Page 5 of The Spark Between Us

"Sounds thrilling," I say with a smile, imagining us working together, maybe our hands accidentally touching as we pass out safety pamphlets, our eyes meeting over a child's head as we demonstrate the proper way to check if a door is hot...

"It's actually..." He pauses, and I snap back to reality. "It's good. The kids get excited. It feels worthwhile."

The sincerity in his voice makes my heart squeeze. This is the real Grant—the one I fell for underneath all that stoic exterior.

"I'd love to help," I say softly. "Really."

He nods, eyes seemingly searching something on my face and making me wonder if I still have sauce on my face. "When did you get back?"

"Yesterday afternoon. Long drive, but worth it to sleep in my own bed again." And to see you, I don't add.

"And your plans?" He sets his beer down on the coffee table.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm thinking about getting some practical experience first. There's an opening at the counseling center in town for an intake coordinator. Not exactly therapy work, but it would be a foot in the door."

I shrug, trying to look like a woman with options and not someone who pretty much applied for jobs in Cedar Falls to be closer to a man who probably sees me as a little sister.

"You'd be good at that," he says, and the simple confidence in his statement makes me want to tackle him right there on my dad's couch. Thankfully, my self-control prevails.

"Thanks." I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "What about you? Still living in that same apartment downtown?"

"Same place." He nods. "Not much changes with me."

I want to say that's not true—that I've watched him change over the years, opening up incrementally to the crew and finding his place in Cedar Falls. But that would reveal too much about how closely I've been watching him, like a slightly obsessive amateuranthropologist whose research subject happens to be the hottest firefighter in three counties.

"You know," I say instead, deciding to be brave, "I thought you were avoiding me earlier. When you didn't respond to my text."

His eyes dart away, then back to mine. "No. Just busy. End of shift."

It's a plausible excuse, but something doesn't ring true. Has he sensed my attraction? Is that why he keeps his distance? The thought sends a wave of embarrassment through me. Dad always says I wear my heart on my sleeve just like Mom did.

"So, did Dad really exaggerate about your shoulder, or are you in pain right now?" I ask, changing the subject.

Grant rolls his shoulder as if testing it. "It's fine."

"That's not what I asked," I press.

"It aches sometimes," he admits. "Nothing serious."

This small confession feels like winning the lottery. Grant Walker doesn't talk about pain—physical or otherwise.

"I have some arnica gel that might help," I offer, already imagining my hands massaging it into his shoulder, his skin warm beneath my fingers... Focus, Ellie. "I used it all through college when I'd get sore from hiking."

"You hike?" He seems genuinely surprised by this.

"Started sophomore year. There are some beautiful trails near campus." I smile, remembering. "It helped clear my head when classes got overwhelming."

"I didn't know that."

"There's probably a lot you don't know about me," I say, surprised by my own boldness. "It's been four years since I lived here full-time."

Something flashes in his eyes—curiosity maybe? "I suppose that's true."

We're interrupted by Dad calling from the kitchen. "Grant! Come settle a debate. Are the Raptors going to trade Mitchell or what?"

Grant hesitates, his eyes still on mine like he's trying to solve a complicated math problem where X equals "Why is Chief Brock's daughter looking at me like that?"

"Better go," I say with a small smile. "Otherwise, we'll never hear the end of it."

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