Page 10 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
“Hey, bud.”
His voice is calm. Gentle and steady, like the quiet hum of thunder in the distance.
Parker sniffles, hiccupping. “I, I’m stuck.”
“I know,” he says, and even I feel the reassurance in those two words. “You climbed up. That was brave.”
Parker clings tighter. “I can’t get down.”
“That’s okay. I got you.”
His hand reaches up, but not too fast. Not enough to spook. He crouches, balancing easily like he was born in trees.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do, alright? I want you to let go. Just let go. I’ll catch you.”
My heart lurches. “He’s so high, ”
He doesn’t look back at me. Just lifts a hand, arms steady in the air.
“Trust me.”
Something in his voice makes even me go still.
Parker blinks, sniffling again. His little fingers loosen. “Okay…”
“On three, okay?” the man says. “One… two…”
Before he can say three, Parker lets go.
And he catches him like he promised; he doesn’t move right away.
Noah stays up there, balanced on that thick branch like he’s nothing but muscle and quiet certainty. His arms cradle Parker to his chest, one big hand stroking slowly along his little spine.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe, buddy. Got you now.”
Parker’s body sags into his chest, trembling breaths against sun-warmed skin, and I let go of a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders sag in relief.
Noah holds him like he’s made for it, and nothing in the world could pry him from those arms.
His hand moves slowly along Parker’s back, tracing circles with his thumb, anchoring him with nothing but calm and quiet strength. The branch creaks beneath them, but he doesn’t flinch. He speaks again, to his ear, like a secret.
“You’re alright, buddy. I’ve got you.”
The hush of his voice settles into my bones like a balm. Even from down here, I feel it. That deep, rich timbre, not loud, not showy. Steady. Like the world could fall apart, and he’d still hold it together.
That voice settles the sharp edges inside me, and I press my hand flat against my stomach like I could pin down the wild, stuttering pulse rioting there.
Parker nods against his chest slowly, and his little arm tightens around Noah’s neck. And then he melts into him. Curls right into the bare skin of his shoulder like it’s the safest place in the world.
And somehow, at the moment, I know it is.
My breath stutters, caught between relief and tears. The fear that holds me in its iron grip finally eases, replaced by something softer. The rush of relief leaves me weak, my knees barely holding. I sag where I stand, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I watch the way he cradles my son. As if he’s the most precious thing in the world.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shift his weight or speak. He lets Parker burrow in, steady arms strong around him, holding him through the last of his fear.
I follow the line of his shoulder, tracing the way the light plays across the damp skin. A flicker of motion catches at the corner of my eye, and my gaze slides lower fast, too easy, and it lands on the sharp, unmistakable curve of bare flesh.
My breath stalls.
