Page 109 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
“How so?” I ask, facing him fully now.
“She uh…she apologized. Said she’d had a crush on me for years. Thought maybe something would happen before you came into town. That she felt… threatened, I guess.”
I set the brush down gently. “You’re surprised she said that?”
“Why would she ever think, I would have something with my first love’s sister?” Noah squints at me. “What really surprises me is that you’re not surprised.”
I smile a little. “I already knew.”
“What?”
“Emily and Rachel told me. Back when she attacked me when I first got into town.” I stand, stretching my legs. The hem of my dress brushes the tops of my bare feet. “I figured it wasn’t my place to say anything.”
He stares at me, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“You’re something else,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“Hmm,” I hum, brushing past him. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
NOAH
She takes my hand, the same way she’s done it a thousand times now, fingers cool and easy around mine, and leads me up the stairs toward the attic. The attic door creaks and sticks on the left, just like always. I make a mental note to fix it.”
Warm light spills across the dust and canvas as she opens up fully, and the space smells like cedar and old dreams.
There are paintings everywhere. Against the walls, propped on old wooden crates, half-covered with sheets. Some I’ve seen in glimpses of while she paints around the house, or some that she lets dry out. But everything is…..it’s an entire world.
The first visible painting is of Parker in the hammock, head tipped back in a summer nap, Blaze curled beneath him like a watchful shadow. The next is of the cliffs at sunset, the brushstrokes wide and wild as if the wind was painted in too.
Then, a still life of the mug I always leave by the sink, half full, a smear of her red lipstick on the rim I never quite wipe away.
Then I see the one that makes my jaw drop.
A man’s back. Broad, a little hunched, bathed in firelight. But the magic is in the way the woman in the painting looks at him, as if he’s the beginning and the end of something she thought she'd lost. That look hits like a punch to the ribs.
“She’s in love,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “She’s you…”
Kate’s standing behind me, hands clasped in front of her. Her cheeks are flushed. “Yes, she’s me and I think… I think I’m ready to go public.”
I turn slowly.
“With all this?” I gesture around us, as if it’s not obvious.
She nods. “I’ve been procrastinating on it for so long, and now it feels like—like I’m ready to be seen.”
I don’t say anything right away. I’m trying to swallow the lump in my throat. She’s so perfect in every sense that matters.
“You made all this while I wasn’t looking?” I finally ask, stepping closer. “How did I not see it?”
“You weren’t supposed to,” She smiles, a little shy now, like this means more than she can admit. “Not until now.”
I wrap my arms around her before I even think about it, anchoring her to my chest. She’s soft, warm, all color and breath.
“I’ve always known,” I say, stepping closer. “You were so much more than a schoolteacher.”
She leans back enough to look up. “Really?”
I brush my fingers over the paint smudges on her wrist. “Yes. Really. You’re the whole gallery, Katie. You always have been.”
