“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” I admit, my voice rough. “Because watching you fight for your dreams makes me want to fight for something again. Because you held my hand yesterday, and I didn’t want to let go.”
Her eyes go dark. Molten. “Dean?—”
“Because I’m falling for you, Jo Lennox, and it terrifies me. But not as much as the thought of walking away.”
For one suspended moment, we just stare at each other. Her hand still on my jaw, my heart thundering against my ribs, the air between us so charged I can barely breathe.
Then her door chimes.
We jump apart like guilty teenagers as Mads walks in, takes one look at us—at the plans spread across the counter, at our flushed faces, at the way we’re both breathing too hard—and grins.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” She doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“I was just—” I start.
“Leaving,” Jo finishes, but her eyes are still locked on mine. “Dean was just leaving.”
“Was I?” The words come out lower than I intended. Almost a challenge.
“Weren’t you?” She lifts her chin, and there’s that spark again. That fire that makes me want to either argue with her or kiss her until we both forget our own names.
“I should review the plans with you first,” I say, not moving. “Make sure you understand all the permit requirements. Could take a while.”
“How long?” Her voice has gone breathy again.
“As long as it takes.” I let the words hang there, loaded with every bit of subtext I can’t quite say out loud yet.
Mads looks between us, her grin growing wider. “You know what? I just remembered I have a thing. A very urgent thing. Across town. I’ll just—yeah.” She backs toward the door. "Jo, I'll text you about the flowers later. Much later. You two take your time."
The door chimes as she leaves, and then we’re alone again.
“Well, that was subtle,” I say.
“About as subtle as your clipboard.” Jo’s lips curve. “So. These permit requirements. Are they complicated?”
“Extremely.” I unroll the plans again, but this time when she steps close to look, I don’t pretend it’s accidental. “Might take all evening to explain properly.”
“I’m a slow learner,” she murmurs. “Might need extensive hands-on instruction.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on either of us.
“Jo.” I turn to face her fully. “What are we doing here?”
“I don’t know.” She looks up at me, and there’s vulnerability beneath the heat. “But I think I want to find out.”
“This is complicated.”
“Everything worth having is complicated.”
“I’m your son’s fire chief.”
“My son gave his blessing. I saw the group chat.”
“I’m fifty-two and set in my ways.”
“I’m forty-eight and stubborn as all getout.” She reaches up, her fingers tangling in my shirt. “We’re going to argue about everything.”
“Probably.” I cover her hand with mine. “I’m going to want to follow regulations.”
