Page 43 of One Night Flame

“Hey, baby.” I dropped a hand to his hair, smoothing it gently. His forehead felt blessedly cool now. He looked more like himself. Energized. Whole. I glanced back at Cord, still lounging on the rug like some golden retriever in human form, and my chest did another one of those traitorous squeezes.

“Buddy, how about a bath?” I asked Liam, brushing hair back from his forehead. “You can pick a clean pair of pajamas and maybe we’ll do pancakes in a little while.” It was progress that the mere mention of them didn’t make my stomach turn.

He groaned like I’d suggested something equivalent to being dragged behind a wagon. “I just took one.”

“That was yesterday.”

“Still counts.”

Cord laughed, low and warm, and that did things to my nervous system that probably required intervention.

Liam trudged off like a martyr. I waited until I heard the door to the bathroom click shut and the sound of water running before I turned back to Cord.

He’d gotten to his feet and was watching me with that unreadable expression I remembered from the fire station. Like he could see the storm coming before I even opened my mouth.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly self-conscious in my clean-but-still-rumpled clothes. “Why did you stay?”

Cord didn’t fidget. Didn’t look away. “Because you needed someone.”

Just that. Not obligation. Not pity.

Someone.

The word settled low in my chest and bloomed there, aching and dangerous.

I swallowed. “You didn’t have to.”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t say I had to. Said I wanted to.”

God. Stop making this harder.

I looked down at the floor, then back up at him. “I feel better. A lot better. Thank you.”

Thank you didn’t cover it. Not even close. But anything more felt like a thread I couldn’t afford to pull—because if I did, I was afraid the whole thing would unravel. Including me.

He nodded. “Good.”

That smile flickered again, softer this time. More like a secret. Like we were still in it.

But we weren’t, right?

Cord glanced at the clock on the wall, then checked his watch like he was double-confirming something. “I’ve got to head out,” he said, voice quiet. “On shift in a couple hours. Got a few things to take care of first.”

I nodded, lips pressing together. “Right. Of course.”

And that was it, wasn’t it?

He’d done a good thing. The kind of thing decent people did. Helped the sick, entertained the kid, cleaned the house. Made soup. Stayed longer than he should have. But it didn’t mean anything. Not really.

I tried to ignore the way something hollow bloomed in my chest.

I followed him to the door, each step heavier than it should’ve been. My fingers toyed with the cuff of my sleeve as I opened my mouth, the words fumbling out before I could stop them. “I need to pay you back for the groceries. Just—text me what I owe, okay?”

He turned to look at me, one brow raised, like I’d said something absurd. “You don’t owe me anything, Lucy.”

“But you brought?—”

“I wanted to.”

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