Page 11 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

"Separate or together?" she asks, looking between us expectantly.

"Together," I say at the same time Rebecca says, "Separate."

We look at each other, and I reach for the check. "Please. Let me."

She hesitates, then nods. "Thank you."

After I pay, we step outside into the cool evening air. The rain from yesterday has cleared, leaving the streets damp and reflective under the streetlights. Stars have emerged, scattered across the clear night sky like diamonds on black velvet.

"I'm this way," Rebecca says, gesturing down the street toward the newer apartments by the river.

"I'll walk you," I offer, then add, "If that's okay."

She nods, and we fall into step beside each other, close but not touching. The night is quiet, most of Fox Ridge already settling in for the evening. Our footsteps echo on the wet pavement.

"Can I tell you something?" I ask suddenly, surprising myself.

Rebecca glances up at me, her expression open. "Of course."

I take a deep breath, unsure why I'm saying this but knowing I need to. "I haven't—there hasn't been anyone since Mia's mother. Five years of just... focus. On Mia, on the job, on making sure we had stability."

Rebecca says nothing, giving me space to continue.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is—" I struggle, the words feeling rusty from disuse. "I'm not good at this. The talking, the connecting. Being anything other than Mia's dad or Firefighter Lewis."

"You're doing fine," she says softly. "Better than fine."

We reach her building, a renovated warehouse with large windows and iron railings. She turns to face me, her back to the entrance. The streetlight catches in her hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown.

"I understand boundaries, Samuel," she says. "I respect them. Mia's education comes first for both of us."

"Yes," I agree, though something in me protests that it's not that simple.

"But—" she continues, her voice quieter now, "I enjoyed tonight. Just talking. Getting to know you a little."

"I did too," I admit.

We stand there, the space between us charged with things left unsaid. Neither of us moves to leave, though we've reached the natural ending point of the evening. Her eyes reflect the streetlight, warm and questioning.

I step closer, almost unconsciously. She doesn't back away.

"Rebecca," I murmur, unsure what I'm asking for but knowing I need something more than a simple goodnight.

She tilts her face up to mine, a small movement that seems to answer a question I haven't voiced. I lean down, hesitating just a breath away from her lips, giving her time to step back if she wants to.

She doesn't.

Our lips meet softly, briefly—just the gentlest pressure, a whisper of contact. It lasts only seconds, but I feel it everywhere, like a current running through my body, waking parts of me I thought had gone dormant years ago.

When we pull apart, her eyes are wide, reflecting my own surprise. Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to say something but can't find the words.

"I..." I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. "I didn't plan that."

"I didn't think you did," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her cheeks are flushed, visible even in the dim light.

We both take a step back, creating necessary space between us. I run a hand through my hair, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

"I should probably..." she gestures vaguely toward her building entrance.

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