Page 15 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
And I don’t move.
I stand there, hands curled loose at my sides, heart doing something it shouldn’t.
That sound coming from her, half-melody, half-daydream. It settles under my ribs and spreads in a way that makes me feel warm and wide open. As though I’ve shut out things for so long, I forgot what peace sounds like.
Blaze barks once.
Parker shouts his name and takes off after him, feet thudding against the ground.
Kate raises her head up.
She turns toward the sound, and that’s when she sees me.
Her shoulders lift the slightest bit, lips parting as though I startled her. But she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. She wipes her hands on the cloth by her thigh and gets up slowly.
And I—God help me—I watch.
I’ve never noticed how a woman walks before.
Not like this.
There’s nothing rushed about her. Nothing posed or artificial. She walks like the air moves around her. Like the world waits for her to take her time. Her hips shift softly under the worn cotton of her joggers, her chest rising with each breath.
Her gaze flickers up to mine, then drops, like she’s unsure…perhaps she feels the same thing pulsing in the stretch of silence between us.
My pulse taps against the base of my throat.
“You came back early,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear. I wonder why my heart is beating fast at the thought of her knowing when I get back.
I glance toward the sky. “Storm’s rolling in faster than expected. Thought I’d check on you two.”
She nods, eyes lifting toward the clouds like she hadn’t noticed them before now. Her lips pull in, thoughtful. The pink of them looks soft, the kind of soft that leaves a mark when bitten.
I shift.
Try to focus on anything else.
Her hands.
There are streaks of paint under her nails—blue, perhaps green, something like sunlight caught on water. One smear near her knuckle. She doesn’t seem to care. Like creating something matters more than staying clean. I don’t know why that hits me in the gut, but it does.
I clear my throat. “You should head inside soon. Winds will pick up quick. Might lose power.”
She nods again, quiet. Then softly, “Parker will be sorry to stop playing.”
I glance at the kid. He’s tumbling through the grass, Blaze on his heels like they were made from the same mold of mischief.
“They can play a little longer.” My voice drops low. “Blaze can come when they are done playing. He knows the way.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
I don’t step closer.
But I want to.
There’s a smudge of yellow paint near the curve of her cheek. I have the wild thought to reach out and brush it off with my thumb. Feel the heat of her skin. Let my hand linger a second too long. Let her lean into it.
I don’t.
