Page 31 of The Fire Between Us

"Me too," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Really, really glad."

And in that moment, I believe that maybe—just maybe—we're both exactly where we're supposed to be.

Epilogue – Max

A year. It's been a year since Jennie walked into Cedar Falls with nothing but a duffel bag, a baby, and a determination that conquered me at first sight. A year since she turned my uncomplicated life into something messier, deeper, and infinitely better.

Tonight, I'm hoping to make it permanent.

The small velvet box in my pocket feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as I drive toward the cottage on Cedar Lane—her cottage, though I've spent more nights there than at my own apartment these past few months. My lease is up in two weeks anyway, and I haven't renewed it. Another decision hanging on tonight's outcome.

"Get it together, Davidson," I mutter to myself, checking the rearview mirror one more time. I look the same as always—maybe a little more cleaned up, hair trimmed, wearing the blue button-down that Jennie says brings out my eyes instead of my usual T-shirt. "You fight fire for a living. This is just a question."

Just a question that could change everything.

Mrs. Gunderson knows what I'm planning. She practically glowed with excitement when I stopped by to tell her, even promising she'd keep Amelia overnight "so you two can properly celebrate."

Her confidence is unnerving—I'm not nearly as certain of Jennie's answer as my former English teacher seems to be.

Things between us are good. Really good. We've settled into a rhythm that works—date nights when I'm not on shift, lazy Sunday mornings with Amelia between us in bed demanding pancakes, quiet evenings on the porch swing watching the sunset. I've learned to navigate being part of their lives without overstepping, and Jennie has learned to let someone help carry the load.

It hasn't all been smooth. Jennie still has nightmares sometimes, moments when a raised voice or sudden movement makes her flinch. I'm still learning how to be present, how to not retreat behind humor when things get intense. And figuring out my place in Amelia's life has been a delicate balance—being there for her without trying to replace a father she never really knew.

But we've faced each challenge together and somehow come out stronger on the other side. Enough that I'm willing to bet everything on tonight.

I pull up to the cottage, taking a moment to appreciate how it's transformed over the past year. The flower beds Jennie and Amelia planted in the spring are still blooming with late summer color. The porch has a new railing, courtesy of a weekend project with Lewis and Ethan. The windows glow with warm light, promising comfort and welcome.

Home. It already feels like home.

Taking a deep breath, I grab the bouquet of wildflowers from the passenger seat and head up the path. Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there she is—Jennie, in a simple navy dress I haven't seen before, her hair loose the way I love it, her smile cautious but warm.

"Hi," she says, eyes dropping to the flowers. "What's all this?"

"Just because," I reply, leaning in to kiss her. "You look beautiful."

She takes the flowers, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. "You're being weird. Is everything okay?"

So much for playing it cool. Jennie's always been able to read me like a book.

"Everything's perfect," I assure her, following her inside. "Just wanted to do something special for our anniversary."

"Our anniversary isn't for two more weeks," she points out, filling a vase with water for the flowers. "Not that I'm complaining about the surprise."

I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. "Seemed like a good night for a celebration."

She turns in my arms, studying my face with those perceptive eyes that missed nothing from the moment we met.

"Max Davidson, what are you up to?"

"Can't a guy cook dinner for his girlfriend without an interrogation?" I counter, kissing the tip of her nose. "Speaking of which, I should check on the oven."

Breaking away, I head to the kitchen where I'd left a lasagna—Jennie's favorite—prepped and ready to bake when I came in earlier. The timing is perfect; another twenty minutes and dinner will be ready.

"Wine?" I offer, pulling out the bottle of cabernet I splurged on.

"Please," Jennie replies, leaning against the doorframe and watching me with that same curious expression. "Are you going to tell me why Mrs. G insisted on keeping Amelia overnight? Not that I'm complaining about uninterrupted sleep, but she was very adamant."

I focus on opening the wine, avoiding her gaze. "Maybe she thought we could use a night to ourselves."

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