Page 54 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
What is she doing here?
She is standing in the glow of string lights, soft jazz humming through the speakers, and for a second, the whole damn room seems to go quiet.
She’s wearing this pale beige dress; it seems simple enough, but on her, it’s not that simple at all. The fabric looks light, like silk or satin, catching the low light as she moves, draping over her body in a way that makes it impossible not to look.
Thin straps rest against her shoulders, her skin kissed by the glow of the lights, and the neckline dips into this soft, subtle curve that pulls every last thought right out of my head.
The dress hugs her waist and flares gently at the hips, the hem floating above her knees, enough to stir memory and regret in equal measure.
Her hair’s down, loose, and little wild, soft waves framing her face like the night air had a hand in styling it. And when she tilts her head, scanning the crowd, the overhead lights slide along her skin like water. She isn’t trying to own the room. She just does.
I’m rooted to the damn floor, the glass sweating in my hand, my pulse kicking up as though it’s trying to tear through my chest.
Five days without her, and still, my body remembers every detail; the feel of her, the sound of her voice in the dark, the way her mouth tasted like honey when I kissed her.
I miss her. The thought hits so hard it nearly knocks the wind out of me, striking a place where logic doesn’t reach.
The breath leaves my lungs before I even realize I’ve stopped holding it. My pulse jumps, heat tightening between my legs. And I know, just from the way my body responds to her presence, that I’ve never wanted anything so badly or been so afraid of it.
Beside me, Frank follows my gaze. His chuckle is low, roughened by years of smoke and coffee.
“Ah,” he says, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “There she is.”
I glance at him, throat dry, trying to school my face into something resembling control. But Frank’s already shaking his head.
“Don’t bother, kid. You’ve got that look,” he says, grinning. “Same one I had when my wife walked into the VFW hall all those years ago. Like you’ve just seen the one thing you’d spend the rest of your life chasing, and you already know you screwed it up.”
My jaw tightens,the truth of it sharp and unmovable.
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes still locked on her. “I know.”
Frank’s hand lands heavily on my shoulder, the solid, no-bullshit pat only he can give. He doesn’t say much, but his expression speaks volumes.
“I’ll leave you to it, kid.” He sounds almost amused. “You can stand here and let the night pass you by... or you can stop being a stubborn ass and go after what you want.”
Then he’s gone, vanishing into the crowd the way only Frank can, like a man who’s already lived through this exact moment and knows the ending but won’t spoil it for me.
I stay rooted to the same damn spot.
I should move. God knows I should. But I can’t.
My eyes stay locked on her, like breaking that line of sight would tear something open, I’m not sure I could patch it back together.
Kate.
She’s standing across the room with Emily and Rachel, their heads tipped together, laughter soft and easy rolling off her lips as if she hadn’t been haunting my every waking thought. Like the past five days didn’t affect her at all. Like I didn’t wreck something that night, I let her walk away.
And Christ, the way she looks tonight...
Beige. That dress- simple and soft- the color does nothing to shout for attention, but it doesn’t have to. It’s unfair, the way she can knock the wind out of me without even trying.
A sharp nudge snaps me out of it, shoulder to shoulder, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and cheap aftershave cutting through the stale air.
Liam.
“Damn,” he whistles under his breath, eyes locked across the room. “Didn’t know the newcomer renting out your cottage looked like that.”
Liam’s a good guy. A firefighter. Single father, solid as they come. He’s the kind of man who’s carried his own share of grief but still shows up for everyone else. I glance over at him, catching the look on his face. That easy, unfiltered appreciation.
