Page 7 of The Spark Between Us

"Just stating facts," he says, raising his hands in surrender. "Besides, Grant might need to know your schedule for planning purposes."

I nod, trying to look like this is important professional information and not a detail I'm already filing away. Ellie has an interview on Wednesday. For a job that would keep her in Cedar Falls. Permanently.

The thought sends equal parts thrill and dread through me.

"How about Monday?" I suggest, keeping my voice steady. "We could meet at the station in the morning. I'll show you the materials from last year."

"Monday works," she agrees.

"It's a date," Brock says, immediately adding, "figuratively speaking, of course."

I nearly choke on my beer. Ellie shoots her father a look that could melt steel.

"Dad," she says with forced sweetness, "didn't you say you wanted to show Grant those new fishing lures you bought?"

Brock chuckles. "Subtle, Ellie-bean. Real subtle."

"Ellie-bean?" I repeat before I can stop myself, a smile tugging at my lips.

Her cheeks flush pink. "Childhood nickname. Which was RETIRED approximately ten years ago." She glares at her father, who looks completely unrepentant.

"She used to bounce everywhere as a kid," Brock explains, ignoring his daughter's obvious embarrassment. "Like a jumping bean. Hence, Ellie-bean."

"Dad, I swear to God—"

"There are photos," he continues. "She had these pigtails that would—"

"That's it," Ellie stands abruptly. "I'm getting dessert, and when I come back, we're talking about literally anything else."

She disappears into the kitchen, and I immediately miss her presence, which is pathetic and concerning in equal measure.

Brock leans forward slightly. "She's happy you're here," he says quietly. "Been talking about seeing you since she decided to move back."

"She's always been close to the whole crew," I say.

Brock gives me a look I can't quite interpret. "Sure," is all he says, before straightening as Ellie returns with a chocolate cake.

"Store-bought," she admits, setting it down. "I make a mean lasagna, but my baking skills are still a work in progress."

"Looks great," I say, because apparently I've now lost the ability to speak in sentences longer than three words when she's around.

Dessert passes in a blur of chocolate and casual conversation. Brock dominates the discussion with stories from the station, which I'm grateful for. It gives me a chance to collect myself, to remember who I am and why I'm here. I'm Grant Walker, firefighter at Cedar Falls Fire Department. I'm 42 years old. I'm having dinner with my best friend and his daughter. That's all this is.

Except it isn't. Not to me. Not for a long time now.

After cake, Brock excuses himself to take a call from the station, leaving Ellie and me alone at the table.

"Thanks for coming tonight," she says finally. "It's good to see you."

"You too," I reply, meaning it more than she could possibly know. "Congratulations again on graduating. Psychology's not an easy major."

"Neither is fighting fires," she counters with a smile. "Dad says you're being considered for Chief when he retires."

I shrug uncomfortably. "It's a possibility. Nothing's decided."

"You'd be great at it." There's such genuine belief in her voice that it catches me off guard.

"Thanks," I say, not knowing what else to add.

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