Page 28 of The Fire Between Us

But for once, I don't immediately shut those thoughts down. Instead, I let them hover at the edges of my mind as I listen to Jennie talk about the cottage, about her plans to make it a home for her and Amelia.

Slow, I remind myself. We're taking this slow.

But as she laughs at something I've said, her face lighting up in a way that makes my heart actually skip a beat, I can't help but wonder if "slow" is going to be possible when everything inside me wants to dive headfirst into whatever this is.

Ethan's words echo in my mind: "Love is the best thing in the world when it's right."

Too soon to think about love, I tell myself firmly. Way too soon.

But maybe, just maybe, it's exactly the right time to think about possibilities.

Chapter 7 - Jennie

I can't believe this is happening.

Sitting across from Max in his sunlit apartment, watching him laugh as he tells me about the time he and Lewis accidentally set off the station alarm with an "experimental" chili recipe, I feel something I haven't felt in so long: normal. Happy. Safe.

His blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and his relaxed posture makes it impossible not to smile back. I find myself studying the shape of his mouth, the stubble along his jaw, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead when he leans forward.

My coffee has gone cold, forgotten as our conversation flows from topic to topic—his favorite trails in the mountains surrounding Cedar Falls, my nursing career that I hope to return to someday, books we've both read, movies we both love. Simple things. Normal things that have nothing to do with fires, abusive exes, or running away.

Just two people getting to know each other.

Except there's nothing "just" about it. Every time he shifts in his chair, I can’t help but notice the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his hands, the way he occasionally glances at my lips when he thinks I'm not looking.

He's not making a move, respecting my request to take things slow, but there's a tension building between us that makes my skin flush and my pulse quicken.

It's been so long since I've felt this kind of attraction. So long since I've wanted someone to touch me, to see me—the real me, not the frightened woman running from her past. And Max does see me; I can feel it in the way he listens, really listens, when I speak.

"What?" he asks, catching me staring at him.

I blush, caught. "Nothing. Just... thinking."

"About?" His voice drops an octave, and I clench my thighs together.

"About how nice this is," I admit. "Being here. Talking with you."

"It is nice," he agrees, his eyes never leaving mine. "Really nice."

There's that tension again, like an invisible thread pulling us toward each other. I know he's waiting for me to set the pace, to define the boundaries of this fragile new thing between us. The ball is in my court, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I want to play instead of running from the game.

"Max?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

I look down at my hands, suddenly shy despite my certainty. "You can kiss me. If you want to."

When I glance up, his expression has transformed—surprise giving way to a slow, confident smile that makes my heart race.

"Glad you said so," he murmurs, already rising from his chair. "Because I've been thinking about it since you walked through my door."

He moves around the small table until he's standing before me, then extends his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet, our bodies now just inches apart. His uninjured arm slides around my waist, drawing me closer still, while his other hand—freed from its sling—comes up to cup my cheek.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his thumb tracing my lower lip.

"Very," I breathe, already leaning into his touch.

His mouth meets mine with unexpected gentleness—a soft, questioning kiss that quickly deepens as I respond. My hands find his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt as his tongue teases the seam of my lips, seeking entrance I willingly grant.

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