Page 8 of Wrong Number, Right Firefighter
I set the glass down. “I’m not asking you to date me. Or fall for me. Or make it romantic if that’s not what you want. I just…”I leaned forward, heartbeat roaring in my ears. “I just want you. Tonight. If you want that too.”
Silence stretched between us, pulsing. His jaw flexed. His hands curled into fists on his thighs. And then?—
Crackle. His two-way radio flared to life at his hip.
“Station One, come in. Repeat—Station One, do you copy? Downed line reported near Mile Marker Seven. We’ve got branches across the road and potential live wires. Respond immediately if available.”
He cursed under his breath, yanking the radio up.
“This is Station One, copy that,” he said, all business now. “I’m on the ridge. Ten minutes out.”
“Copy. Use caution. Dispatch out.”
The radio went dead. He stood, fast and tense. All the softness in his face had been replaced by urgency.
“I have to go.”
I nodded, trying not to let disappointment show. Of course, he had to go. He was a firefighter. Someone could be hurt. This wasn’t about me.
But when he paused at the door, hand on the frame, he turned back to me. “This isn’t over.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not just a call I responded to tonight, Camille.”
He said it like a promise.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain like a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from.
4
SCOOP
By the time we cleared the last of the downed branches and confirmed with the power company that the lines were stable, the storm had faded into nothing more than a misty drizzle. My boots were caked in wet clay, my shirt stuck to my back, and my head wouldn’t stop replaying the moment Camille looked me in the eye and told me she was a virgin.
Jesus.
I’d worked a lot of weird shifts. I’d been called to flipped cars, backyard fires, a guy once glued to his own garage floor. But never had I walked into a cabin expecting a welfare check and ended up walking away from that.
She’d meant it. Every word. It wasn’t the margarita talking. It was her. Honest. Brave. Lit up from the inside with something I couldn’t put my damn finger on.
And I’d walked away.
I should have. It was the right thing to do. She was in no state to make a decision like giving up her virginity—not then. And I sure as hell wasn’t either.
But now…now I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her soft voice. Her wild green eyes. The way she stared at me like I was something safe, when I knew damn well I wasn’t.
I turned the corner toward Blount County Road. Gravel crunched beneath my tires. I slowed as I saw the cabin up ahead, the same low glow coming from the window.
I should go home. Instead, I parked.
The porch light was still on. There was something taped to the front door.
I stepped out of the truck, heart hammering like I’d just climbed four flights in turnout gear. My boots hit the porch heavily. Raindrops dripped from the edge of the roof.
The note was written in curvy handwriting on lined notebook paper, the edges damp but legible.Still want what I’m offering? Come in if you do. Door’s locked, but I’m not. ;) —Camille
I stared at it for a long moment, jaw clenched. Then I keyed in the code. The lock clicked open.
