Page 10 of The Spark Between Us

Monday. I'll see her Monday.

And somehow, I need to figure out how to look at her without wanting what I can never have.

Chapter 4 - Ellie

I've changed my outfit four times already, and it's only 8:15 AM.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter to my reflection as I tug off shirt number four – a blouse that suddenly seems too formal for a meeting about teaching children to stop, drop, and roll. "You're not going on a date with People Magazine's Sexiest Firefighter Alive. You're going to work. With actual professional firefighters who will absolutely not notice or care what you're wearing."

Except one firefighter might notice. And I desperately, pathetically want him to notice, which is the whole problem.

I finally settle on a cute blue v-neck tee and my "make my butt look good" jeans – casual enough to seem effortless but strategic enough that I feel like I've done my due diligence in the "look attractive for your hopeless crush" department.

The last few days have been straight out of a teenage rom-com, except I'm 22 with a psychology degree and should absolutely know better. After Grant left Friday night, I spent approximately 11 hours analyzing every microsecond of our interaction. That thumb brushing my cheek? The way his eyes lingered on my lips for 0.3 seconds? The text saying it was good to have me back in Cedar Falls that I've re-read approximately 47 times?

Either I'm delusional, or Grant Walker might actually see me as more than his best friend's annoying daughter. The possibility has kept me awake for three nights straight, during which I've constructed elaborate fantasies where he dramatically confesses his feelings for me while rescuing me from some non-life-threatening but very cinematic emergency.

"Pull yourself together, woman," I command my reflection, applying mascara with perhaps more aggression than necessary. "Professional. Friendly. Not thirsty."

I check my phone. 8:27 AM. If I leave now, I'll be fifteen minutes early, which says "eager but professional" rather than "I've been counting the minutes until I see you again."

Dad's already gone for his shift, but he left a note on the kitchen counter that makes me want to simultaneously hug him and move to another continent:

*Good luck with Grant today. Don't do anything I wouldn't do! – Dad*

"And what exactly does THAT mean?" I demand of the empty kitchen, my cheeks heating up. Does he know about my pathetic crush? Has he noticed Grant acting differently around me? Is my own father actually... encouraging this?

I grab my keys and a travel mug of coffee (caffeine: the official sponsor of my emotional stability) and head out before I can change my outfit for a fifth time or analyze Dad's note any further.

The drive to the fire station takes less than ten minutes, during which I practice casual opening lines like I'm preparing for an audition.

*Hey, Grant! Ready to save some kids from imaginary fires?* Too weird.

*Morning! Hope your weekend was good!* Too generic.

*I've thought about your hands on my face every waking moment since Friday night.* ABSOLUTELY NOT.

I park in the visitor spot and check my reflection one last time. Hair down in what I hope are casual waves, minimal makeup that took 30 minutes to apply, outfit that says "I absolutely did not try this hard for you." Perfect.

Taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm my racing heart, I grab my notebook and head inside. The station is buzzing withmorning activity – Lewis checking equipment, Max and Ollis discussing something by the coffee maker. No sign of Dad or Grant yet.

"Ellie!" Max spots me first, his face breaking into a wide grin. "The prodigal daughter returns! Your dad mentioned you were coming in today."

"Hey, Max," I smile, accepting his bear hug. "How's life as a stepdad treating you?"

"Tyler put ketchup in my shoes yesterday, so it's going great," he laughs. "He's starting T-ball next week. You should come watch him strike out repeatedly while we all cheer like he's hit a home run."

"I wouldn't miss it," I say sincerely. "Is, um, Grant around?" I try for casual but miss by approximately a mile.

Max's eyes twinkle with the dangerous look of someone who knows exactly what's going on. "In his office. Second door on the right." He leans in. "He's checked his watch every two minutes for the past half hour and changed his shirt twice this morning."

"He probably just had coffee stains," I say, aiming for dismissive but landing somewhere around "desperately hopeful."

"Uh-huh," Max grins. "Whatever you say, Ellie-bean."

I glare at him with the heat of a thousand suns. "Did my dad put you up to that nickname?"

"What? It's adorable!" He dances away as I swat at his arm. "Almost as adorable as the way you blush whenever someone mentions Grant."

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