Page 27 of The Heat Between Us

I enter the house quietly, setting my keys in the wooden bowl Chloe's parents gave us last Christmas. It was a peace offering of sorts, their way of acknowledging that their daughter's unexpected life in Cedar Falls was permanent. I kick off my boots and pad softly through the house, knowing Emma might be napping.

Chloe's voice calls softly from her office—the room I converted last summer when she was seven months pregnant and determined to keep working until her due date. I built the bookshelves myself, positioned her desk to catch the morning light she loves, installed dimmable lighting for late-night casereviews. It's one of my favorite projects, not just because of the craftsmanship but because of how her face lit up when she saw it finished.

"Hey, beautiful," I say as I enter, crossing the room to kiss her.

She looks up from her paperwork, her dark hair twisted into a loose knot, reading glasses perched on her nose. Two years together, and the sight of her still stops me in my tracks.

"How are my girls?" I ask, breathing in her familiar scent—that subtle vanilla perfume mixed with the paper-and-coffee smell that seems to follow all lawyers.

"We're good," Chloe says, leaning into my kiss. "Emma just went down for her evening nap about twenty minutes ago, so we might actually get to eat dinner while it's still hot tonight."

I can't help but grin as I move to the crib we keep in her office, peering down at our daughter. Emma's fast asleep, her dark lashes resting against her chubby cheeks, one tiny fist curled near her face. The surge of love I feel looking at her still catches me off guard sometimes—this perfect little person we created together.

"Look at her. Out like a light. Definitely my daughter."

Chloe laughs softly. "Your ability to sleep anywhere, anytime is not a trait I was hoping she'd inherit. Your eyes, yes. Your smile, absolutely. Your complete disregard for proper sleep schedules? Not so much."

"You love it," I tease, perching on the edge of her desk and glancing at the papers spread across it. The organized chaos is so typically Chloe—meticulous notes in her elegant handwriting, color-coded folders, multiple legal pads filled with her thoughts. "Heavy caseload?"

"Manageable," she assures me. "Jessica is handling most of the court appearances this month, and Tyler is taking the new divorce cases. I'm just reviewing the more complex files from home."

Pride fills my chest as I listen to her talk about her thriving practice. After the fire destroyed her original office, I worried she might decide Cedar Falls wasn't meant to be. Instead, she doubled down, finding a better location—that beautiful Victorian on Maple Street that needed just enough renovation to make it interesting but not overwhelming. Now she has two associate attorneys and a reputation as the best family lawyer in three counties.

"You working tomorrow?" I ask, my fingers finding hers almost unconsciously. Even after two years, I crave the contact, the simple reassurance of her touch.

"Just the morning," she says. "Mrs. Finch is coming to watch Emma from nine to twelve so I can meet with the Powell family."

The mention of Mrs. Finch reminds me of the envelope in my pocket. "Speaking of Mrs. Finch," I say, retrieving it, "she dropped this off at the station today. Said it was for our anniversary."

Chloe opens the card, her eyes softening as she reads the message: "To the couple who found each other through fire. May your flame never dim." Inside is a gift certificate to Riverside Grill—where I took her for our first date, after she was finally cleared by the doctor for "normal activities."

"That's so sweet," Chloe says, genuine warmth in her voice. "I can't believe she remembered."

"Two years tomorrow," I say, meeting her gaze. "Best two years of my life."

I mean it. Despite the challenges—rebuilding her practice, my return to active duty after the desk assignment, the surprise of her pregnancy earlier than we'd planned, the sleepless months after Emma was born—these have been the richest, most fulfilling years I've ever known.

"Mine too," she says softly, and the simple sincerity in her voice fills me with a contentment I never knew was possible.

"I was thinking," I suggest, "maybe we could get Ollis and Evelyn to watch Emma tomorrow night. Celebrate properly."

Chloe smiles, the smile that still makes my heart race. "I'd like that. Though are you sure Evelyn's up for it? She's what, seven months along now?"

"Eight and unstoppable," I say with a grin, thinking of my brother's wife and her boundless energy despite her growing belly. "She insists that practice with Emma will be good for them. And you know Ollis—he's been reading every baby book published since they found out."

That makes Chloe laugh, and the sound warms me from the inside out. My brother, always the planner, has approached impending fatherhood with the same methodical thoroughness he brings to everything. It's the opposite of how I handled the news of Chloe's pregnancy—with joy and panic in equal measure, making it up as I went along.

But that's always been our way—Chloe's careful planning balanced by my spontaneity. We've each grown toward the other over time. She's more willing to improvise now; I'm more likely to think ahead. It works for us.

"Then it's a date," she agrees.

Looking at her, framed by the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window she insisted needed to be larger, I'm struck by how far we've come.

"You know, when I ran into that burning building two years ago, I had no idea I was running toward my future."

"Pretty sure that wasn't in my five-year plan either," she teases, referencing her infamous life strategy that's become something of a running joke between us.

"Any regrets?" I ask, keeping my tone light though the question feels weightier than I intended.

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