Page 17 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

Rebecca stirs, her breathing changing rhythm as she transitions from sleep to wakefulness. She makes a small, contented sound and burrows closer before her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she seems confused, and then recognition dawns in her gaze.

"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," I reply, reaching up to brush a curl from her face. "Sleep okay?"

She nods, stretching slightly against me like a contented cat. "Better than okay. What time is it?"

"Almost six."

"Mmm. Early." She makes no move to get up, instead tucking herself more securely against my side. "Your bed is comfortable."

"It has its moments," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "Coffee?"

"Please," she says, finally sitting up, holding the sheet to her chest in a gesture that seems oddly modest after the intimacy we shared last night. "Mind if I borrow your shower?"

"Be my guest." I lean over to press a kiss to her bare shoulder before standing. "Towels are in the cabinet beside the sink. Use whatever you need."

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head to the kitchen, hyperaware of the domesticity of this moment.

The coffee maker gurgles to life as I measure grounds with practiced movements. The house is quiet in the way it only is when Mia isn't home—no cartoons playing softly in the background, no little voice asking questions or humming made-up songs. I miss her with a familiar ache, even as part of me is grateful for this private morning with Rebecca.

By the time the shower turns off, I've set out mugs, milk, sugar, and the box of muffins my mother sent home with me earlier this week. Nothing fancy, but it's more than my usual rushedbreakfast of coffee and whatever I can grab on the way out the door.

Rebecca appears in the kitchen doorway wearing one of my t-shirts, which hangs to mid-thigh on her frame, and her jeans from last night. Her hair is damp, her face free of makeup, and something in my chest tightens at the sight of her. She looks younger this way, softer around the edges.

"That smells amazing," she says, padding barefoot across the kitchen floor. "I'm useless without coffee."

"Firefighter's lifeblood," I reply, pouring her a mug and sliding it across the counter. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Just a splash of milk, please."

I add it for her, then pour my own—black, no sugar. She takes a long sip, closing her eyes in appreciation, and I find myself watching the line of her throat as she swallows.

"Much better," she sighs, opening her eyes to catch me staring. "What?"

"Nothing," I say, though that's far from the truth. "Just... this is nice."

Her expression softens. "It is, isn't it? Weirdly normal for something so..." She trails off, searching for the right word.

"Complicated?" I offer.

"I was going to say unexpected. But complicated works too." She takes another sip of coffee. "Mia comes home today?"

"Around nine. My mom's bringing her after breakfast." I lean against the counter, studying her expression. "You're welcome to stay, but I understand if—"

"I should probably go before then," she interrupts gently. "Not because I want to, but because..."

"Because it's complicated," I finish for her.

She nods, setting her mug down. "Samuel, about last night—"

"No regrets," I say quickly, perhaps too quickly.

Her eyes widen slightly. "None. Not a single one. That's not what I was going to say."

Relief washes through me. "What were you going to say, then?"

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the scent of my shampoo in her hair. "That I don't want it to be just last night. That I know this is complicated—you're Mia's father, I'm her teacher, there are boundaries we've already crossed. But I want to figure it out. If you do too."

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