“Solarin, it’s more than okay.” He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. “I’m yours. For as long as you want me.”
“Forever, then.”
The word slips out before I can stop it, too big and too soon and too honest. His eyes darken with something that makes my breath catch.
“Forever works for me,” he says simply, and kisses me until the snowplows and reality and everything else fades into background noise.
My phone rings shortly after nine, shattering our lazy morning. Mrs. DeVrayne, wanting to know when she can pick up Duchess and the kittens.
“Tomorrow would be perfect,” I tell her, watching Ryder pull on his jeans. Even this—the domesticity of morning phone calls and watching him dress—feels precious. “The roads should be completely clear by then.”
More calls follow. Six pickups are scheduled for tomorrow, four more for the day after. Each conversation is a small reminder that our isolation is ending, but it doesn’t feel threatening anymore. We’ve already decided we’re doing this—whatever “this” is. The logistics are just details we’ll figure out together.
“Coffee?” Ryder offers, approaching with two steaming mugs.
“You’re perfect, you know that?”
His smile is soft, almost shy. “Just trying to keep my girlfriend caffeinated.”
I take the mug, savoring both the coffee and the casual way he says “girlfriend” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The soft scrape of silverware on plates and the faint hiss of the kettle fill the quiet cabin. Peanut mutters contentedly to himself from his perch, and the world is still because the plows havemoved on. It’s just snow, sunlight, and the sound of logs settling in the fire.
For the first time in what feels like forever, everything is calm. No storms, no rescues, no emergencies—just us and the soft rhythm of an ordinary morning. I don’t even realize how deeply I’ve exhaled until the peace of it settles in my bones.
We’re halfway through breakfast when his phone rings.
I watch his expression change as he answers, watch as the firefighter slides into place over the male who was just teasing me about my tiny caffeine addiction.
“Chief.” His voice is all business now. “Yeah, I can hear you. What’s—” He stops, listens, and I see his jaw tighten. “How bad? …Jumped containment already? …I understand. …Lucky they just cleared the road. Give me two hours to get there.”
My stomach drops before he even ends the call.
“Wildfire,” he says, setting down his cup and moving toward his duffel to pack. “North of the Zone. Jumped three containment lines overnight. It’s bad. They’re calling in everyone—on-duty, off-duty, everyone.”
I follow him, watching as he throws clothes into his duffel with practiced efficiency. “How dangerous is it?”
“It’s a wildfire, Solarin. They’re all dangerous.” He’s not dismissive, just honest. Matter-of-fact. “But this one’s movingfast, and there are residential areas in the path. We need all hands.”
“When do you have to leave?”
“Now.” He pauses, looks at me. “I’m sorry. I know we were supposed to have a few more days, but—”
“Don’t apologize for saving lives.” The words come automatically, the right thing to say. And I mean them. I do. But underneath the supportive-girlfriend response, something cold is unfurling in my chest. Something that feels a lot like terror.
He’s running into a wildfire. A real one. The kind that kills.
“How long will you be gone?” I manage to keep my voice steady.
“No way to know. Could be a couple days, could be longer. Depends on how fast we can get it under control.” He’s still packing, still moving with the precise motions that speak to how many times he’s done this. “I’ll call when I can, but there might not be cell service—”
“I understand.” And I do. Intellectually, I understand all of it.
He stops packing. Goes completely still. Then he turns to face me fully, and the look in his amber eyes makes my breath catch.
“Laney.” My name is almost a growl. “I need you to hear something before I go.”
I watch him cross the room with deliberate slowness, like he’s memorizing every step. When he reaches me, his hands frame my face with a gentleness that contradicts the intensity burning in his gaze.
