"Probably." I wiped her tears with my thumbs. "But it's true. So no, I'm not scared. I'm not panicking. If you're pregnant, we'll figure it out. If you're not, we'll take our time. Date properly. Let me take you to dinner, where we actually eat the food. Introduce you to my construction crew buddies without them thinking I've lost my mind."
"You have lost your mind."
"Maybe." I pulled her closer until our foreheads touched. "But I need you to hear me, Rylie. I'm all in. From this moment on, you're mine and I'm yours, and that's not changing whether there's a baby coming or not."
She let out a shaky exhale, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. "This is moving so fast."
"I know."
"I barely know you."
"We'll fix that."
"My dad is going to have a stroke."
"He'll get over it." I kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her trembling mouth. "Or he won't. Either way, I'm not letting you go."
She was quiet for a long moment, just breathing against me, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin. When she finally spoke, her voice was small but steady.
"I feel it too."
My heart kicked hard. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She pulled back to look at me, and there was no more panic in her eyes. Just wonder and evidence of the same certainty burning in my chest. "It's terrifying and crazy and I have no idea how to explain it, but—" She bit her lip. "I feel it too."
I kissed her again, slower this time. Sweeter. Sealing the promise between us.
When we finally broke apart, she was smiling. Really smiling.
"So what now?" she asked.
"Now?" I glanced around the fire truck cab, at our scattered clothes and the fogged windows. "Now we get dressed before someone calls this in as a suspicious vehicle."
She laughed, the sound lighter than before, and climbed off my lap to hunt for her clothes. I watched her for a moment—this beautiful, reckless woman who'd walked into my life six hours ago and turned it completely upside down.
Mine.
The word echoed in my head as I pulled on my jeans, as I helped her find her sweater tangled under the bench, as we climbed back into the front cab and I started the engine.
She was mine now.
And I was keeping her.
7
RYLIE
The Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse officially smelled more like fried onions than paint.
I pushed through the door after a long shift at the clinic—two surgeries, one emergency rabbit, and Mrs. Porter bringing Snowball in for a follow-up that turned into a twenty-minute conversation about her granddaughter's college plans. My feet hurt and I desperately needed a shower, but Devon had texted an hour ago saying the guys from the station were grabbing dinner, and I should join them.
As if I could say no to that.
I spotted them immediately—a table full of broad shoulders and flannel in the back corner. Devon sat at the head, Mason to his right, and the rest of the guys spread around in various states of burger consumption. These were the firefighters Devon had been training for the past few weeks—the new salaried crew Mayor Pearce had brought in from across the area. Devon had somehow become their unofficial den mother until the permanent fire captain showed up next month.
Devon saw me the second I walked in. His whole face changed—softened in a way I was still getting used to. Like I was the best thing he'd seen all day.
One week. We'd been doing this for a full week, and I still wasn't over the way he looked at me.
