Page 110 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re the one who taught me how to see again.”
"You don’t just paint what you see, Katie. You paint what you feel. And loving you feels like color after a lifetime in grayscale.”
Her hand finds the side of my face. She doesn’t say anything.
I press a kiss to the inside of her palm, right where her pulse flutters, and my thumb runs along her delicate wrist, slow and reverent. She feels warm against me, sunlight, brushstrokes, and quiet strength wrapped in softness.
I look past her shoulder, letting my eyes sweep the attic again, the colors, the movement, the emotion hanging in the air like dust caught in golden light. Every canvas is a confession. A risk. A piece of her.
“I want to help,” I say. “Whatever you have in mind. Showings, galleries, online — hell, even a pop-up in the city. You name it. I’ll be there.”
She blinks, lips parting like she didn’t expect that. “You mean it?”
“Of course, I mean it. You’ve been hiding a whole world in this attic, Katie.” I cup her face, my thumb tracing beneath her eye. “The world deserves to see what I’ve been lucky enough to witness up close.”
She leans in before I can say more, her mouth meeting mine in a kiss that’s as much gratitude as it is love. Slow, lingering. It’s not hungry—it’s steady, reverent, like she’s tethering me to something sacred. Her fingers slide into my hair. I wrap both arms around her and deepen the kiss, letting it say the things I don’t always know how to.
When we finally part, she rests her forehead against mine, her breath brushing my lips.
“I thought about maybe starting small,” she whispers. “A website, maybe. Emily’s offered to help set it up. And then maybe a booth at the arts festival after our wedding.”
I nod, my hand smoothing down her back. “That’s perfect. We’ll make it happen.”
She pulls away gently and walks back to the painting of Parker in the hammock. Her fingers trail the edge of the frame like she’s still part of the painting.
“I used to think this part of me had to stay hidden,” she says quietly. “Like showing it would take away its magic. Or people wouldn’t see it the way I did.”
I step behind her, slipping my arms around her waist again. “I see it, Katie. And it’s nothing short of magic.”
She smiles and tilts her head, resting it against my shoulder. “Thank you. For always saying the right things. It still scares me, a little. But it scares me more to hide it forever.”
I kiss her temple. “You’re worth everything.”
Downstairs, we hear Parker calling out something about the birdhouse roof falling off again, followed by Blaze barking in agreement.
She laughs softly. “We should find him a new project, before he nails the mailbox to the porch.”
"Good idea," I tell her, "maybe he can help me with my next painting project?"
"I'm sure he'd love that! What are you going to paint?"
"I was thinking...a nursery," I say, watching her face.
She blushes and her face softens in that way I’ll never get over, the way it only does when she’s feeling everything at once.
We kiss again, slower this time, and I let it carry everything: the promise, the quiet relief, the future we’ve built with careful hands.
When we finally descend the attic stairs, her hand finds mine. Fingers intertwined. A grip that says we’re here now and we're ready for whatever comes next. Sunlight still spills through the windows, soft and golden, casting the shape of our future in light.
