I swing my legs off the couch, stretch the knot out of my shoulders, and start to clean up — blankets, pillows, a few articles of clothing we didn’t exactly remove gently. When I find her earring near the armrest, something in me goes still.
Small. Silver. Simple.
The kind of thing she’d put on without thinking.
I curl my fingers around it for a second before setting it safely on the counter.
No note. No text.
I tell myself I don’t care.
The fire station is already moving when I get in — gear checks, chatter, radio static. Justin is leaning over the whiteboard, marking times for the weekend volunteer drill. He looks up when he hears me, eyebrows raised.
“You look like hell,” he says cheerfully.
I grunt. “Morning to you too.”
“Long night?”
I ignore that.
He marks another line on the board. “There’s been chatter about your… friend.”
I turn. “What friend?”
“You know, the tree climber.” He tries to keep a straight face and fails. “Word gets around.”
“Of course it does,” I mutter.
Justin claps me on the shoulder. “Relax. She brought muffins. That buys goodwill for at least a week.”
“She apologized,” I say.
“For climbing into a tree or for making you climb out of your shell?”
I give him a look. He laughs, unbothered.
“You like her,” he says in a tone that isn’t teasing — it’s observational.
“I don’t know her,” I answer.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t like her.”
I exhale hard, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” he agrees. “But you’re not the kind of guy who walks around with someone stuck in his head unless they’ve gotten under your skin.”
He moves away to greet another firefighter before I can respond. Probably for the best.
I go over my gear, checking straps, tightening a hose clamp, trying to settle myself into the rhythm of the shift. It works for a while — the familiarity, the focus — until the radio crackles again.
“Unit heads be advised — hikers lost near Pinecrest. EMS and Fire to respond.”
Justin looks at me. “You up for it?”
“Always.”
I grab my pack and head for the truck.
