Page 27 of The Fire Between Us

"Surprisingly well," Jennie replies, turning from the window. "She slept through the night at the hospital, and this morning she was her usual cheerful self. Kids are resilient, I guess."

"That they are," I agree, thinking of my own childhood resilience. "And the cottage? Still planning to take it?"

She nods. "Mrs. Beaumont was discharged earlier and came to see me. She insisted that I take it and said she's been looking for a responsible tenant for months. We're signing the lease tomorrow, and I can move in as soon as the fire inspector clears it."

"That's great," I say, genuinely pleased. "It's a nice place. Good neighborhood."

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour two mugs, then look up to find her watching me with an expression I can't quite read.

"Milk? Sugar?" I offer.

"Both, please. Just a little."

I make her coffee and hand it to her.

"Thank you," she says, and I know she means for more than the coffee.

"You're welcome," I reply.

We stand there for a moment, the morning sunlight streaming through the window, the scent of coffee and maple scones filling the air, something unspoken but powerful building in the space between us.

"Max," she begins, just as I say, "Jennie."

We both laugh, the tension easing slightly.

"You first," I offer.

She takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say that what you did yesterday... it meant a lot to me. Not just the rescue, but... after. Coming to the hospital. Talking to me. Sharing your story." She looks down at her coffee. "I don't trust easily. Not anymore. But something about you makes me want to try."

Her honesty steals my words for a brief moment. When I find my voice, I realize I want to match her candor with my own.

"I don't talk about my past," I tell her. "Ever. Ask any of the guys at the station—I deflect, I joke, I change the subject. But with you... it felt right. Natural." I set my coffee down, needing my hand free to run through my hair in a nervous gesture. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, Jennie. And that scares the hell out of me."

Her eyes widen, and for a terrible moment, I think I've said too much, moved too fast. Then a small smile curves her lips.

"Me too," she admits quietly. "Both the thinking and the being scared parts."

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by uncertainty. "So what do we do about it?"

She seems to consider the question carefully, sipping her coffee before answering.

"I don't know," she says honestly. "I came to Cedar Falls to escape, to find safety for Amelia. I wasn't looking for... complications."

"I'm definitely a complication," I acknowledge with a wry smile.

"But maybe," she continues, "maybe that's okay. Maybe we just... see what happens? Take it slow?"

It's more than I expected, this openness to possibility. "I'd like that," I say. "Slow sounds perfect."

She smiles, a real smile that reaches her eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. "Good. Now how about those scones? They smelled amazing in the bakery, and I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Coming right up," I say, grabbing the plate and leading her to the small dining table by the window. "Fair warning—once you try these scones, all other baked goods will be ruined for you forever."

"I'll take that chance," Jennie laughs, setting her coffee down and taking a seat.

As we share breakfast in the sunlit corner of my too-empty apartment, I find myself imagining what it would be like to have this more often—not just food and coffee, but conversation, laughter, the simple pleasure of someone's company that I actually want.

It's a dangerous thought, one that leads to others even more dangerous—Amelia's toys scattered across my living room floor, a shelf of children's books next to my firefighting manuals, Jennie's clothes hanging beside mine in the closet.

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