Page 2 of Falling for the Firefighter
"I said I was sorry." His tone shifts slightly, a spark of amusement lighting his blue eyes as he tracks my agitated movements. "Though you were running full-speed around a blind corner."
He crouches down and collects the nearest maps, the movement pulling his shirt taut across broad shoulders. The fabric stretches over chiseled muscle as he reaches for a paper that's skittered beneath a bench. I force my eyes away, furious at myself for noticing.
"I know Angel's Peak like the back of my hand," I snap, dropping to my knees to rescue a map from a puddle. "I don't need to slow down on my own streets."
We reach for the same map simultaneously, fingers colliding. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and I jerk back as if burned. His eyes snap to mine, pupils dilating slightly.
He felt it too.
"Clearly." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he examines one of my maps, the curve of his lips unfairly distracting. "Did you draw these yourself?"
The question catches me off guard. Most people don't notice the difference between my hand-drawn maps and mass-produced ones.
"Yes." I straighten a bit, despite myself. "I update them seasonally."
He studies the map with interest, strong fingers tracing the detailed contour lines of Widow's Peak. I shouldn't be watching his hands. Shouldn't be imagining how those fingers would feel tracing other curves.
"These are incredible. The detail is remarkable." His voice has dropped lower, almost intimate, as though we're having an entirely different conversation.
Something warm coils in my stomach at the appreciation in his tone, but I quickly squash it. I don't have time for flattery from handsome strangers, especially ones who've just knocked me on my ass and ruined my work.
"They'd be more impressive if they weren't scattered across the sidewalk." I snatch the map from his hands, our fingers brushing again. This time, the contact lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Our eyes lock, something electric and dangerous crackling in the air between us. The noise of the street fades as we stare at each other, neither willing to break the connection first.
Scout chooses that moment to bound between us, her muddy paws landing directly on the one map that somehow remained pristine throughout the collision.
"Scout! Off!" I yelp, but the damage is done. Paw prints now mark the trail to Angel Falls.
Instead of staying loyally by my side, my traitorous German Shepherd immediately approaches the stranger, tail wagging as she nudges his hand with her nose.
"Good morning to you, too." He crouches, rubbing Scout's ears. My dog, who normally growls at strange men, melts under his touch, pressing against his leg like they're long-lost friends. "What's your name, beautiful?"
His voice on the word "beautiful" sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
"Scout." The word comes out huskier than I intend. I clear my throat. "And she's supposed to be guarding me, not fraternizing with the enemy."
"Is that what I am? The enemy?" His eyes meet mine over Scout's head, something dangerous and thrilling dancing in their depths. The question feels weighted with meaning beyond our sidewalk collision.
"You're a walking disaster who's making me even later than I already was." I stuff the maps back into some semblance of order, painfully aware of his gaze tracking my movements. "And now I have to present these ruined maps to… oh, never mind."
His eyes travel slowly up my body, lingering on the coffee stain spread across my chest before meeting my eyes. Heat blooms beneath my skin at his appraisal.
"These maps show exceptional skill, even with the... impromptu coffee staining." The pause before his last words suggests he might be talking about something else entirely.
I'm saved from responding by Scout's sudden alertness. Her ears perk forward, attention caught by something across the street. A squirrel, probably. At least she's remembering her job.
“I need to go.” I clutch my reassembled stack of maps tighter, the warped paper crinkling under my grip. They’re a mess now—soaked, smudged, months of work ruined in an instant. My jaw aches from clenching it. “Some of us have work to do.”
He nods, stepping back just enough to give me space, though his eyes linger like he’s not quite finished. “Can you point me toward the visitor center? I’m looking for information on local trail conditions.”
God, he’s got nerve. Strolls into town, wrecks my morning, then wants directions like I’m just another friendly local guide. My lips curve, but it’s not a smile.
“Two blocks down, then take a left at the aspen grove. Can’t miss it.”
He will. It’s the wrong direction—completely wrong. But let him wander in circles for a bit. Call it a teachable moment.
“And ask for Jo.” I tilt my head, adding that final dig with sugar-laced precision. “They’ll help you.”
