“Because people in this town need better entertainment.” I keep my eyes forward, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else. “They probably heard about the fire.”
“Are we famous?”
“No.”
“But that man did the thumbs-up thing.”
“That man should mind his business.”
I pull into the drop-off line at Millbrook Elementary. Tommy unbuckles and leans over to plant a kiss on my cheek, his small hand patting my shoulder in that way that makes my chest ache.
“Love you, Mama.”
“Love you more, baby. Be good for Mrs. Cott today.”
“I’m always good.”
He’s out the door and sprinting toward the building before I can point out that ‘always good’ is a generous assessment of reality. I watch until he disappears through the front entrance, then sit in the idling car for an extra minute because facing what comes next feels impossible.
The drive home takes twice as long because I get stuck behind a tractor hauling hay bales down Main Street at roughly five miles per hour. This is Millbrook Falls, where farm equipment has priority and everyone accepts it as part of living in a place with working farms.
Jake’s awake when I walk through the door. It’s strange enough that I actually pause to make sure I’m not hallucinating. My brother works in marine biology research, so his mornings typically don’t start until closer to noon. But here he is at eight a.m., planted at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a mug of coffee that’s gone cold by now.
“You’re conscious,” I say, making a beeline for the coffee pot. “Did someone die?”
“Nope, but you went viral.” He swivels his laptop toward me with a grin that says he finds this hilarious.
The screen shows a video paused mid-frame. My video. The rescue footage from last night.
But it’s not the raw shaky-cam footage someone’s phone captured. This version has been edited, polished, and transformed into something that belongs in a movie trailer rather than a news report. And there’s music coming from the laptop speakers, soft instrumental strings that build with way too much emotion for what should be straightforward disaster documentation.
Jake hits play.
The music swells as Cole emerges from the smoke, carrying me. The footage has been slowed to an almost dreamlike pace, every movement drawn out and emphasized. The camera caught us at the exact moment I looked up at his face, and whoever edited this zoomed in on that instant, stretching it out so you can see every detail. His jaw is set with concentration, eyes locked straight ahead with that intensity that means he’s working, he’s focused, nothing else exists except the task. My arms are wrapped around his neck, and my face shows naked terror mixed with something else I refuse to name.
The camera follows us down the café steps in slow motion. I can see the flex of Cole’s muscles under his turnout gear with each deliberate step, and I can see my own fingers gripping his shoulder, like he’s the only stable thing in a world that’s literally burning. Smoke billows behind us with cinematic drama, and the music crescendos right as Cole sets me down on the sidewalk, his hands staying on my waist for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before he turns back toward the building.
The video freezes on that final frame—him looking back at the café, me staring at him—and text slides across the screen: “Every woman’s dream rescue. #FirefighterHero #MillbrookRescue”
I shove the laptop away. “These people need professional help.”
“You’re trending.” Jake’s still grinning like this is prime entertainment. “Seven hundred thousand views since last night. The comments are absolutely unhinged.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Too late, I’m telling you anyway.” He angles the screen so I can see the comments scrolling past. Too many heart emojis, too many fire emojis, comments like ‘where do I find a man like this’ and ‘the way he looks at her I can’t’ and ‘I need to be rescued immediately.’
“My job literally burned down yesterday,” I say flatly. “How are they turning this into a romance movie?”
“Because the internet is a beautiful disaster where tragedy meets fantasy and nobody knows how to behave like a normal person.” Jake closes the laptop, still looking way too amused. “Cole’s going to absolutely lose it when he sees this.”
“Cole is never seeing this.” I pour myself coffee and add too much sugar because after the night I’ve had, I’ve earned it. “I’m already dealing with enough without him thinking I’m part of some viral love story.”
Jake laughs and goes back to whatever research he’s doing, and I’m left standing there with my coffee, trying not to think about the video. Trying not to remember how Cole’s arms felt around me last night—the solid strength of them, the way he carried me like I weighed nothing, like saving me was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
I remember looking up at his face through the smoke and ash. Remember thinking that if I were going to die, at least I’d die feeling safe. His chest was steady against my side, his heartbeat calm even though flames surrounded us, and for those few seconds, being carried down those stairs, I let myself imaginewhat it would be like to melt into that feeling. To let someone else be strong while I fell apart. To stay in those arms and not think about anything except how protected I felt.
Which is completely insane and exactly the thinking that got me into the mess with Derek—looking for someone to rescue me instead of standing on my own two feet.
