Page 38 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
“Later, man,” Knox claps me on the shoulder.
“See you, Chief,” Tyler adds, tossing me a casual salute as he jogs off toward Rachel. I watch the two of them meet halfway. His hand slides over her waist like it’s second nature, her head tipping back for a kiss that’s unhurried and deep, like the world around them isn’t even there.
I don’t mean to stare, but I do. Long enough for something sharp and sour to stir in my gut. Envy isn’t a feeling I’m proud of, but it sits heavy and unwelcome this evening.
I drag my feet toward the crowd, hovering near the edge where the other parents are still gathered, letting the distance shield me. The sun’s dipping low, gold turning to peach, and the town’s small talk has begun to shift into something else entirely.
“So, Noah, when’s the housewarming party?” one of the older ladies, Mrs. Evers, calls out, her voice teasing and full of suggestion.
“Yeah, we’ll bring the casseroles and he can bring the date,” another pipes in, and the laughter that follows is light butpointed, like everyone here knows something I haven’t admitted to myself.
I glance toward Kate, she’s crouched beside Parker, brushing grass stains off his knees, her head tilted as she listens to him ramble about T-ball like it’s the most important thing in the world. She fits there, like she’s always belonged, and the thought roots so deep it makes me shift on my feet.
I stay back, watching the small crowd start to pack up and scatter, families peeling away into the evening. I catch Knox tugging Emily close for a kiss; Rachel resting her head against Tyler’s shoulder, both of them folded into the kind of comfort that only comes with time and knowing.
I shove my hands into my pockets, keeping my feet planted while the space around me thins out.
I was turning toward the truck when Emily’s voice cut across the distance, all casual but aimed squarely at Kate. “Seems like you’re walking tonight, huh?”
Rachel picks up the thread with practiced ease. “Noah’s heading the same way. You two should hitch a ride.”
Kate meets my eyes, her face flickering with something unreadable — hesitation possibly — but Parker is already bouncing on his toes, the decision made long before she can voice an objection.
“Please, Mom! Can we? Blaze rides, too, right?” Parker’s already halfway convinced.
Kate glances my way, our eyes meeting for the first time since I offered her a smile hours ago that didn’t quite reach either of us. Her shoulders drop, the fight folding out of her like air from a balloon.
“Sure,” she says softly, the word so quiet I almost don’t catch it.
The walk to the truck is quiet, save for Parker’s endless, winding monologue about how fast he’s going to run next game,the snack rotation, and how he’s definitely going to hit a home run for real. I open the passenger side, offering Kate a hand, which she accepts after a heartbeat’s pause, her fingers brushing mine too lightly, too carefully.
Parker and Blaze climb into the backseat, settling into an easy sprawl, and I take the driver’s side, starting the engine.
The truck hums with the soft rumble of the engine as I ease the truck onto the road, the sky stretched low and wide- streaks of burnt orange melting into violet. The windows are cracked, letting in the salt-stung breeze off the bay, and Parker’s voice bubbles up from the backseat, bright and relentless.
“And then, when Coach Knox showed me how to stand, I hit it so hard! And Noah — you saw it, right? You saw how far it went?” His words tumble over each other, excitement tripping his tongue.
I catch him in the rearview, his face flushed and sun-warmed, hands painting wild shapes in the air as if I’d somehow missed the whole game.
Beside me, Kate shifts — small, almost imperceptible. Her hands rest folded in her lap, fingers laced so tightly her knuckles pale. She hasn’t said a word since we left the field. I catch the way she stares out the window, her gaze fixed on the darkening horizon like she’s willing the distance to swallow her whole.
The ride back is short, but it stretches long in the cab of the truck. Parker chatters nonstop from the backseat, voice bright and animated, recounting every single moment of practice like I hadn’t seen it all unfold with my own eyes.
I focus on the road, on the hum of the tires over old asphalt, on the way the sky turns darker as the sun sinks away. But even Parker’s voice starts to fade when the kid finally grows quiet, slumping sideways against Blaze, using the dog like a pillow. His little hand rests on Blaze’s thick fur, breath slow and even; he’s out cold.
The silence that follows isn’t the easy kind. It stretches, tightens, and frays. I grip the wheel a little harder, knowing full well I’m in trouble the moment I start wishing the road would stretch a little longer.
I don’t turn toward her, but I feel the way her body shifts, the way her breaths shallow out, the way her fingers curl tighter in her lap like they’ve got something to say, and she won’t let them. It’s stupid how easy it is to forget that this woman is still practically a stranger.
But there’s nothing unfamiliar about the intensity of her silence, about the way her presence fills the space inside this truck, making the cab feel both too small and too overwhelming all at once.
When I finally ease the truck up the long gravel path to the cottage, the tires crunch to a stop, and before I’ve even killed the engine, Kate’s already unbuckling her seatbelt. Quick, like the truck has gotten too small for her. Too tight. Too charged.
I switch off the engine and glance over, watching her shift toward the door, her hands already moving to unclip Parker from his seatbelt. I open my door and climb out just as she does, stepping around the truck to meet her.
“Let me carry him,” I say, voice lower than I mean it to be.
She hesitates, arms tightening around Parker’s small, sleeping weight as if she isn’t sure whether to trust me with this or with something else entirely. But I see the flicker of exhaustion in her eyes, the kind that only shows when the adrenaline of a long day starts to wear off. Finally, she gives a soft, reluctant nod.
