Her eyes flick to my face like she’s reading something there. “You disappeared last night.”
I shrug. “Needed air.”
“Right,” she says. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t tease. That somehow makes it worse.
“I’ll—uh—I’ll let you get back to it,” I say.
She hesitates, then smiles anyway. “Okay. See you later, Grump.”
Firefly. Bright even when she shouldn’t be.
I walk away before I do something stupid, like pull her into my arms or tell her exactly how much space she’s taking up in my head.
By afternoon, the firehouse is buzzing. Saxon’s voice echoes down the bay, Ash is laughing too loud, Axel is arguing about wiring diagrams. It should ground me.
It doesn’t.
Savannah leans against the counter, watching me over her coffee. “You look like hell.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I say.
She smirks. “Ember was asking about you.”
I stiffen. “Was she.”
“Relax,” Axel says, clapping me on the shoulder. “She just wanted to know if you were avoiding her on purpose or if you’re always like this.”
“Always like what?” I snap.
Ash snorts. “Terrified of good things.”
I glare at him. He just lifts his mug in salute.
Saxon watches me quietly. “Boone.”
“Yeah.”
“If you need time, take it,” he says. “Just don’t torch something that might matter because you’re scared.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
That evening, I don’t go to Ember’s studio.
I work late. Fix an engine that doesn’t need fixing. Reorganize tools that were already in order. Anything to keep my hands busy and my head quiet.
It doesn’t work.
Around nine, there’s a knock on my door.
I freeze.
Another knock, lighter this time. “Boone? It’s me.”
I open it before I think better of it.
She stands there with a plate wrapped in foil, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair pulled back in a messy knot that does dangerous things to my focus.
“I made extra,” she says. “Pasta bolognese. You mentioned liking Italian.”
