The way her eyes held mine for one beautiful second before she looked away.
I hadn’t meant to go into the café.
That’s the lie I tell myself, anyway.
I tell myself I just wanted coffee. That it was habit, not memory, that pulled me through that door. That I didn’t already know she’d be there because my mom had mentioned it offhand the night before.
“She owns the place now,” she’d said. “Did you know that?”
I had known. Of course I had.
I just hadn’t been ready to admit that I’ve been following her moves for as long as I’ve been out of town. I knew she couldn’t be mine, but I wanted to make sure she was doing okay. To make sure she was happy.
With the life she built without me.
The truck slows abruptly, tires crunching over packed snow as smoke comes into view. Dark and wrong against the pale sky.
“Let’s go,” Aaron says.
We spring to action.
The heat hits first, even through my gear, rolling out in a wave as we cross the threshold. Smoke clings low and thick, stinging my eyes, muffling sound. The house groans around us,wood popping and cracking, fire eating greedily at anything it can reach.
“Search left,” Aaron orders.
I peel off without hesitation, sweeping my light across the room, methodical, controlled. This part of me never forgot how to do this. My body remembers even when my heart wants to wander back to things it can’t fix.
“Firefighter!” I call out. “Anyone here?”
A cough answers me faintly from down the hall.
I pivot, following the sound, my pulse kicking up a notch. The hallway is narrow, smoke thick enough that visibility drops to almost nothing. I move low, scanning, heart hammering now.
Then I see her.
A young girl is curled near the wall. Small and shaking, her hair is pulled back with a clip shaped like a daisy. Soot streaks her cheeks, and her eyes are huge behind it all, more curious than afraid.
Something in my chest tightens painfully.
“I’ve got you,” I say, dropping to one knee. “I’ll get you out of here.”
She peers at me through the haze. “Are you a real firefighter?”
“Yeah,” I say gently. “I am.”
She nods like that confirms something important. “Okay.”
I lift her carefully, cradling her against my chest, feeling how light she is, how fragile. She coughs once, then grips my coat.
“Is your tank heavy?” she asks as I carry her outside to safety.
“Pretty heavy.”
“Does it ever fall over?”
“Only when I’m not paying attention.”
That darns me a faint giggle. Relief floods me so fast it almost knocks me sideways.
