Page 19 of The Heat Between Us

"I haven't been talking about her non-stop," I protest, though I know it's not entirely true. I may have mentioned her a few times. Several times. "She needs help, Ollis. That's all."

"Sure," he says, clearly unconvinced. "Just... be careful, okay? You tend to jump into things headfirst."

The concern in his voice is familiar—it's the same tone he's used ever since we were kids, and I was about to do something ill-advised. But this time, it irritates me more than usual.

"I know what I'm doing," I say, more sharply than I intended.

Ollis sighs. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Or for you to hurt her. She's been through enough."

The reminder of what Chloe's endured in the past twenty-four hours softens my irritation. "I know. I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to help."

"Okay," Ollis says, sounding only partially convinced. "Let me know if you need anything. Evelyn's making lasagna tonight—we can bring some over if you want. I get home at 9 pm. We’ll get to your house at 10."

The offer reminds me that despite his overprotectiveness, Ollis always has my back. "That would be great, actually. Thanks."

After hanging up, I take a moment to collect myself before heading back to Chloe's room. Ollis isn't entirely wrong—I do have a history of diving into things without thinking them through. But this feels different. This isn't just attraction, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to her. There's something more here, something that started in those quiet moments in the burning building when we thought we might not make it out.

When I return to the room, Chloe is sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the clean clothes someone must have arranged for her—jeans and a simple blue t-shirt that brings out the color of her eyes. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and without the hospital gown, she looks more like herself—whoever that is. I realize how little I actually know about her beyond what we shared in those intense moments during the fire.

"Everything okay?" she asks, noticing my expression.

"Yeah, just checking in with Ollis," I say. "He and his girlfriend are bringing lasagna over tonight. Hope that's okay."

Chloe's face lights up. "That sounds amazing."

"Wait until you try Evelyn's cooking," I tell her. "She's incredible. Makes me look like a complete amateur."

"So, no competition for your famous cheeseburgers?" she teases.

I grin, pleased that she remembered. "Different categories. Her lasagna, my burgers. Both championship-worthy."

Gladys returns with the discharge paperwork, which Chloe signs with the efficiency of someone used to legal documents. Then, it's just a matter of getting her into a wheelchair—hospital policy, despite her protests that she can walk perfectly fine—and out to my truck.

The April sun is bright as we exit the hospital, and Chloe tilts her face up to it, closing her eyes briefly as if soaking in the warmth. After the fire's darkness and the hospital's sterile confines, I understand the impulse. I find myself wishing I could freeze this moment—Chloe's face turned toward the sun, her profile delicate against the blue sky, the sense of possibility hanging in the air between us.

"Ready?" I ask softly, not wanting to break the spell but knowing we need to get her settled.

She opens her eyes and smiles at me, a smile that reaches all the way to those expressive eyes. "Ready."

And as I help her into my truck, I realize that I am too—ready for whatever comes next with this woman who walked through fire and emerged even stronger. Ready to learn who Chloe Bennett really is, beyond the lawyer who needed saving. Ready to show her that Cedar Falls—and I—can be the fresh start she's looking for.

Chapter 7 - Chloe

The rumble of Lewis's truck is oddly comforting as we pull away from the hospital. It's an older model, well-maintained but clearly loved, with a few dings in the dashboard and a small crack in the corner of the windshield. Somehow, it fits him—solid, dependable, with a few imperfections that only add character.

"Sorry about the mess," Lewis says, gesturing vaguely at the cab, though I can't see any actual mess beyond a coffee mug in the cup holder and a Cedar Falls Fire Department sweatshirt tossed in the back seat. "I wasn't exactly planning on giving anyone a ride yesterday."

"It's fine," I assure him, settling into the passenger seat. My throat still feels raw when I speak, but the medication they gave me at the hospital has taken the edge off the pain. "Better than fine, actually. Thank you for doing this."

He glances over at me, his eyes warm. "You don't have to keep thanking me, you know."

"Force of habit," I admit. "My mother would have a fit if I didn't express proper gratitude for every little thing."

"Sounds intense," Lewis comments, turning onto a tree-lined street that leads away from the hospital and downtown area.

I shrug. "She's big on appearances. Everything has to be just so." I mimic my mother's precise tone: "'A Bennett always presents the proper image, Chloe.'"

Lewis chuckles. "I'm guessing jeans and a t-shirt wouldn't qualify as 'the proper image'?"

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