Page 18 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
I reach for the doorknob with a shaky breath, unlock the deadbolt, and ease the door open.
And there he is.
Noah.
Soaked through in a gray hoodie that clings to every hard line of his chest and arms, rainwater dripping from the hood he hasn’t bothered to pull up. His jeans are dark with water, work boots are slick with mud.
In one hand, he holds a lantern casting soft gold light across his face—sharp jaw, soaked lashes, those eyes that always seem like they’re holding something back.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at me.
And for a second, I forget about the wind howling and the fear gripping my heart.
“Noah?” I call out softly, mostly to reassure myself it’s really him.
“You okay?” His eyes study my face, and something shifts. Concern flickers across his expression, subtle but there, as if I don’t appear as calm as I hoped I did.
“I see the lights went out,” he says again when I don’t reply. “Thought you and the little guy might need a backup.”
He raises the lantern, offering it.
My fingers curl around the door. I realize they’re trembling. My whole body’s still buzzing with leftover adrenaline. My throat feels too tight to speak.
His gaze lingers a beat longer. Then he clears his throat.
“I don’t know how well the cottage’s gonna hold in a storm like this. No one’s lived in it during bad weather, wasn’t even wired for it ‘til last year. If you’re not comfortable staying put...”
He shifts from foot to foot, tilting to one side as if he’s not sure how it’ll sound to me.
“You’re welcome to come to my place. If you want. I figured I’d at least offer.”
For a moment, I stand there, staring at him like I don’t comprehend what he’s saying.
Because what?
This man, gruff, private, allergic to unnecessary words, just offered shelter. To me. At nearly midnight. In a storm. After days of him avoiding eye contact and staying away from us?
The wind roars behind me again, rattling the windows.
And suddenly, I don’t care that we’ve hardly spoken since I moved in. I don’t care that he’s been distant and that I don’t really understand him yet.
Because the cottage feels like it’s shaking in its bones. Parker is curled up alone in the hallway. And the idea of spending the night listening to that storm claw at the walls without a backup plan makes something tighten in my chest all over again.
“I’ll get Parker,” I whisper.
He nods once.
The wind practically slaps me as I run back to grab Parker, bundled now in a blanket with his dinosaur tucked under one arm. Thankfully, he’s dozing off again; he stirs a little as I carry him, but doesn’t wake fully. The second I come back to the door, Noah’s already stepping in, reaching out.
“I’ll carry him,” he says, gentler this time.
I hesitate—only a moment—but then I let him take my son. He cradles him close like it’s second nature. Parker melts against him and murmurs something into his hoodie.
Noah adjusts his hold and glances at me. “Blaze’ll follow.”
Sure enough, the big dog pads onto the porch like this is routine.
I slip into my shoes on the porch and step into the rain, and I’m already running after Noah before I realize I’m without a jacket. My heart hammers loudly as I look back, trying to pick between following him and going back for a jacket. The wind slaps against my skin, cold and sharp.
