Page 96 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
The walk home is slow, more drag than stride, my pointed mules scuffing against the dirt path as twilight creeps in over the trees. Parker’s laughter still rings faintly behind me, echoing off the wild hedges and crickets starting up in the fields.
I don’t turn around, not even when I hear Maddox yell something incoherent. I just keep walking, one foot in front of the other, letting cooling air wrap around me.
The cottage comes into view through the dusky haze, its porch light flickering on automatically as if to say,Welcome home, even if it doesn’t feel like one tonight.
Inside, the air feels stuffy and still.
I toss my keys onto the entry table, then head straight for the kettle. The herbs Emily gave me crinkle softly in my palm as I pull them from my pocket; I can smell the valerian, lavender, but there’s also something earthy I can’t name.
The scent rises as soon as the hot water hits it, curling up around my face like a lullaby I’m not ready to listen to.
I leave it steeping, the mug sweating gently on the counter, and tug my blouse over my head right there in the living room. My bra’s the next to go, it feels sticky, and unnecessary. Finally, I shimmied out of my skirt and let it fall where I stand, somewhere between the coffee table and yesterday’s unread mail.
The closest piece of clothing in reach is the one I haven’t let myself remove. Noah’s shirt.
It’s still draped over the back of the couch, rumpled and soft with wear. I hold it for a second, fingers brushing the fadedfabric, the collar stretched a little from where he used to tug at it absentmindedly, and I pull it over my head.
It still smells like him. Smoke and cedar and his clean scent.
I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, feeling ridiculous. Exposed.
I shake the feeling away before going to take the tea and sip slowly, it’s bitter, grounding, and floral. It’s almost as if I can feel it trying to talk my body into slowing down, even when my mind is clawing at the walls.
After finishing the entire cup, I realize that slowing down is the last thing happening.
So, I cross to the corner of the living room where I keep my class supplies, sheets of construction paper, old sketches, mason jars filled with buttons and feathers, and googly eyes. I dig out the pieces for next week’s mosaic project and set them on the table, just to give my hands something to do.
By the time I’m done setting up, I realize it’s still not enough.
I pull out the tray of resin molds I’ve been ignoring for weeks, press dried wildflowers into place, and slide them into the oven. I’m not even sure why—it just feels like something to do. Something to fill the space he left.
Then I flop onto the couch, pulling my knees up, trying to convince myself I’m just resting my eyes.
But the quiet is thick now, too quiet.
The house creaks like it’s settling into the sadness, too, and the only light left is the oven’s warm glow across the tiles.
Noah’s shirt clings to my skin as I shift, breathing in against the collar. I don’t realize my eyes are closing until I feel the heaviness take over, pulling me under.
Then, finally, quiet.
Chapter twenty-six
Noah
“Liam,” I bark, my voice sharp enough to make Ezra and Liam glance up from the engine. “What the hell is this?”
He straightens up slowly, squinting like he can’t follow my train of thought. “What’s what?”
I jab a gloved hand toward the hose, coiled like shit and tangled near the back wheel. “You gonna trip over your own mess or wait till someone else does?”
“It’s a hose, Noah. I’ll fix it in a second,” Liam says.
Well, a hose shouldn’t count as a screw up, but everything pisses me off. In addition to the fact that all I can remember when I look at Liam is the way he danced with Kate at the last fundraiser.
“No. You’ll fix it now.” The words come out dry and biting.
Liam’s jaw tenses. “Jeez. Did I piss on your coffee or something?”
