Page 102 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
How the hell did I sleep through this?
The tea. Emily’s tea. I must’ve knocked out harder than I realized.
I lunge for the oven. The moment I touch the handle, a wall of heat rushes out, singeing the hairs on my arm. I hiss and jerk back, sucking in through my teeth.
I grab the towel off the sink, wrap it around my hand, and yank the door open. A wave of heat bursts out. The resin tray sits crooked on the rack, blackened and warping, its glossy sheen bubbling and smoking beneath the oven light.
I slam the slam the oven door shut and twist the dial to off, chest heaving, and stagger back against the counter behind me just as the front door flies open with a bang that rattles the frame.
Noah.
He barrels in, zeroes in on me. No words, just action. He grabs the fire extinguisher from the kitchen wall and moves past me. In one fluid motion, he pulls the pin, opens the oven door again,and douses the tray in white chemical spray until the smoke abates.
He spins toward me, eyes sweeping me head to toe. “Where’s Parker?”
“He’s with Emily,” I rasp. “He’s not here.”
“Thank God.”
The world tilts.
His hand drops behind my knees, and I’m lifted clean off the ground, bare legs, his T-shirt brushing my thighs, skin still clammy from the heat.
I clutch his shoulders, dizzy and disoriented, but there’s no hesitation in the way he moves. I can breathe a little easier once we get out into the cool night air, but he doesn’t drop me on my feet. The next thing I hear is his whistle, short and sharp, and I realize he’s calling for Blaze. He must have left him behind in the haste to get to me.
And soon I hear Blaze’s paws drumming across the gravel, the familiar chuff of his breath closing in behind us as we cut through the dark.I wrap my arms tightly around him until we’re inside Noah’s house, his scent already crowding my lungs: cedar, sweat, smoke.
He sets me down gently on the couch, the old leather warm and worn beneath me. Then he disappears into the kitchen.
Water runs. Drawers open. Something clatters.
When he returns, he kneels in front of me, holding a damp towel and a fire-department-issued inhaler.
His brows are drawn tight, and for the first time since he burst through my door, I see it.The fear. Still clinging to him like smoke.
He wipes my face, then my hands—slow, methodical. The towel is warm and smells like eucalyptus. I feel his fingers tremble through the fabric.
“Here,” he says softly, offering the inhaler. “Just a few puffs. It’ll help.”
I take it. My lungs ease.
Only then does he really look at me.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw him. He looks wrecked. His beard's thicker, curling along his jaw like he forgot to care. There's dirt smeared on his shirt, dried salt at his temples. Exhaustion clings to him. He’s wrecked.
His gaze sweeps over me—bare feet on cold hardwood, hair in a messy bun, his old fire department T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. My hair smells of smoke and resin.
Something in his face shifts. I see the way his eyes linger, as if memorizing every detail. Not just to make sure I’m okay… but because he can’t look away.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he says, voice ragged. “I saw that smoke, and I swear to God, I’ve never moved faster. I thought I’d lost you before I even got to fight for you. That scared me more than any fire ever could.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper. “I was just trying to finish a piece. I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“You weren’t answering. I thought I was gonna have to drag you out.”
His hands clench. “Jesus, Katie.”
“I’m okay,” I say.
