Page 20 of The Heat Between Us

"God, no," I laugh, then wince at the pull in my throat. "She'd sooner die than be caught in denim. It's all tailored suits and pearls, all the time."

"Even at home?"

"Especially at home. You never know when an important client might stop by." I shake my head at the memory of my childhood home—beautiful, immaculate, and cold as ice. "Our house was like a museum. Look, but don't touch."

Lewis frowns slightly. "That doesn't sound like much of a home."

"It wasn't," I say simply. Then, not wanting to dwell on my less-than-warm upbringing, I change the subject. "So, where do you live? I haven't really seen much of Cedar Falls beyond the main street and, well, the hospital."

"I'm on the east side," he says, taking the turn signal to head in that direction. "It's a small place, nothing fancy, but it's mine. I bought it about three years ago."

"You own your home?" I'm impressed despite myself. At twenty-two, with student loans and the cost of starting my practice, home ownership feels like a distant dream.

Lewis nods. "It was a fixer-upper. Had to gut most of it and rebuild. Been working on it in my spare time."

"You renovated it yourself?" My surprise must be evident in my voice because he glances over with a grin.

"Don't sound so shocked. I may not be the most organized guy, but I'm good with my hands."

The comment sends an unexpected flutter from my stomach straight to my panties, which I firmly ignore. "That's impressive. I can barely hang a picture without putting multiple holes in the wall."

He laughs. "It's mostly just patience and YouTube tutorials. And a lot of help from the rest of the department."

We drive past neatly kept houses with front yards just starting to green with spring. Cedar Falls looks different in the daylight—charming in a way I hadn't fully appreciated when I arrived. Or maybe it's just that everything looks better when you're not sure you'll live to see it again.

"So, does everyone in Cedar Falls know everyone else's business?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Is it that kind of small town?"

Lewis considers this. "Yes and no. People definitely notice things, and news travels fast. But it's not as suffocating as some small towns can be. People generally mind their own business unless you need help—then everyone shows up."

"Like when your office burns down on your second day in town?" I suggest dryly.

He smiles. "Exactly like that. Fair warning: you're probably going to get a lot of casseroles in the next few days. It's the Cedar Falls way of saying 'sorry about your traumatic experience.'"

"I can think of worse ways to be comforted," I say, already feeling more at ease. "Though I should probably warn you, I'm a terrible cook. I've been surviving on takeout and microwave meals through law school."

"Good thing I'm not," Lewis says with easy confidence. "Between the inevitable casseroles and my famous burgers, you won't starve."

We fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the truck's tires humming against the pavement. I watch the town pass by outside my window—a small park with a playground, a row oflocal businesses, a quaint church with a white steeple. It's all so different from Chicago's constant noise and movement.

"Do you miss it?" Lewis asks suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "The city, I mean."

I consider the question. "Parts of it. The energy, the options. Being able to get food delivered at 2 AM." I smile at his laugh. "But I was ready for something different. Something more..."

"Personal?" he suggests when I trail off.

"Exactly. In Chicago, I was always someone's daughter, someone's student, someone's intern. Here, I can just be Chloe."

"Chloe, the lawyer who survived a building fire on her second day in town," Lewis amends with a grin.

I groan. "Is that going to be my claim to fame now?"

"For at least a few weeks," he confirms. "Until someone drives their car into the lake or Mrs. Peterson's prize-winning pig escapes again."

"Again?" I ask, laughing despite the twinge in my throat.

Lewis launches into the story of Wilbur, the escape artist pig, and his adventures through downtown Cedar Falls last summer, complete with animated gestures. His enthusiastic storytelling draws me in completely, and before I know it, we're turning onto a quiet street lined with mature oak trees.

"Here we are," Lewis says, pulling into the driveway of a modest one-story house with dark green shutters and a wide front porch. "Home sweet home."

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