Page 6 of Christmas with the Firefighter
Her tongue darts out to wet her lip, and the brief contact with my thumb sends electricity straight through me.
I should move. Should check the alarm system. Should remember that I'm on duty and she's a guest and this is exactly the kind of situation that ends with someone getting hurt.
But her eyes are so blue in the firelight, and she's looking at me like I'm something precious instead of something convenient, and for the first time in years I want to believe that maybesomethings are worth the risk.
"The system should be reset by now," I say, but I don't move to check it.
"Should you go verify that?" she asks, but she doesn't pull away from my touch.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves. The fire crackles between us, and snow continues its soft percussion against the windows, and I can hear my own heartbeat in the silence that stretches between what we should do and what we want to do.
Reluctantly I let my hand fall back to my lap, though I can still feel the warmth of her skin on my fingertips.
"I should check the panel," I say, and this time I mean it.
"Of course."
But as I stand and walk toward the front desk where the alarm controls wait, I can feel her eyes following me, and I know with absolute certainty that whatever just happened between us is nowhere near finished.
The system has indeed reset itself, all lights green, all sensors clear. Everything is functioning exactly as it should be. I radio the station to confirm the all-clear, sign the incident report, and officially close the call.
I have no reason to stay.
No reason except the woman sitting by the fireplace, wrapped in wool and vulnerability, looking at me like I might be the answer to a question she's been afraid to ask.
When I turn back toward her, she's watching me.
"All clear?" she asks.
"All clear."
"So you can go now."
"I can."
But I don't. Instead, I find myself walking back to the seating area, drawn by the pull of unfinished conversations and the way she looks in the firelight.
"Miranda," I start, then stop, because I don't know how to finish that sentence. Don't know how to ask if she feels this too, this magnetic pull that's making me question every rule I've made about keeping my distance.
"I know," she says again, and this time I think she really does know.
The smart thing would be to say goodnight. Walk away. Let this stay in the category of "interesting encounter" instead of pushing it into territory that could leave us both wounded.
But standing here, looking at her in the golden glow of Christmas lights and firelight, I realize I've never been particularly interested in the smart thing.
And judging by the way she's looking at me… neither has she.
Chapter 3 – Miranda
"I need to—" I start, then stop, because what I need is him, and saying that out loud feels like stepping off a cliff.
"What do you need?" His voice is lower now, rougher, and the way he's looking at me makes my skin feel too tight.
He stands slowly, like sudden movements might spook me, and extends his hand.
His palm is warm and slightly rough when I take it. He helps me up from the chair, and the blanket pools at my feet like shed skin, leaving me standing there in my damp sweater and jeans, painfully aware of how the fabric clings to every curve.
