Page 12 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

"Right," I nod, but neither of us moves.

The night wraps around us, quiet and full of possibility. Mia is with my mother. My house is empty. The thought arrives unbidden, and with it comes a surge of courage I didn't know I still possessed.

"Mia's with my mother tonight," I say, the words coming out more abruptly than I intended. I take a breath, trying again. "Would you... would you like to come over? Maybe for a drink or... just to talk more?"

The invitation hangs between us, fragile and loaded with meaning. I'm not entirely sure what I'm asking for, just that I'm not ready for this evening to end.

Rebecca looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the conflict playing across her face—caution warring with desire. Finally, she smiles, a soft curve of her lips that makes my heart beat faster.

"I think I'd like that," she says quietly.

Relief and anticipation flood through me in equal measure. "My truck's just down the block," I tell her, nodding toward where I parked. "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," she says, and something in her voice has changed—a new certainty, a decision made.

As we walk toward my truck, not quite touching but closer than before, I realize I've crossed a line I've been standing behind for five years. I don't know where this night will lead, but for the first time in a long time, I'm willing to find out.

The possibility no longer follows me like a shadow—it walks beside me now, wearing Rebecca's smile and carrying the lingering warmth of her lips against mine.

Chapter 5 – Rebecca

Samuel's truck smells like him—a clean, woodsy scent with hints of coffee. I sit with my hands folded in my lap. The kiss lingers on my lips, so brief yet somehow more significant than any I've experienced before.

Neither of us speaks. The radio plays softly, some country station with a song about highways and heartbreak.

I should be overthinking this, listing all the reasons why getting into Samuel Lewis's truck was a terrible idea. He's Mia's father. I'm her teacher. There are boundaries for a reason.

But all I can focus on is the warmth spreading through my chest and the subtle anticipation building with each turn of the road.

"You okay?" Samuel asks, his voice low in the darkness of the cab.

"Yes," I answer honestly. "Just... processing."

He nods, understanding in his silence. That's something I'm beginning to appreciate about Samuel—he doesn't fill empty spaces with unnecessary words. His quiet has substance.

We turn onto a tree-lined street of modest homes, each with its own character. Samuel slows the truck in front of a craftsman-style bungalow with a wide front porch. The yard is neat but lived-in—a child's bicycle leaning against the steps, a swing hanging from the branch of a large oak tree.

"Home," he says simply, cutting the engine. He turns to me, his expression serious but gentle. "Rebecca, if you've changed your mind—"

"I haven't," I interrupt softly. "But thank you for checking."

The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile that makes my heart flutter. "Just so we're clear."

We walk to the front door, close but not touching. The porch light casts warm shadows as Samuel unlocks the door, stepping aside to let me enter first. I cross the threshold into his world—a place I hadn't imagined seeing when I woke up this morning.

The living room is cozy and lived-in—a comfortable-looking sofa with a few throw pillows, bookshelves filled with a mix of adult novels and children's books, and photos of Mia at various ages. A wooden fire truck sits on the coffee table next to a half-completed puzzle of dinosaurs.

"It's not much," Samuel says, watching me take it all in. "But it's home."

"It's lovely," I tell him, meaning it. The space feels genuine, warm with the presence of the people who live here.

"Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer? Coffee?" He runs a hand through his hair, and I realize he's nervous too. The thought is oddly comforting.

"Wine would be nice," I say. "If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble." He gestures toward the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

As he disappears into what I assume is the kitchen, I take a moment to breathe deeply, grounding myself in the reality of where I am and what I'm doing. I slip off my shoes and place them neatly by the door before settling on the sofa. From this angle, I can see more photos on the mantel—Samuel in his firefighter uniform, Mia as a newborn, an older couple who must be his parents.

---