Page 26 of The Fire Between Us

"When did you become a relationship counselor?" I ask, unable to help myself.

Brock's mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. "Did you forget I was once married? And, well, she might be in college, but I still have a daughter.” He chuckles and gestures to the door. "Now get out of here. Rest that shoulder. And try not to break any more protocols this week."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

As I leave Brock's office, I'm struck by how differently this meeting went than I expected. No shouting, no threats of unpaid leave, just... concern and what almost sounded like blessing.

I exit the station into the bright morning sunshine, squinting against the light. It's just past 8:30, and I have a whole day, a whole week, stretching before me with no shifts to work. The enforced freedom feels strange—I usually fill my off-duty hours with side jobs, helping Ethan at his ranch or doing small home repairs around town.

Most of those options are off the table with my shoulder in a sling. Maybe I'll finally fix that leaky faucet in my bathroom or catch up on the shows Lewis is always badgering me to watch.

But as I approach my apartment building, all thoughts of home repairs and Netflix binges vanish from my mind.

Jennie is sitting on the steps leading to my second-floor unit, Amelia nowhere in sight, a small white bakery box balanced on her knees. She's wearing jeans and a soft-looking blue sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back severely as it has been every time I've seen her.

She looks up as my boots scuff the gravel, and a tentative smile appears on her face.

"Hey," she calls softly.

"Hey yourself," I reply, climbing the stairs to join her. "This is unexpected. How did you know where I live?"

"Mrs. Gunderson," she explains, rising to her feet with the box. "Hope that's okay. I wanted to thank you properly."

"No thanks necessary," I assure her. "How are you feeling? They let you out already?"

"This morning," she nods. "Clean bill of health, no lasting damage. Amelia's with Mrs. Gunderson—she insisted on watching her while I ran some errands." She holds out the box. "These are for you. Mrs. G said they're your favorites."

I take the box, recognizing the logo from Cedar Falls Bakery. "Maple pecan scones?" I guess, catching a whiff of the sweet, buttery aroma.

"With extra maple glaze," Jennie confirms, that tentative smile growing more confident. "A very small token of appreciation for saving my life."

"Still just doing my job," I say, but I'm smiling too. "But I'll never turn down scones. Would you... would you like to come in? I can make coffee."

She hesitates, and I immediately wonder if I've overstepped. Maybe she just wanted to drop off the thank-you gift and be on her way.

"Only if you're sure I'm not imposing," she says finally. "You must be tired after your meeting with the chief."

I raise an eyebrow. "I’m pretty good, don’t worry."

She blushes slightly. "You can be honest. I know you’re in trouble because of me."

"Not because of you," I correct, unlocking my door and holding it open for her. "Because of my own choices. And it wasn't as bad as I expected. Just some time off to heal."

Jennie steps past me into the apartment, and I'm suddenly aware of how sparse it is—functional furniture, minimal decorations, nothing that really says 'home'. It's a place to sleep, to shower, to store my stuff between shifts. Not somewhere I've ever put much thought into.

"Sorry about the lack of... well, everything," I say, setting the scone box on the kitchen counter. "I'm not here much."

"It's nice," she says politely, taking in the open floor plan with its combined living room and kitchen. "Very... streamlined."

I chuckle at her diplomatic description. "It's a bachelor pad and we both know it. Coffee?"

"Please," she accepts, moving to the window that overlooks the small town park across the street. "You have a nice view."

"One of the perks," I agree, measuring grounds into the coffee maker. "Along with being walking distance to the station and Lou's."

As the coffee brews, I open the bakery box and arrange the scones on a plate I'm relieved to find clean.

"So," I say, leaning against the counter. "How's Amelia doing after all the excitement?"

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