Page 63 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
She nods once, turning back toward the house, and I watch her go, the loose sway of her robe doing things to me my handsstill remember too well. I continue to watch the space she had occupied, hammer still hanging from my hand, fighting the urge to follow.
Her pretty bare feet, the way that worn robe hugs her like a second skin, and the way her hair’s still a tangled mess from sleep shouldn’t knock the air out of me like this, but it does. It hits me low, right in the ribs—a pressure that doesn’t let up, no matter how I try to breathe through it.
I run a hand down my face, trying to shake it off, when a smaller voice pipes up beside me.
“So,” Parker starts, standing now, brushing grass off his pajama pants like he’s about to head into a board meeting. “Do you like my mom?”
I blink down at him, caught so off guard I forget how to hold the hammer. It slips a little in my grip, and I fumble to catch it before it drops. “What?”
He squints at me as if he’s got all the time in the world for this interrogation. “Do you like my mom?”
My throat goes dry. Five years old, and the kid’s got sharper instincts than most grown men. “I—” I rub the back of my neck, searching for neutral ground. “Your mom’s great. She’s... she’s a good person.”
Parker isn’t buying it for a second. He crosses his arms, head tilted, one brow arched high like he learned it straight from her. “That’s not what I asked.”
A slow laugh escapes before I can stop it, low and rough. “You always are this nosy, or am I just lucky today?”
He shrugs, grinning wide enough to flash milk teeth. “Mom says I ask good questions.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my jaw. “She’s not wrong about that.”
Before Parker can fire off his next round of questions, I can see it brewing behind those bright eyes; the screen door creaks open again.
Kate steps out, cup in hand, her gaze sliding toward us like she’s been listening the whole damn time. “Parker,” she calls, voice light but edged with that mom's tone. “Stop bothering Mr. Bennett.”
Parker lets out a dramatic sigh as if he’s been cut off in the middle of a big scoop. “I wasn’t bothering,” he mumbles, kicking at a stray pebble.
Kate’s eyes meet mine, soft but unreadable, and she motions toward the porch with a tilt of her head. “Come on. Coffee’s ready.”
I set the hammer down on the fence post, brushing my palms against my jeans, and followed her toward the cottage, the place I’d sworn I wouldn’t go near again.
But here I am. Trailing after her anyway.
And somehow, it feels a hell of a lot like coming home.
I settle beside Kate on the steps; the wood still cool
The porch creaks beneath us, mugs cradled in hand like it’s a normal morning for us. Parker’s off in the yard again, a blur of dinosaur pajamas and boundless energy, Blaze trailing behind him like the world’s most loyal shadow.
The morning hums soft and quiet around us; birdsong, the distant sounds of water lapping at a dock, and a light breeze skimming through wet leaves. The kind of peace I’ve never been able to sit still in, not for long. But here I am, sitting in it. Sitting next to her.
Kate’s fingers brush along the rim of her mug, her thumb stroking absent little circles against the ceramic. She’s not looking at me, but I can’t stop looking at her. Her robe slips, enough to hint at the skin, pale and delicate, the memory of her pressed against me so vivid it hurts.
“It’s peaceful this morning,” she says, breaking the quiet like it’s the most ordinary thing.
I let out a short breath, and it tastes more like confession than relief. “Better than the mess in my head.”
Her expression doesn’t change. Neither does she acknowledge my words. She lets them hang there between us, untouched, like she knew better than to chase them down.
Her silence, the easy kind that should comfort me, starts to crawl under my skin. Makes me want to fill it. Makes me want to say the things I should’ve said long before now.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, and I take the first sip from the coffee, but still she remains silent.
“I shouldn’t have handled last night the way I did,” I start, voice rough and low like gravel rolling off my tongue. “Or the first time. With you.”
I turn to her, watching her profile, the way her lashes lower, but her expression doesn’t change. Calm. Guarded. “I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”
Kate angles her head a little, slow and thoughtful, like she’s waiting for more but not asking for it. That quiet answer unnerves me more than any question would’ve. I badly want her to say something.
