Page 62 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
That earns a real laugh out of me, and I decide matters likehis Dadshould be discussed with Kate, if I’m curious. “Yellow’s dumb, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”
He shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, legs crossed, the fabric of his dinosaur pajamas bunched around his ankles. His world is so simple, so unscarred, and for the first time in a long time, I wish I still lived in a world like that.
Parker tips his head, watching me like he’s figuring out a puzzle. “You look sad today. Are you okay?”
The words catch me off-guard, and I swallow, working my jaw, trying to piece together something honest but safe.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, eyes dropping to the wood in front of me. “Sometimes grown-ups have days like that.”
“Mom, too.” His voice is soft, like he’s sharing a secret. “She doesn’t always say it, but I know.”
It punches low and spreads like a bruise. The kid sees too much.
Before I can answer, Blaze comes tearing across the yard, snuffling at Parker’s cereal bowl like he owns the place. Parker squeals, tipping it away just in time, milk sloshing onto his pajama top.
“Blaze! It’s not for you!” he scolds, batting at the dog’s nose, but his laughter spills out easily, light, and unbothered.
I lean against the fence, watching them—the boy and the dog, two simple pieces of a life I never thought I’d want.
If things had been different.
If Josie hadn’t...
I shake the thought away hard, gripping the hammer until my knuckles turn white.
And then the screen door creaks.
My head lifts before I even mean to.
Kate.
She steps out, a mug clasped between both hands, her hair still tangled from sleep. She’s barefoot, robe knotted lazily at the waist, her nightshirt barely peeking out beneath.
I look at her, and even from the distance, I can make out the bruised fullness of her lips, still swollen from where I kissed her senseless. The faint mark at the hollow of her throat where my teeth had sunk in, claiming more than I ever had a right to.
The thin robe knotted loosely at her waist tells me she hadn’t bothered with a bra, the fabric molding over places it shouldn’t, the morning light catching on bare skin I already know the texture of, and suddenly the ache I’ve been trying to hammerout of my system all morning flares hot and sharp like an ember fanned back to life.
She stops short the moment her eyes find me. It’s quick, and I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking, just the smallest hitch in her step, but I see it the way I see everything that’s related to her. I feel it. The unspoken words hang between us like storm clouds that haven’t cleared.
But just as quickly, she recovers. Lifts her chin, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.
“Thanks for making sure Parker got home last night,” she says, voice even, like she’s testing out how steady it can sound.
I swallow, throat dry. “Yeah. Of course.”
Her gaze drifts toward the fence, and she lifts the mug, a faint smile tugging at her mouth, though her eyes don’t quite reach it. “And for the fence, too.”
“Figured it needed doing.” I clear my throat, shifting the hammer to my other hand. “Storm gave it hell.”
Silence stretches out, heavy but not cold. She lingers there on the steps, blowing lightly over the rim of her mug, fingers wrapped tight around it like it’s the only thing anchoring her.
“You want coffee?” she asks casually, and I can tell she’s avoiding my gaze. “I can make you some.”
The offer hits me sideways. It’s simple, but it knocks the breath from my lungs. I figure she will be angry, ignoring me, or even drag Parker away from where I am. But she’s still here, looking perfectly normal. And for some dumb reason, I didn’t expect that.
“Yeah,” I say, softer than I meant to. “I’d like that.”
We both blink like the words surprise us. Her, because she probably didn’t think I’d say yes. Me, because I didn’t think I’d get the chance.
