Page 28 of The Spark Between Us

As I walk back to my office, my phone buzzes with a text. Ellie: *Did you tell him yet? I'm dying here.*

I type back quickly: *Just did. All good. Better than good. I'll call you on my break.*

Her response is immediate: *OMG WHAT??? Details! Don't leave me hanging!*

I smile, picturing her excitement and the way her eyes light up when she's happy. Three simple words form in my mind—words I've held back for too long, words I'll say tonight when I hold her in my arms.

For the first time in my life, everything feels right. The emptiness that's been my constant companion since Afghanistan has been filled with something I never expected to find: a future with Ellie, bright and full of possibility.

Some flames aren't meant to be extinguished. Some burn steady and true, lighting the way forward. And sometimes, if you're lucky, they burn for a lifetime.

Epilogue 2

Five Years Later

"Chief, we've got a situation."

I look up from the mountain of paperwork that seems to multiply every time I blink. Max stands in my doorway, his expression far too amused for a genuine emergency.

"What kind of situation?" I ask cautiously.

He grins. "Your wife just arrived. She's wearing that red dress."

*That* red dress. The one that made me forget my own name at his and Jennie's wedding three years ago. The one that resulted in us being twenty minutes late to the reception because I couldn't keep my hands off her in the coat check room.

"Tell me she's not in the common area," I groan, already standing and straightening my tie.

Max’s grin widens. "Full audience. Lewis is offering her coffee, and the new recruits look like they've seen a goddess descended from Mount Olympus."

"Which they have," I mutter, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. "Tell me you didn't let Brock see them gawking at his daughter."

"Former Chief Brock left ten minutes ago. Said he just wanted to check the recruits and to tell you he'll see you Sunday for the barbecue."

Small mercies. Brock may have happily given us his blessing five years ago and may have been the one who stood beside me when I promised to love his daughter for the rest of my life, but I still don't think he'd appreciate seeing the new recruits drooling over Ellie.

Even if it is entirely understandable.

"Thanks for the warning," I tell him, shrugging on my jacket.

"Consider it my anniversary gift to you," he replies with a wink. "Though I expect I'll still be invited to the party next month?"

"Wouldn't be the same without you," I assure him. Five years together, two years married, and Ellie still insists on celebrating our anniversaries with the entire crew. *They're family*, she always says. And she's right.

I make my way through the station toward the common area, nodding to firefighters who pass. After two years as Chief, I've settled into the role more comfortably than I expected. Brock's retirement left enormous shoes to fill, but with his constant mentorship and Ellie's unwavering support, I've managed to make the position my own.

The sound of Ellie's laughter reaches me before I turn the corner—warm, full-bodied, and achingly familiar. It still does something to my heart and cock, even after all this time.

And then I see her, and I gulp drily just like I did the first time.

She's perched on the edge of the common room table, red dress hugging every curve, dark hair falling in loose waves past her shoulders. She's laughing at something Lewis has said, her head tilted back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her neck. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches the diamond studs in her ears—my gift for our first anniversary.

She looks up, spots me, and her entire face transforms with a smile that's reserved just for me.

"There he is," she says, her voice carrying easily across the room. "The man who's making me late for our own anniversary dinner."

"I've got twenty minutes before I'm officially late," I counter, crossing to her side and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Professional boundaries and all that. Though the scent of her perfume—citrus and vanilla, unchanged after all these years—makes me want to drag her into my office and lock the door.

"Twenty minutes by whose watch?" she challenges, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because I distinctly remember someone promising me the best table at Salvatore's at seven sharp."

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