Page 20 of The Spark Between Us

She looks at me with those perceptive eyes, right eyebrow raised, and head tilted slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, turning to adjust the projector that doesn't need adjusting. "We should get back to the presentation."

"Grant."

Just my name, but the way she says it—soft yet insistent—makes it impossible to dismiss her. Still, I try.

"Forget it, Ellie. It's not important."

I hear her sigh, then the sound of her footsteps crossing the classroom floor. Suddenly, she's right beside me, close enough that I can smell her citrus shampoo, close enough that I have to grip the edge of the desk to keep from reaching for her.

"What did you mean?" she asks again, her voice gentle but determined. "I'm right here, and you can trust me. You know that, right?"

I make the mistake of looking directly at her. Those eyes—warm brown with flecks of gold, wide with genuine concern—are my undoing.

"I know I can trust you," I admit, my voice rougher than intended. "That's part of the problem. I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what? Trust me?" Her brows furrow in confusion.

"Shouldn't be telling you any of this. Shouldn't be alone with you in an empty classroom. Shouldn't be thinking about you the way I—" I cut myself off abruptly. "We need to focus on the presentation."

She makes a frustrated sound, then does something completely unexpected. She punches me lightly in the chest.

"What the hell?" I step back, more surprised than hurt.

"I am so tired of this!" she exclaims, eyes flashing with sudden anger. "So tired of trying and not understanding why you always push me away. Every time we get closer, every time you start to open up even a little, you slam the door shut. Why?"

The raw emotion in her voice catches me off guard. I've hurt her, I realize. Without meaning to, without wanting to, I've hurt her.

"You're younger than me, Ellie," I say, falling back on the excuse that feels safest. "You're Brock's daughter. My best friend's daughter."

She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Do you have any idea how tired I am of hearing that? Everyone in Cedar Falls treats me like I'm still sixteen. Like I'm still that shy teenager who used to hang around the station after school." She steps closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "I've grown up. I have a degree. I've lived on my own for four years. I want to be seen as a grown woman, as my own person. Not as 'Chief Brock's daughter' or 'that kid Ellie.'"

She's so close now I can see the faint freckles across her nose, count her eyelashes if I wanted to. And I do want to, whichis exactly the problem. My hands are clenched at my sides, fingernails digging into my palms to keep from reaching for her.

"I see you," I say quietly, the admission slipping out before I can stop it. "I've always seen you, Ellie."

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, hope, something more dangerous than either. "Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

The question hovers between us, demanding an answer I'm not sure I'm brave enough to give. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my control slipping with every second she stands this close.

"After the military," I start, the words feeling rusty and unused, "I had no idea where to go or what to do with myself. I was good at being a soldier, but I hated... parts of it. The destruction. The harm. I missed helping people but couldn't stomach hurting others anymore." I swallow hard, memories of Afghanistan pressing close. "When your dad said I’d be perfect for firefighting and invited me to join the department, I came running. It gave me purpose again, an identity. After all these years, it's the best job I've ever had. I love it."

She listens intently, her anger fading to understanding. "And you're afraid of losing that? Because of me?"

"I can't lose this job," I confirm. "Can't lose your dad's respect. His friendship."

She scrunches her nose, a gesture so endearing it takes all my willpower not to trace it with my finger. "I don't understand how you can be so brave—running into burning buildings, saving lives—and yet be so afraid of me sometimes."

Her insight cuts straight through my defenses. "There's a reason for that."

"I'm curious to know what it is." She steps even closer, eliminating what little space remains between us.

God, she's beautiful. The sundress hugs her curves in a way that makes my bulge throb, the neckline just low enough to be tantalizing without being inappropriate. Her lips are full and slightly parted, tinted a soft rose color that might be natural or might be makeup—I don't know which, only that I want to taste them more than I've wanted anything in recent memory.

Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at me, waiting for an answer I can't seem to form into words. There's only one way to tell her, to show her why I'm so afraid, why I've been keeping my distance.

Every shred of common sense, every boundary I've constructed, every promise I've made to myself about professional conduct and respecting Brock's trust—they all evaporate in the heat of this moment, in the warmth of Ellie's eyes looking up at me with such open want.

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