Page 20 of Falling for the Firefighter
He sits beside me, the narrow bench forcing our shoulders to touch despite my efforts to maintain distance between us. The contact sends an unwelcome jolt of awareness through my body.
"So about those evacuation routes—" He starts.
"Are we really going to continue that argument?" I interrupt.
"I wasn't aware it was an argument." His voice carries a dangerous edge. "I thought it was a professional discussion about safety."
"You called my methods outdated."
"I suggested they might benefit from contemporary input."
"Same thing."
"No, it isn't." He shifts to face me, his knee now pressing against mine. "Why are you so resistant to outside perspective, Mackenzie?"
"Why are you so determined to question methods that have worked for decades?"
"Because 'it's always worked before' is the last thing people say before disaster strikes." His eyes flash. "Adaptation isn't criticism."
"You've been criticizing my approach since the moment you arrived."
"I've been challenging your assumptions. There's a difference."
"Not when it comes with that superior tone."
"Superior?" He looks genuinely startled. "That's what you think?"
"The hotshot captain from California with his fancy technology and impressive resume?" I stand, needing distance from his proximity. "Yes, you've made it abundantly clear you think your methods are superior."
He rises too, closing the distance I tried to create. "That's not?—"
"It is." I back up until I hit the wall. "You waltz in here questioning maps I've spent years perfecting, dismissing local knowledge in favor of satellite data and standardized protocols that don't account for?—"
"I'm questioning because I need to understand." He moves closer, voice dropping to a dangerous low. "Because people's lives depend on me making the right call, and I can't do that if I don't challenge every assumption and test every plan."
“There’s challenging and then there’s dismissing.” My chest rises and falls hard, breath punching through clenched teeth. “You started with dismissal.”
“And you started with hostility.” He plants one hand on the wall beside my head, his body crowding mine without touching. His voice stays maddeningly even, low and firm like it’s gospel. “From the moment we collided on that sidewalk, you decided I was the enemy.”
“You ruined my maps.”
“It was an accident.” Calm. Controlled. Delivered like a final ruling from a bench I never asked to stand before.
We’re nearly shouting now—or I am, at least. He’s not. He’s composed, voice moderated like he’s got the whole damn playbook memorized while I’m still scrambling in the margins.
Our faces are inches apart. Breath mingles—his, slow and steady. Mine, erratic. Furious. Too aware of the heat radiating between us. Too aware of him.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re impossible?” His voice is a low growl, eyes locked on mine, jaw tight enough to crack.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?” We’re toe to toe now, and my heart is pounding like a war drum in my chest.
“Stubborn.” His gaze drops briefly—to my mouth—then drags back up, slow and deliberate.
“Arrogant.” My chin lifts, daring him to get closer. My pulse is a wildfire in my throat.
“Defensive.” He closes the last inch between us, breath hot against my rain-slick skin, tension snapping like live wire.
“Presumptuous.”
