She sits up straighter, turning to face me fully. In the dim light, her eyes are bright and determined. "Listen to me, Austin Rivers. You are not going to lose your place here. Not because of me, not because of us."
"You can't promise that," I point out gently.
"No, but I know my brother," she insists. "He's stubborn and overprotective and a total pain in the ass sometimes, but he's also fair. And he respects the hell out of you, even if he's too grumpy to show it most of the time."
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. "He looked pretty murderous earlier."
"Because he was caught off guard. Because he's used to being the one who protects me from everything, and suddenly there you were, doing his job." She smiles slightly. "His ego needed a minute."
A soft chuckle escapes me despite the seriousness of the conversation. "A minute? He looked ready to put me on ladder washing duty for the next decade."
"Probably," she agrees with a small laugh of her own. "But he'll get over it. Especially once he realizes I'm happier than I've been in... a really long time."
Her words warm me from the inside out. "Are you?" I ask, needing to hear it directly. "Happy? With this? With... me?"
She doesn't answer immediately, but instead reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, her touch lingering against my skin.
"I don't know what this is yet," she says honestly. "It happened fast and under crazy circumstances. But yes, I'm happy. And I want to find out where this goes."
Relief floods through me, so powerful it almost makes me dizzy. "Me too," I tell her. "More than anything."
She smiles, and even exhausted, even with soot still smudging her cheek and her hair a tangled mess, she's the most beautifulthing I've ever seen. I lean forward, pressing my forehead gently against hers, breathing in the moment, trying to memorize the feeling of rightness that settles over me.
"We should talk to Paul," I say after a long moment. "Together."
She nods, her forehead still against mine. "Tomorrow. Or later today, I guess. When we're all rested and not running on adrenaline and..." She trails off, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"And?" I prompt, unable to help the small smile that tugs at my lips.
"And other things," she finishes primly, though her eyes sparkle with remembered heat.
The clock on the wall ticks steadily, marking the passage of time. Outside, the world is dark and quiet, the town of Whitetail Falls sleeping under a blanket of winter stars.
In here, in this small bubble of warmth and understanding, something new and fragile and immensely precious is taking root.
"I should get you home," I say, though I make no move to stand. "You need rest."
"Probably," she agrees, making no move to leave either. Instead, she settles more comfortably against my side, her head finding the spot on my shoulder that already feels like it was made for her. "Five more minutes?"
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the solid weight of her against me. "Five more minutes," I agree.
But we both know it will be longer. We sit together in the quiet of the station, listening to the building creak and settle around us, feeling the steady rhythm of each other's breathing.
There will be challenges tomorrow—Paul's anger, the questions from the crew, the rebuilding of Michelle's studio, the navigation of whatever this is becoming between us. But for now, in this moment, there is just this: the two of us, together, finding something neither of us expected but both of us, it seems, desperately needed.
For the first time in my life, I'm not counting the days until I have to leave, until this temporary feeling of belonging is taken away. Instead, I find myself counting the reasons to stay, to fight, to build something lasting.
And as Michelle's breathing gradually slows and deepens against me, her body growing heavier with approaching sleep, I make a silent promise to myself, to her, to whatever force brought us together through fire and fear and fate.
This time, I'm not going anywhere.
Chapter 7 – Michelle
Morning light filters through the station windows, painting warm rectangles on the worn floorboards. I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles, the remnants of yesterday's smoke still clinging to my hair despite the quick shower I managed in the station's locker room.
The station is beginning to stir around me. The night shift preparing to hand over to the day crew, the soft clatter of equipment being checked, voices murmuring in the bay.
Soon, this relative quiet will give way to the full bustle of shift change. Soon, Paul will arrive.
