Page 32 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
I don’t know what Kate wants. I don’t know what brought her here. For all I know, some man could be waiting for her somewhere, wondering when she’s coming home.
I don’t know if there’s someone out there waiting for her. Wondering when she’s coming back. Pacing a kitchen floor like I am now, imagining her in someone else’s clothes.
But I do know this—
She didn’t touch me like a woman who belonged to someone else. She touched me like she was starving for something only I could give her. Like her hands had been holding back for years, and last night, they finally forgot how.
She didn’t kiss me like she was lying to anyone. She kissed me like the world dropped out beneath her feet, and mine followed after. And yeah. Plausibly she lost her damn mind for a second.
But so did I.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel empty. I felt… alive. Hungry. Human.
***
It’s been hours.
I’ve taken my shower and gotten out of the house, but somehow, I still smell her all around me. The air still holds the faintest trace of her scent even though I’m now in the field.
I thought throwing on a clean shirt and lacing up my boots would help. That heading out to the field and sinking into something familiar—something structured—might shake her loose from my mind.Didn’t work.
Coaching T-ball started out as a way to give back to the town. One of those “just for the season, Noah” deals that turned into every season. The kids like me because I'm patient, and I teach them how to hit hard.
The parents like me because I show up, I’m not an idiot, and I was once good enough to be on a full-ride baseball scholarship before I gave it up. Most days, I like it too. Because it reminds me of the good ol’ days.
But today? My head’s a damn mess.
Emily’s brother, Rachel’s husband, Tyler, who always helps out with community activities, is already dragging the pitchingmachine out of the equipment shed when I get there. Knox is setting up cones in his usual no-nonsense, ex-military way, like fielding drills are life or death.
The sun’s brutal today, even for spring. My shirt’s already sticking to my back, and the kids are wired from too much sugar and not enough water.
Me? I’m just trying to keep my head in the game.
But it’s useless.
My mind keeps drifting to last night. To soft gasps in the dark, and the way, her fingers curled in my shirt like she needed something to hold her together. The way she looked this morning, eyes sleepy, mouth flushed, my clothes swallowing her frame. Every detail’s seared into me, permanent as ink.
The air smells like cut grass and sun-warmed aluminum bleachers. The kids are trickling in, high-pitched voices rising, baseball gloves too loose-fitting for their tiny hands.
I roll my shoulders back and walk toward the dugout, trying to shove everything else out of my mind. It should’ve worked. Hell, it usually does.
I turn my head around, and there she is….
Walking across the grass like the breeze owes her something. Ponytail swaying, sunglasses perched on her nose. She’s got Parker by the hand, and he’s chattering about something, animated as ever, but all I see is her.
The way the sunlight glints off her skin. Parker chatters a mile a minute, and she’s laughing, soft and real, like her world hasn’t tilted the same way mine has. And just like that, I forget we’re not alone out here.
“Hey, Noah!”
I don’t register the warning fast enough.
The T-ball smacks me square on the side of the head with a dull thunk that echoes louder than it should. My hat goes flying.I stumble. There's a collective "oooohhh" from the kids, followed by Knox’s familiar snort.
Tyler’s grinning. “You good, Coach Bennett?”
I rub the side of my skull. “Peachy.”
Knox doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Might wanna keep your eye on the ball instead of whatever had you so distracted.”
