Page 6 of The Grumpy Firefighter
And I believe him completely.
We burst through the emergency exit into the crisp October air, and I gulp it gratefully. Outside, organized chaos reigns—Bradley and Arthur are shutting down power to the tent, Loganis directing people to a safe distance, Austin is checking a tally sheet to ensure everyone's accounted for, and Nathan is examining a child with a scraped knee.
Paul sets me down gently on a nearby bench but keeps one hand at my elbow, steadying me.
"Are you hurt anywhere besides the ankle?" he asks, eyes scanning me for injuries.
"Just my pride," I say, attempting a smile despite my raspy voice. "So much for my perfect safety record."
"You got everyone out," he says firmly. "You kept calm and directed people to safety before yourself. That's exactly what you should have done."
Coming from Paul Hawkins, this is practically effusive praise. I blink up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, the lingering adrenaline, the way the moonlight catches the silver at his temples, the fact that his hand is still on my arm, warm and steady.
"You came back for me," I say softly.
"Of course I did." His voice is gruff, matter-of-fact, as if there was never any question. "I'll always—" He stops himself, something flashing behind his eyes.
And maybe it's the adrenaline, or the moonlight, or the way he's looking at me like I'm simultaneously infuriating and precious, but I find myself leaning forward, closing the distance between us, and pressing my lips to his.
For one heart-stopping moment, he's completely still, and I think I've made a terrible mistake. Then his hand slides from my elbow to cup my face, and he's kissing me back with a controlled intensity that makes my toes curl. His lips are firmbut gentle, the slight rasp of stubble against my skin sending shivers through me.
It lasts only seconds before he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine.
"I—" he begins.
"Well,that'sone way to recover from smoke inhalation," Logan's amused voice breaks through our bubble. He stands a few feet away, grinning broadly, with Bradley and Austin behind him wearing identical expressions of shock and delight.
Paul straightens immediately, his professional mask sliding back into place, though a faint flush colors his cheekbones. "Nathan should check her for smoke inhalation," he says, voice clipped.
"I bet he should," Austin agrees with a barely suppressed smirk.
I feel my own cheeks burning, but I can't bring myself to regret anything. "I'm fine," I insist. "Just need some water and maybe an ice pack for my ankle."
"I'll get Nathan," Bradley offers, still grinning as he walks away.
Paul looks decidedly uncomfortable with the audience, but to my surprise, he doesn't move away from me. Instead, he sits down on the bench, keeping a respectable but not distant space between us.
"The fog machine motor burned out," he says, clearly trying to redirect the conversation to safer territory. "Probably an electrical short. We'll need to close the maze for tonight, check all the equipment before we reopen."
"Of course," I agree, playing along even as my lips still tingle from his kiss. "Safety first."
Nathan approaches with his medical kit, kneeling to examine my ankle with gentle professionalism. "Nothing broken," he pronounces after a careful inspection. "Just a mild sprain. Ice, elevation, and rest."
"Does kissing the Chief count as rest?" Logan stage-whispers to Austin, who snorts.
"That's enough," Paul says sharply.
The crowd has dispersed, guests safely headed home with promises of free return tickets once the maze reopens. As crew members begin securing the site, Paul helps me stand, his hand warm at my elbow.
"I should get you home," he says, then seems to realize how that sounds as Austin raises his eyebrows suggestively. "To your apartment," Paul clarifies, glaring at his crew. "To rest. Your ankle."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling at his discomfort. "That would be very... safe of you, Chief."
His eyes narrow slightly at my teasing tone, but there's a warmth there I've never seen before. "I'll get my truck," he says, and though his voice is as gruff as ever, his fingers brush mine briefly before he steps away.
As he walks toward the parking lot, Logan sidles up beside me, arms crossed.
"So," he says conversationally. "That happened."
