Page 2 of Falling for the Bad Boy Firefighter
"You've got to be kidding me," she mutters as I climb the steps, taking them two at a time.
I flash her the grin that made Sister Margaret threaten to wash my mouth with soap back in Catholic school. "Nice to see you too."
She stiffens at the endearment, lips pressing into a thin line. "I was expecting someone... else."
"Yeah, well, I was expecting to do literally anything else today, so I guess we're both disappointed." I adjust my tool belt, watching her eyes flicker to the tattoos that snake up my forearms—intricate designs that tell stories she'd probably never ask about—before she quickly looks away, color rising in her cheeks.
"Let's just get this over with," she says, turning to open the heavy oak door. "The sooner you're done, the sooner we can go back to our regularly scheduled avoiding each other."
I follow her inside, boots too loud on the polished hardwood floors. The building smells exactly like I'd expect—old paper,lemon polish, and a hint of that musty scent that comes with preserving things long past their prime.
It's quiet, almost reverent, like a church for history buffs.
"Chief says you need the whole system checked," I say, breaking the silence. "Any areas giving you particular trouble?"
Penelope gestures toward a spiral staircase at the far end of the entrance hall. "The second floor has had some false alarms, and the third floor doesn't have enough coverage according to the new fire code."
I nod, taking mental notes as I scan the space. High ceilings, old wiring, plenty of flammable material. "I'll need access to all rooms."
"Of course." She crosses to a large desk and retrieves a ring of keys. "I'll have to accompany you. Some of the collections are irreplaceable."
The implication hangs in the air between us—she doesn't trust me alone with the town's precious history. Can't say I blame her. Our families have a talent for destroying things.
"Don't worry," I say, pulling out my tools. "I know how to handle delicate things."
Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe irritation. "I'm sure you've had plenty of practice," she says, voice dry as autumn leaves.
I get to work, starting with the main floor detectors.
She hovers nearby, watching me with those keen eyes as I check wiring and replace batteries. The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the old building settling.
When I need to reach the ceiling-mounted detector in the main exhibit hall, I climb the ladder I brought, stretching up to unscrew the casing. My t-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin above my jeans, and I catch Penelope's gaze lingering there before she quickly busies herself with adjusting a display case that doesn't need adjusting.
"See something you like?" I can't help asking, looking down at her over my shoulder.
She flushes, color blooming across her cheeks and down her neck in a way that makes me wonder just how far that blush goes. "Absolutely not," she says too quickly, then clears her throat. "Are you almost done with this section?"
"Just getting started." I secure the detector back in place and climb down. "We've got all day."
The look she gives me could freeze hell, but there's something else there too—a spark, a heat that contradicts her ice queen demeanor. It's strange, this unexpected tension between us—something I never noticed back when we passed each other in high school hallways, too wrapped up in our separate worlds to do more than occasionally glare.
As I pack up to move to the next room, our hands brush when she hands me a key, and for a moment, we both freeze—caught in the unexpected current that jumps between us. Her eyes widen slightly, lips parting on an inhale.
"You'll need this for the archive room," she says, voice softer than before.
I take the key, letting my fingers linger against hers for a beat longer than necessary. "Lead the way."
Penelope turns quickly, but not before I catch the slight tremble in her hand.
Chapter 2 – Penny
The moment Walker disappears through the front door, I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders drop as tension seeps out of them like water from a cracked vase. I press my fingertips against my temples, trying to steady the strange flutter in my chest.
This wasnothow today was supposed to go.
When Firefighter Chief Mason called about sending someone to update our smoke detectors, I'd imagined one of the older firefighters—someone steady, unobtrusive, forgettable. Not Jackson Walker with his tattooed arms and knowing eyes that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed facade.
"Get it together, Penny," I mutter to myself, smoothing down my skirt with shaking hands.
