Page 8 of The Grumpy Firefighter
My hand has somehow slid down to rest just above her wrist where I can feel her pulse beating steadily beneath warm skin.
"Bradley and Austin can handle the books," I assure her, reluctantly releasing her arm. "You need to elevate that ankle and put ice on it."
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the bustle of clean-up around us seems to fade. "Are you worried about me, Chief Hawkins?"
There's a teasing lilt to her question, but something more serious underneath.
"I worry about all my volunteers," I reply, keeping my tone professional despite the warmth creeping up my neck. "Especially ones with no self-preservation instinct who run back into smoke-filled tents."
She doesn't take the bait, just studies me with those perceptive eyes. "Thank you for coming after me," she says softly. "I mean it. I know I've been joking about it, but... it was scary for a minute there."
Something in her vulnerability breaks through my careful restraint. "I know," I say, matching her quiet tone. "You did well, though. Kept calm, got the visitors out first. That's not something everyone can do in an emergency."
Her smile returns, brightening her entire face.
"Hey, Chief! We're taking the last of the big props inside. Need a hand with anything else out here?"
I straighten, shifting back into command mode. "We'll be right in. Natalie needs ice for her ankle."
The cleanup continues for another hour, the crew working efficiently around Natalie's stationed position in the kitchen. I set her up at the long table with an ice pack, elevation, and strict instructions to direct rather than assist. Naturally, she's still folding prop maps and sorting small decorations within arm's reach, her ankle propped on a chair as she chats easily with each crew member who passes through.
By midnight, most of the work is done. Arthur and Austin have already headed home, while Bradley and Nathan are making final security checks of the perimeter. Logan lingers in the kitchen doorway, watching as I prepare a pot of coffee.
"You know it's midnight, right?" he asks. "Caffeine now means no sleep later."
I shrug. "Wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Might as well be productive."
His gaze shifts to Natalie, who's absorbed in reorganizing her binder of plans, making notes about what needs adjustment before reopening.
"Go home, Logan," I tell him. "We've got an early start tomorrow."
He holds up his hands in surrender. "Going. Just..." he hesitates, voice lowering, "be careful with her, okay? She's good people."
I nod once, acknowledging what he's not saying directly. Logan has seen me retreat into work and solitude for years. He's worried I'll either hurt Natalie or myself by maintaining those walls.
After the others leave, a strange quiet settles over the station. Natalie and I are alone in the kitchen, the overhead lights dimmed to just the softer ones above the table. The coffee maker gurgles softly, and outside, a light rain has begun to patter against the windows.
"I should take you home," I say, placing a mug of coffee in front of her. "It's late."
She wraps her hands around the mug, inhaling the steam. "Is that your subtle way of kicking me out, Chief?"
"Paul," I remind her. "And no. Just concerned about your comfort. The station isn't exactly set up for overnight guests."
"We have guest quarters upstairs," I add when she raises an eyebrow. "Spare bunks for when we have visiting firefighters or during severe weather events."
"And you're offering me one?" she asks, her tone light but her eyes intent on mine.
The smart answer would be no. I should ensure she gets home safely, and create some distance between us until I can sort out the unsettling effect she has on my usually impenetrable composure.
"If you want to stay," I hear myself saying instead. "The rain's getting worse, and you shouldn't be putting weight on that ankle."
She studies me over the rim of her coffee mug, taking a slow sip before answering. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."
An awkward silence falls between us, filled with the soft sounds of rain and the distant hum of the station's heating system kicking in against the autumn chill.
"So," she says finally, setting down her mug. "Are we going to talk about it?"
I knew this was coming, but it still makes me tense. "The kiss," I acknowledge, meeting her gaze directly. "It was... unexpected."
