Page 19 of The Spark Between Us

"That should work," Grant says, interrupting my fantasy as he steps back to survey our setup. "What do you think?"

"It's great," I nod, forcing my mind back to the present. "So I was thinking I could start with the younger kids—the song and the book—and then you could take over for the more technical demonstrations."

"Makes sense," he agrees. "You're better with the engagement part. I can handle the safety protocols."

"The perfect team," I say lightly, then immediately worry it sounds too forward. But Grant just nods, seemingly unperturbed.

"Let's hear this song you've been threatening me with," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Just remember you asked for this," I warn, clearing my throat dramatically. "I call it 'Stop, Drop, and Roll to the Beat.' It's, um, inspired by 'Baby Shark,' but with significantly fewer sharks and more fire safety."

Before I can second-guess myself, I launch into the ridiculous song I've been practicing in my shower, complete with hand motions:

"Stop, stop, stop when there's fire!

Drop, drop, drop to the ground!

Roll, roll, roll yourself over!

That's how you stay safe, wow!"

I finish with a flourish, then immediately want to crawl under the nearest desk. Grant is staring at me with an unreadable expression, and the silence stretches for what feels like an eternity.

Then, something amazing happens. Grant Walker—stoic, serious, never-cracks-a-smile Grant Walker—bursts out laughing. Not just a chuckle or a polite smile but actual, full-bodied laughter.

"That was..." he manages between breaths, "the most committed performance I've ever seen."

"Thank you," I say with an exaggerated bow. "I'll be here all week. Try the veal."

"The kids will love it," he says. "Especially with the hand motions."

"Good, because there's three more verses," I warn him. "By the end, they'll be rolling across the floor like little fireball-covered sushi rolls."

"Exactly what every fire department aims for," Grant deadpans, and I'm charmed by this glimpse of dry humor beneath his serious exterior.

We spend the next hour refining our presentation—me with my songs and books, Grant with his demonstrations of fire extinguisher use (minus the actual extinguisher) and evacuation procedures. It's the most animated I've ever seen him, explaining how to check if a door is hot during a fire and demonstrating the proper technique for crawling below smoke.

"You're really good at this," I observe as he runs through an explanation of smoke detector maintenance aimed at older elementary kids. "Breaking it down so it's not scary but still serious."

He looks surprised by the compliment. "You think so?"

"Definitely," I nod. "You'd be a great teacher in another life."

Never really thought about it. Teaching, I mean."

"It's not too late," I point out. "You could teach at the fire academy or something."

He considers this, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe someday. When I'm too old to run into burning buildings."

"Planning to do that for a while, huh?" I try to keep my tone light, but the thought of Grant running into danger makes my stomach clench with anxiety.

"It's what I'm good at," he says simply. Then, with a vulnerability that surprises me: "Not sure who I'd be without it, to be honest."

Chapter 7 - Grant

"It's what I'm good at," I say simply. Then, immediately regretting the vulnerability in my voice, I add, "Not sure who I'd be without it, to be honest."

The moment the words leave my mouth; I want to take them back. This isn't a conversation I should be having with Ellie—this raw truth about my identity, my purpose. It's too personal and crosses too many of the boundaries I've set myself.

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