“Afraid I won’t?”
Her lips twitch. “Afraid you might.”
Before she can change her mind, I’m already climbing the stairs after the boys. TJ slides first, shouting something that echoes off the walls. Huck’s close behind, whooping all the way down.
“Your turn!” TJ yells upward.
Lanie stands on the landing, hands on the pole, looking at me like she’s not sure if this is courage or insanity.
I hold my arms out. “Trust me.”
She hesitates only a heartbeat, then swings around and lets go. The moment she hits my arms, all the air leaves my lungs. She’s warm, soft, laughing—then suddenly realizing she’s pressed against me, both of us breathing too fast.
“Nice catch,” she murmurs.
“Occupational hazard,” I say, but my voice comes out rougher than intended.
For a second, neither of us moves. Then the boys erupt in applause, and we both step back like we’ve been caught doing something far more dangerous than sliding down a pole.
Later, when the boys are sprawled on sleeping bags in the bunkroom with a movie playing low, I make coffee in the kitchen, I guide Lanie into my office with two steaming cups.
“Thanks for this,” she says softly. “They’ll be talking about it for weeks.”
“Glad I could earn cool-dad points.”
“You did.” She smiles. “You also earned ‘best friend’ points. I haven’t seen Huck this happy in a long time.”
I glance at her. “And you?”
She meets my eyes over the rim of her mug. “I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time either.”
The space between us changes—quiet stretches, humming with everything unsaid. I move closer before I’ve fully decided to. Her knees brush my hips, and the touch is so simple, so grounding, that I forget to breathe.
“You really love this job,” she says, voice low.
“I do. It’s one with a mission and purpose. Plus, a fair amount of chaos. It keeps me busy. Keeps me honest.”
She tilts her head. “Is it ever hard with a child?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But small-town fires don’t fight themselves. And TJ’s roots are here now. Plus, the schedule works out well with our joint custody.”
She nods slowly, eyes soft. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“He’s my reason for everything.” I pause. “Guess that’s something we’ve got in common.”
She sets the mug on an end table, her fingers brushing mine. “Yeah. It is.”
The sizzling tension between us tightens—then she’s kissing me.
Or maybe I’m kissing her. It doesn’t matter who started it; we both finish it. Slow at first, then deeper. Her hands find my shoulders, my hands her waist, until we’re breathing each other’s air.
When we finally break, she presses her forehead to mine.
“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” she whispers. “Friends with benefits. That’s all.”
“Right,” I say, though it feels like a lie in my throat.
Because what I feel isn’t simple. It’s the way she laughs. The way she loves that kid of hers with her whole damn soul. The way she’s managed to make this firehouse—my firehouse—feel like home.
