Page 37 of We Can Forever

“Like so.”

“How do you know it’s not a real emergency?” Nathan chuckles.

“That’s what 9-1-1 is for.”

Leaving my beer on the table, I head out of the kitchen and to the front door to see who needs what now. When I open the door, though, my jaw loosens and my stomach bursts into fireworks. It’s an instant mood change.

Because Hannah is standing on the firehouse’s front steps.

Except it’s hard to tell if she’s coming or going. She’s half turned toward the street, her hands jammed into her jacket pockets.

“O-oh,” she stammers. “Hey—hi.”

“Hey.” The grin that pulls at my lips is as natural and expected as the rising sun. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Her throat rolls with a swallow. “I thought that it might not be a good time.”

She glances at the open bay, where music blares from the speakers. We can’t see the crew in there, but no doubt they noticed her arrive and have a spy posted up somewhere, gathering information.

“It’s a great time,” I rush to say, afraid that if I’m not quick enough, she’ll turn tail and bound away like a spooked deer.

Her flightiness and anxiety don’t bother me, though. They make me more eager to be around her, to take care of her in whatever way she most needs at the moment.

“Come on in.” I hold the door open, and she cautiously enters.

“I’m here to register for the fundraiser. For the raffle.” She turns to me, and her floral scent tickles my nose, making my body react in a way that it never should while at work. “My friends and I would like to donate some scarves and hats that we’ve knit.”

“That’s amazing. Thank you.”

She shrugs. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect. I’ll get you the form to fill out.”

I don’t get a chance to move, because Nathan comes into the hallway. “Hey, Hannah. How’s it going?”

“Good. Thank you.” She shifts her weight, looking nervous. “How are you?”

“Busy. Just got a call about a roadside breakdown. They need a tow.” He claps me on the shoulder. “See you later.”

I’m not sold that he really did receive a call, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a good friend, giving Hannah and me some privacy yet again—especially since I was just griping about how I don’t get enough of it.

“Let’s go to the kitchen. We’ve been moving some things around, and the forms are in there while we organize the office.”

On the way, I grab the remote and turn down the speakers in the bay. In the kitchen, I click off the TV show Nathan put on. Hannah finally relaxes a little bit as some silence surrounds us, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. She clearly thrives in low-stimulation environments, and who could blame her? This firehouse is like a circus on the calmest days.

“Have a seat.” I pull a raffle registration form out of the filing cabinet and hand it to her along with a pen. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks.” She bends her head and quickly fills out the form—too quickly. I can’t have her leave yet, not when she only just got here. I know she has her knitting group to get back to, but, selfishly, I want to hang on to her as long as possible.

She looks around the kitchen. “I thought there would be more people here.”

“They’re in the bay or catching up on sleep in the bunks upstairs. It’s just you and me in this part.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders drop a little lower. “I thought the place would be full of people, and it freaked me out.”

“Why?” I blurt out, then hope that didn’t come across as insensitive.

“I’m not great with crowds of strangers.” She chuckles. “Or crowds, period. A few people in the store at one time I can handle, but any more than that is…a lot. It’s why I always skip the monthly town meetings.”

---