Page 34 of Falling for the Firefighter
I take the mug, careful that our fingers don't touch. "I don't sleep well with someone else in my bed."
The lie comes easily, but his raised eyebrow tells me he sees right through it. I've spent five nights sleeping soundly in hisarms. Until last night, when the reality of what we've been doing, what we've become to each other, finally caught up with me.
"We should talk," he says, leaning against the counter.
"About what?" I blow on my coffee, avoiding his eyes.
"Don't play dumb, Josephine. It doesn't suit you."
There it is. That name again. The one that sounds like possession on his lips.
"I need to get to the visitor center." I move toward the bedroom. "There's a group of hikers coming through this morning, and I promised Eleanor?—"
His hand catches my wrist as I pass, not roughly, but with enough intention to stop me in my tracks. The simple contact sends electricity skittering up my arm.
"We've verified all seven routes." His thumb brushes over my pulse point, a casual intimacy that feels anything but casual. "What happens now?"
What happens now?
I don’t know.
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us has voiced. We've spent five days fucking on mountainsides and in my bed, learning each other's bodies with single-minded thoroughness, but we've carefully avoided discussing what comes after the routes are verified.
"You go back to firefighting." I pull away, retreating to the bedroom. "I go back to my maps."
I dress quickly, choosing clothes like armor—functional hiking pants, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, despite the summer heat. When I return to the kitchen, Mac has pulled on his shirt and boots. His expression has shifted from morning softness to something more guarded.
"Is that what you want?" He studies me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
"It's what makes sense." I busy myself preparing a travel mug of coffee, needing the distraction. "We have jobs to do."
"Right." Mac drains his mug and sets it in the sink with deliberate care. "Jobs."
The silence stretches between us, taut with unspoken words. For a moment, I think he might push—might demand the conversation I'm so desperately avoiding. Instead, he grabs his jacket from the hook by the door.
"I've got crew evaluations this morning. I'll be at the station if anything comes up."
And just like that, he's gone, the door clicking softly behind him. Something that feels suspiciously like disappointment settles in my chest. I push it away, whistling for Scout, who emerges reluctantly from the bedroom, looking as disappointed in me as I feel in myself.
"Don't you start," I tell her, clipping on her leash. "It's for the best."
She doesn't look convinced.
The visitor center is quiet when I arrive—too early for tourists, too late for the pre-dawn hikers. I settle at my desk, spreading out the maps Mac and I verified. Despite everything, our work was thorough. Each route has been walked, assessed, and updated with both my notations and his GPS coordinates. A true collaboration, despite our different approaches.
I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of mapmaking, transferring field notes to master copies, and updating trail conditions with fresh colored ink. The work has always centered me, given me purpose. Today it feels hollow, mechanical.
My phone buzzes with a text from Eleanor:Did you hear about the fires?
I frown, typing back:What fires?
Her response comes quickly:Three new spot fires reported overnight. All in remote areas. Sheriff's concerned. Deliberate, they think.
My stomach tightens. Early-season fires aren't unusual in Colorado, but deliberate ones are. And three in remote locations suggests something more sinister than careless campers.
Before I can respond, the visitor center door swings open. Mac strides in, looking every inch the captain in his yellow uniform shirt and green tactical pants. The casual intimacy of this morning has vanished, replaced by focused professionalism that makes him even more magnetic. Parker follows behind him, carrying a rolled map tube.
"Ms. Mackenzie." His tone is all business, but his eyes tell a different story. "Got a minute?"
