I clear my throat. “I wanted to.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You’re bad at receiving.”
“I’m bad at owing.”
She studies me for a second, then nods like she’s filed that away for later. “Okay. Then consider dinner a thank-you.”
“For the wiring.”
“For staying.”
I don’t have a comeback for that.
I set the cords aside and lean against the counter. “You asked before. About the scars.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush. Just waits.
“I was Army before the firehouse,” I say. “Explosives. Clearance. Learned to read damage, patterns. Fire made sense after that. Same rules. Same language.”
Her voice is soft. “You loved it.”
“I loved being useful. When I got out,” I continue, “firefighting gave me the same hit. Purpose. Brotherhood. Adrenaline. Felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.” I flex my shoulder unconsciously. “Then the explosion happened. Warehouse job. Bad intel. Wrong read.”
Her jaw tightens.
“I lived,” I say. “Barely. Took months before I could lift my arm without wanting to scream. Doctors cleared me, but…” I shrug. “You don’t come back the same. Loud noises get in your head. Smoke doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
She steps closer. Her hand hovers, then settles against my forearm. Warm. Steady.
“What hurt the most,” I add, “was being taken off the line. Being told I was better suited behind a desk. Arson investigation. Mechanic work. Important, sure. But it felt like losing my name.”
She swallows. “That doesn’t make you less.”
“It did to me.”
The words sit between us. Heavy. Honest.
She squeezes my arm once. “You’re still saving people.”
“From a distance.”
“Maybe,” she says gently, “but you’re still standing in the fire.”
I look at her then. Really look.
God help me.
“You’re lucky,” she says suddenly, softer. “To have the firehouse.”
“They’re family,” I say without thinking. “Only one I’ve got. Parents moved south years ago. Only child. These guys… they’re it.”
“And now they’re all pairing off,” she adds, perceptive as hell.
I huff. “Yeah. Makes holidays awkward.”
She frowns. “You don’t do holidays?”
