Page 21 of The Heat Between Us

The house is charming—not too big, but well-proportioned, with a neatly kept yard and flower beds that look freshly mulched. It's exactly the kind of place I would have imagined for him: unpretentious, welcoming, solid.

"It's lovely," I say sincerely as he helps me out of the truck.

"Wait until you see the inside before you make that judgment," he warns, but the pride in his voice is unmistakable.

His house feels lived-in and comfortable in a way that immediately puts me at ease. The front door opens directly into a living room with hardwood floors, a large, slightly worn leather couch, and a stone fireplace that takes up most of one wall.

"So this is it," he says, gesturing around with one hand while steadying me with the other, though I don't really need the support. "Living room, obviously. Kitchen's through there. Bathroom down the hall on the left, my bedroom at the end, and the guest room is on the right."

"You did all this yourself?" I ask, taking in the craftsmanship evident in the built-in bookshelves flanking the fireplace and the careful restoration of what must be original hardwood floors.

"Most of it," he confirms, leading me further into the house. "The place was a mess when I bought it. Carpets everywhere, walls in the wrong places, kitchen straight out of 1975."

I follow him into the kitchen, which is surprisingly spacious and modern, with white cabinets, dark countertops, and a large island in the center. "This is gorgeous," I say, running my hand along the smooth surface of the island. "I wouldn't have pegged you for such a design eye."

Lewis laughs. "I can't take credit for that part. Chief’s daughter helped with the aesthetic choices. I just did the heavy lifting."

"Well, it's beautiful," I say, meaning it. The kitchen feels warm and inviting, the kind of place where people would naturally gather.

"Thanks. I spend a lot of time in here when I'm not at the station. Cooking helps me unwind." He moves to the refrigerator."Speaking of which, can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? I think I have some iced tea..."

"Water's fine," I say, suddenly aware of how dry my throat feels.

He grabs two glasses from a cabinet and fills them from a pitcher in the refrigerator. "The doctor said you need to stay hydrated, so I'm going to be pushing fluids on you for the next few days. Fair warning."

"I've been warned," I say, accepting the glass gratefully. The cool water soothes my raw throat.

Lewis nods. "Let me show you where you'll be staying."

He leads me down a hallway lined with framed photographs—mostly of what appears to be Lewis with his firefighter colleagues, a few of him with a man who must be his brother, given the family resemblance, and several landscapes that look like they were taken around Cedar Falls.

"Did you take these?" I ask, pausing to examine a striking photo of a sunrise over what must be the lake he mentioned.

"Yeah," he admits, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's just a hobby, nothing serious."

"They're really good," I tell him, admiring the composition and lighting. "You have a good eye."

He shrugs off the compliment, but I can tell he's pleased.

"Guest room in here," he says, opening a door to reveal a simple but pleasant room with a queen-sized bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the backyard.

"This is perfect," I say, stepping inside. The room is painted a soft blue-gray, with white trim and curtains that filter the afternoon light into a gentle glow. It's clean and uncluttered, with just enough personal touches—a handmade quilt on thebed, a small vase of fresh flowers on the desk—to make it feel welcoming.

"Bathroom's right across the hall," Lewis continues. "There are fresh towels, an extra toothbrush, and some other basics in the drawer. I always keep extras for when Ollis crashes here after a long shift."

"You really think about everything."

"I try," he says with a smile. "I should have thought to pick up some of your things from Mrs. Finch's, but honestly, it's been a bit of a whirlwind."

"Don't worry about it," I assure him. "You've done more than enough already."

"We can head over there tomorrow to get whatever you need," Lewis offers. "Or I can run over later if you want to make a list."

"Tomorrow is fine," I say, trying to ignore the realization that I don't even have a change of clothes. "I don't think I'm up for much more today anyway."

Lewis nods, looking suddenly self-conscious as he runs a hand through his hair. "I should probably shower. I still smell like smoke, and I've been in these clothes for... longer than I care to admit."

"Go ahead," I encourage him. "I could use a few minutes to rest anyway."

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