Of course she sees.
She always saw right through me.
Her expression shifts, subtle but unmistakable—her eyes soften, like she’s trying to read my thoughts, decode the storm brewing behind my ribs.
Then she bites her lip.
Lightly.
Almost absently.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
It shatters me.
Heat surges through me so fast my vision nearly blurs. I look away because if I don’t, I’ll forget every reason I have for keeping my distance.
Distance keeps her safe.
Distance keeps me sane.
Distance keeps the past where it belongs.
Except the past is sitting across the table, laughing with my crew, bright and alive and so goddamn beautiful I can barely breathe.
Torres elbows me. “Hey. You okay?”
No.
“Fine,” I grind out.
“Cause you’re looking at her like she’s dessert and you haven’t eaten in a week.”
I glare. “Eat your pasta, Torres.”
He shrugs. “Just saying. If you don’t make a move soon, someone else will.”
Savannah glances over right as he says it.
Color rises under her cheeks.
Our eyes meet again.
This time neither of us looks away.
The firehouse noise fades. The voices blur. The lights dim. Everything shrinks to the space between us—charged, magnetic, inevitable.
And I know.
She feels it.
The pull.
The history.
The hunger neither of us wants to name.
I drag my gaze away before I do something irreversible.
