pretending otherwise is a complication neither of us needs.

I shut off the water and grab a towel, drying off quickly. As I dress in my station uniform, I try to focus on the day ahead—the equipment checks, the training session on the new breathing apparatus, the paperwork from this morning's calls. Usual, everyday firefighter stuff that has nothing to do with trauma therapy or attractive psychologists.

But my mind keeps circling back to the moment she looked up and saw me entering Lou's. I'm not imagining the flash of something beyond professional recognition in her eyes. Surprise, yes, but also something warmer that made my bulge throb.

"Get it together, Crawford," I mutter to myself, slamming my locker shut with more force than necessary.

In the briefing room, Chief Brock is already setting up, with most of the shift crew assembled. Max is smiling at something on his phone, probably pictures of Jennie's kid. Lewis is still fixing his hair—my brother's vanity is legendary around the station. Grant sits ramrod straight, military habits die hard.

I take my usual seat toward the back, nodding to Brock as I settle in.

"Crawford," he acknowledges. "Good work on Route 16 this morning."

"Thanks, Chief," I reply. "Engine fire was pretty straightforward."

"And before that, the extraction on the highway," he continues. "Lewis says you were first to reach the driver."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise when I'm still restricted from entering burning structures. "Just doing the job."

"How are the sessions with Dr. Morgan going?"

The question catches me off guard, especially with the other guys in earshot. "Fine," I say shortly. "Making progress."

He seems to sense my reluctance to discuss it further and thankfully moves on, beginning the briefing with updates on department policies and upcoming training requirements.

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