Page 49 of Jump

“Anyway, Mom popped her stitches battling with a door she had no hope of opening,” he continues—letting me off the hook, I suppose, “and Baby needed oxygen. They’re both gonna be fine, I think. But the dude will never not be a coward, so I wanted to give his wife a little space without him. Now tell me your bad news.”

“My bad news?” Already, my back aches from slumping, and the way I curl in on myself constricts my lungs, but I remain exactly where I am and ogle the garlic bread Matt pulls from the oven.

My stomach rolls in demand as soon as the scent hits my senses.

“Yeah, the reason you’ve come home tonight, completely and utterly wrecked.” He scoops hot marinara sauce onto the pasta and drops a basil leaf on top. Then taking a couple slices of garlic bread, he sets one on the edge of each plate and turns to me with a smile. “You hungry?”

“I didn’t know I was until I walked in here.” I accept the fork he offers and dig in without taking even a single second to appreciate his presentation. “And my bad news feels kinda less important now, compared to a heroic mom who is in a world of pain today.”

“Everyone’s shit day is valid.” He snags the stool beside mine, but instead of sitting down next to me, he drags it to the other side of the counter so we face each other.

Sitting, he gives me a devilish grin as he peers up at me from beneath long lashes. “Eat up and tell me what sucks. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t, but…” I spin my fork and scoop up enough pasta that it’ll touch the edges of my belly after just one swallow. “Misty was a stray that came in a couple of weeks ago. She was starving, had been neglected and beaten…” I shovel food into my mouth before my stomach jumps up through my throat and takes the lot, including the fork and bowl. “She was severely malnourished and, honestly, we worried she wouldn’t make it at all.”

“She died today?” he guesses. “That stinks.”

I shake my head and sip my wine to wash the food down before I choke. “We have an agreement with the local vet for subsidized or free care, so we took her in to see him the day she arrived at Friendly Paws. Turns out, she was pregnant, too.”

His brows pop high on his forehead, creating two deep lines just above. “So, she was already starving, but then her pups were taking from her, too?”

“Mmhm. Seven puppies in total. Of those seven, only five showed up on the scans, so that’s all we were planning for. They were all born today, with two extras as a little surprise.”

“That’s…” he twirls his fork, searching my face for hints. “Good news, isn’t it?”

“Four of the seven died within minutes,” I sigh. “The remaining three are in critical condition. But Misty’s doing reasonably well, considering how she began in all this.”

“Because of you,” he cuts in before I can continue. “She was starving, pregnant, and dying before she met you, Ana. Then you nursed her back to health. She became strong enough to give birth because of you.”

“Not strong enough. Her body couldn’t nourish itself and all seven babies.”

“That’s nature’s decision,” he murmurs, almost dismissively. He picks up his beer, evidently unconcerned about the garlic/beer cross-contamination, and takes a slow sip. “The full, healthy litter wasn’t meant to be. But the strongest three are here.”

“Okay,” I challenge. “So by your logic, the mother and baby getting trapped in that fire today was also nature’s choice, no?”

He scoffs and sets his beer down with a clang. “No, that was incompetence and stupidity. If you wanna get all philosophical and shit, then I would argue that nature intended for the creation of firefighters. We hope to cancel out the stupid dumbasses and save those whom nature still wants to keep.” He flashes a playful smirk that arrows for my stomach. “I would have considered it nature’s way if the spineless father was hit by my firetruck at the end of shift, though.”

“Sadistic,” I snicker, for the first time all day. “You have a cruel streak below the surface.”

“Is it really below the surface? I don’t work hard to hide that shit. It’s society that works hard to pretend I’m ‘antisocial’, instead of using the real label that applies.”

“That label being ‘asshole’?”

He coughs out a laugh. “That about sums it up.” He nods toward my dinner. “Good?”

“So good.” I scoop up more and shove it between my lips. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Every firefighter in the history of the world can cook. It’s practically part of our job description. Though, we like to focus on traditional spreads. Like this,” he spins his fork and lifts it to show off his spaghetti. “Or meatloaf. Lasagna. Whatever’s easy and will keep well when we’re called out in the middle of our meal.”

“Well…” I fork more into my mouth, though I work with smaller amounts now that my stomach no longer aches. “I’m not sad to learn you have this skill. I hate cooking.”

His eyes narrow in thought. “You can cook. I’ve seen you do it.”

“I can.” I shrug and set my fork down while I swallow. “But I don’t enjoy it. Doing and enjoying are two entirely different things.”

“A description that could be applied to sex,” he teases, like there’s a little personal joke floating around inside his head. “Lots of people do it. Lots of people enjoy it. It’s not always the same people who experience both.”

“Yeah, well…” I pick up my wine and make my mouth busy before I say some things I might regret. Things like I enjoyed our sex.

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