Page 2 of Christmas with the Firefighter
"Miss? Fire department."
His voice cuts through the chaos. Calm, steady, with just enough authority to make me believe everything might actually be okay.I pull the door open wider and find myself looking up at a man who seems to take up the entire doorframe without trying.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows despite the winter cold, revealing defined forearms, and his dark uniform shirt fits him like it was tailored specifically for his broad shoulders. Short hair, light brown with touches of gold that catch the emergency lighting. A beard that's neat without being precious. Eyes that are some indeterminate color between green and brown, focused entirely on my face.
"I'm so sorry," I start, words tumbling over each other in my rush to explain. "I was making hot cocoa and I got distracted and the milk burned and I never meant for this to happen, I swear I'm not usually this much of a disaster—"
"Hey." His voice is gentle, cutting through my rambling with quiet authority. "It's okay. These things happen."
He steps into my room without invitation, but somehow it doesn't feel like an intrusion.
He surveys the scene—the blackened pan, the still-smoking burner, my laptop balanced precariously on the edge of the bed surrounded by scattered papers.
"Mind if I turn this off?"
I nod mutely, watching as he switches off the burner with efficiency and moves the ruined pan to the windowsill where it can't cause any more trouble. His movements are economical, sure, like he's done this a thousand times before.
"No actual fire," he says, more to himself than to me, pulling a radio from his belt. "Control, this is Engine Twelve. False alarm at the Snowcap Inn. Accidental activation from cooking smoke. Building is secure."
The radio crackles back with some code I don't understand, and he clips it back to his belt before turning his attention to me again. I'm still standing there dripping, arms wrapped around myself, feeling like the world's most incompetent adult.
"I'm really, truly sorry," I say again, because it bears repeating. "I know you have better things to do on Christmas Eve than deal with my kitchen disasters."
He pauses in his inspection of the smoke detector, looking down at me with something that might be amusement. "Actually, this is exactly what I signed up for. Kitchen disasters are kind of my specialty."
There's warmth in his voice that makes my chest tight.
"You're soaked," he observes, and suddenly I'm reminded of how the wet sweater clings to my breasts, my soft stomach, the curve of my hips. I cross my arms tighter, but he's already moving, pulling a clean towel from the bathroom and offering it to me.
"Thank you." I take the towel gratefully, but when our fingers brush during the handoff, something electric shoots up my arm and settles warm in my belly.
The alarm stops abruptly, leaving the room in sudden, ringing silence.
"That's better," he says, but his voice is rougher now, like the quiet caught him off guard too.
I dry my face and hands, hyperaware of his presence filling the small space. He's checking the detector with professional thoroughness, but I catch him glancing in my direction when he thinks I'm not looking. Not at my body, though I'm sure he's noticed the way my clothes have molded themselves to everycurve, but at my face, like he's trying to figure out something that puzzles him.
"The system needs time to cycle through the reset," he explains, tucking his tools back into their case. "I'll need to wait here until it's complete, make sure everything's functioning properly."
"Of course." I nod like this is totally normal, like I have firefighters in my hotel room all the time, like I'm not desperately trying to figure out what to do with my hands. "I should probably... I mean, I don't want to keep you from..."
"You're not keeping me from anything." His gaze meets mine, steady and sure. "But you might be more comfortable waiting in the lobby. The heating system should kick back on soon, and there's usually coffee down there."
The lobby. With its crackling fire and soft lighting and absolutely zero chance of me making any more catastrophic mistakes. It sounds like heaven.
"That's probably a good idea," I admit, grabbing my phone and room key from the bedside table. "I should probably get out of these wet clothes too."
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with implication I definitely didn't intend, and I feel my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. But when I risk a glance at his face, there's no judgment there. Just a quiet intensity that makes my breath catch.
"I'll walk down with you," he says simply. "Make sure the hallway's clear."
The sprinklers have stopped, leaving the hallway damp but passable, and he falls into step beside me as we head toward the stairs.
The lobby is blessedly empty except for the inn's owner, who's waiting by the front desk with worried eyes and a steaming pot of coffee.
"Is everything all right?" he asks, bustling over with a concerned expression.
"Everything's fine, Mr. Ford," my firefighter says—and when did I start thinking of him as mine? "Just a minor cooking incident. The system should be fully reset within the next fifteen minutes."
