He glances at my bandaged wrist. "How does it feel?"
"Better," I admit. "Your professional advice worked wonders."
His lips quirk in that almost-smile. "Good. Keep it clean."
"Yes, sir," I say, unable to resist the small tease.
Something flashes in his eyes, a momentary darkening that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"Thank you again," he says, his voice slightly lower. "For sharing your evening."
"Anytime," I answer, meaning it more than I should.
He hesitates for a breath, like there's something more he wants to say or do. For a wild moment, I think he might kiss me, the air between us charged with possibility.
Instead, he steps back, restraint written in every line of his body. "Goodnight, Gloria."
"Goodnight, Nathan."
I watch him walk out, his movements measured and controlled, before closing my door and leaning against it, heart racing.
The apartment feels different somehow, emptier yet full of echoes. His presence lingers in the chairs we sat in, the bowls now in my sink, the conversation still hanging in the air.
"This is trouble," I whisper to myself, pressing a hand to my flushed cheek.
Because the truth is, I didn't just break my no-cooking rule tonight. I broke my defenses. Let someone in, literally and figuratively. And not just anyone, a widowed father fourteen years older with a life full of responsibilities and experiences I can barely comprehend.
Chapter 4 – Nathan
The station is quiet tonight. Not silent, but settled into that late-night rhythm when the world narrows to just this building, these men, this moment.
In the kitchen, Paul sits at the table reviewing reports, his reading glasses perched low on his nose. Austin and Logan sprawl on the worn leather couch in the common area, arguing over some action movie playing at low volume. Bradley sits at the workbench, methodically cleaning equipment with that focused precision that made him invaluable in combat and makes him irreplaceable here.
Normal. Routine. The rhythm of station life that's anchored me since moving to Whitetail Falls.
So why can't I focus?
I stare at the incident report on my tablet, the details of today's café fire blurring. Instead of flames and smoke, I see blonde curls and amber eyes. Instead of remembering protocols followed, I remember the feel of Gloria's wrist beneath my fingers, her pulse steady despite the pain.
"Earth to Cross," Paul says, not looking up from his paperwork. "You planning to finish that report tonight?"
I straighten, refocusing. "Working on it."
"Working on daydreaming is more like it," Austin calls from the couch. At twenty-eight, he's the youngest crew member, still more puppy than wolf. "Thinking about the bookstore lady?"
I shoot him a warning look that bounces right off his grin.
Bradley glances up from his work, eyes meeting mine with silent understanding. He knows me well enough to see through the irritation to the discomfort beneath.
"Leave him alone," he tells the others mildly. "Some of us prefer privacy."
Austin holds up his hands in surrender, but the knowing look on his face tells me this conversation isn't over, just postponed.
Paul closes his folder, removing his reading glasses. "All of you, find something useful to do. Wood, those hoses need checking. Rivers, Price, inventory the medical supplies." His voice carries the easy authority of someone used to being obeyed.
As they disperse, he catches my eye. "Everything good, Cross?"
"Fine," I answer automatically.
