“Ash…”
“You deserve,” he finishes roughly, “better than the hell you were put through.”
I breathe in sharply. He steps closer again—close enough that I feel his heat everywhere. “I don’t know what this is between us,” he admits, voice raw. “But I know it’s real.” My heart stops.“I know,” he continues, “that when you look at me like that, I can’t think straight.”
“Ash…”
“And I know,” he whispers, “that if your ex stood in this firehouse right now, I’d throw him through a wall.”
A laugh bursts out of me—wet and shaky and unsteady. He smirks, just a little. Then we both go still again. The tension thickens—hot, electric, coiling tighter with every breath.
I whisper, “Why are you telling me this?”
His answer is barely audible. “Because you deserve better.”
And then— With an expression that looks like pain and want and surrender tangled together— He steps back. A full step. Distance drops between us like a wall. It hurts. Worse than I expect.
“Ash—”
“We should get back to work,” he says gruffly.
“Ash.”
“Lucy,” he warns.
“Ash,” I counter.
We stare at each other—neither moving, neither breaking.
He breathes out hard. “If I stay this close to you…” I wait. “If I stay close,” he whispers, “I won’t be able to stop myself.”
Heat slams through me. “Ash…”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to lose control.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.”
Silence.
Hot, electric, unbearable.
Slowly—so slowly—I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “We’ll work.”
He closes his eyes like he’s fighting the urge to drag me right back into him. When he opens them again, he’s composed.Barely. But enough to turn away. Enough to act like we didn’t almost shatter something fragile and inevitable between us.
Holly runs over, waving her drawing. “Uncle Ash! Look! It’s you and Miss Lucy and me and a giant snowflake!”
He freezes. I turn to him. He meets my eyes. And for the first time since I met him— He looks terrified. Not of danger. Not of responsibility.
Of me.
Of this.
