Page 161 of Fire and Icing

“Rookie at station number one, and the guys depend on me to keep the local bakery in business with our regular donut run.”

“That does sound important,” she says, smiling up at me.

“Nothing matters more—well, maybe one thing.”

Emberleigh doesn’t fish for me to tell her what that one thing is. She already knows.

We drive home that night in my truck. Syd came with Emberleigh and she volunteers to drive home alone so the two of us can be together after our few days apart.

“Are we ridiculous?” I ask her as we pull up in front of her home.

“How so?”

“We were separated for three days and we acted like it was a lifetime.”

“It felt like a lifetime.” She turns toward me. “I think the uncertainty made us more acutely aware of what we could lose.”

“I’ve got a newsflash for you.”

“What’s that?” She smiles so freely, like she did before I told her about my opportunity with Front Porch Records.

“You’re not losing me. I’m like a rash. You’ll try to scratch me and I’ll just grow on you.”

Her laughter fills the cab of my truck. “That’s literally the craziest analogy, and possibly the least romantic, I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, so you want romance?” My voice goes quieter.

“I think you already delivered on that front.” She smiles shyly. “Not one, but two songs dedicated to me.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.”

I unbuckle and slide toward the middle of the bench seat.

She smiles like she doesn’t mind—at all.

I reach out and run my fingers through her hair, letting my hand rest on her neck, studying her eyes as she gazes back at me. She’s back. Here. With me.

“I don’t think I was ever faking with you,” I confess. “When I think about it, I’m pretty sure I wanted you from the moment I set you on your feet outside your house and you started scolding me for hauling you out of a house fire.”

“A small kitchen fire—that was almost extinguished.”

“It falls in the category of house fires. And I rescued you … that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

I smile down at her. She looks up into my eyes with an invitation. I could kiss her, and I will. Right now, I need to pour my heart out. I need her to know what she means to me. To hear it from my mouth, not only through a song.

“How about we not tell that story to our grandkids,” she says.

“Grandkids? Oh. I’m telling the grandkids. They need to hear how you won me over from the moment I met you. How I had to grovel and stage a campaign to win your heart.”

“And how we faked a relationship?”

“Wasn’t faking,” I repeat. I’ll keep telling her until she believes me.

“I don’t think I was faking either.” Her voice is soft, careful. Her hand reaches out and lands on my knee. “At least not for long. I just had to overcome my fears so I could let you in.”

“You're a brave woman, Em.”

“Hardly.”

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