The past didn’t stay buried.
And neither did we.
Chapter Five
Axel
The firehouse kitchen smells like garlic bread and marinara, which would normally put me in a good mood. Tonight it just makes my stomach twist, because she’s here.
Savannah sits at the long steel table, shoulders relaxed, laughing at something Torres just said. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, a few strands falling around her face, and she’s smiling—really smiling—for the first time since she came back.
And it’s not at me.
I drop into my usual seat like the chair offended me. Cole passes me a plate piled high with pasta. I nod my thanks, grab my fork, and focus every ounce of energy I have on the food in front of me.
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
Don’t—
I look.
Savannah’s laugh rings like a sparkler popping in the dark. She’s telling the guys a story, one hand gesturing animatedly, and the whole table leans in. Ash, who barely toleratesconversation, looks like he’d pull up front-row seats if she kept talking.
Her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Her lips curve with amusement. And her eyes—bright and warm and so damn familiar—sweep across the table and accidentally land on mine.
The hit is immediate. Sharp. Hot.
Like taking a live wire to the chest.
She swallows, expression flickering just slightly—like she hates that the tether between us still exists. Like she hates that she feels it too.
She looks away first.
I should do the same. I should shove down everything clawing up my throat. I should be normal. Calm. Professional.
Instead, I stab a fork into my pasta so hard the damn utensil bends.
“Christ,” Torres mutters under his breath. “Fork didn’t kill your dog, man.”
I grunt. “Mind your food.”
He smirks. “Hard to mind mine when you’re over there acting like yours insulted your mother.”
The guys chuckle. Savannah hides a smile in her napkin.
And I hate that I notice that too.
Cole clears his throat with the giddy self-satisfaction of someone about to stir the pot. “So, Savannah—tell us more about this ‘secret firefighter past’ you apparently had.”
Savannah blinks. “Excuse me?”
Torres answers, grin wide. “You patched Ramirez up so fast on that last call you looked like you’d done the job before.”
Her brows rise. “I’ve worked trauma all over the world. I didn’t realize that made me a closeted firefighter.”
“No, no—” Cole waves a spoon dramatically. “It means you’ve got the instincts. That’s the problem. We’re trying to figure out where you’ve been hiding them.”
