“You’re being inflexible!” Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and it kills me. “There has to be a compromise. Some middle ground where I get my event and you get your precious regulations?—”
“This isn’t about being precious about regulations!” My voice rises despite my best efforts. “This is about people’s lives! Why won’t you just listen?”
“Why won’t YOU?” She steps closer, chin tilted up, defiant even with tears threatening. “You show up with your clipboard and your codes and your absolute certainty that you’re right,but you won’t even try to find another solution. You just shut everything down and walk away feeling noble about it.”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. I do hide behind regulations. Use them as a shield against actually engaging, actually feeling anything that might be messy or complicated.
Like whatever this is between us.
Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s Asher’s mother. She’s breaking codes. She’s passionate and stubborn and so determined to create something beautiful that she can’t see the danger.
And I’m attracted to all of it. Every frustrating, impossible bit.
“I should go,” I say, because staying feels dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with fire safety.
“Of course you should.” Jo crosses her arms, and the gesture pushes her breasts up in a way I absolutely should not be noticing right now. “Run away. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Hide behind your rules so you don’t have to actually deal with people.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” She swipes at her eyes angrily. “You’re the one with all the power here, Chief Beckett. You get to decide everything. And I’m just supposed to smile and accept it when you crush my dreams because procedure says so.”
“Jo—”
“Just go.” She turns away, shoulders rigid. “Go back to your station and your regulations and your absolute certainty that you’re saving people by saying no to everything. I’ll figure this out on my own.”
I want to argue. Want to explain that I’m not the villain here, that I’m doing my job, that if she’d just be reasonable?—
But looking at her proud, devastated posture, I realize Savannah was right about something else too.
I have been lonely. Have been using my job as armor against actually connecting with anyone. Have been so focused on preventing tragedy that I forgot how to create joy.
And Jo—stubborn, passionate, glitter-covered Jo—makes me want to remember.
I leave without another word. Rex whines the whole way home, like even he knows I’ve just made everything worse.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to fix this.
Tonight, I’ll just remember how her hand felt in mine and wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do about Asher’s mother who’s breaking fire codes and breaking through every defense I’ve spent five years building.
FIVE
JO
It’s two in the morning, and I’m reading about egress requirements like they’re the most riveting thriller ever written.
“Single means of egress permitted for occupant loads of less than fifty,” I mutter, highlighting the passage with yellow marker that’s dried out from overuse. My dining table looks like a bomb went off in a municipal planning office—printouts, building codes, YouTube video transcripts about fire safety regulations that I definitely didn’t watch at 1.5x speed while stress-eating an entire bag of dark chocolate almonds.
There has to be a loophole. Some exception, some variance, some way to make this work that doesn’t involve admitting defeat to Dean Beckett and his stupidly accurate clipboard.
Dean Beckett, who held my hand yesterday.
Dean Beckett, whose voice went rough when he said my name.
Dean Beckett, who I absolutely cannot think about right now because I’m supposed to be problem-solving, not replaying the way his thumb brushed across my knuckles like he couldn’t help himself.
I grab for another almond. The bag is empty.
My phone buzzes.
