Her eyebrows lift slightly, as if she’s surprised. "Long day?" she asks, tilting her head as she studies me. "You look tired."
"I always look like this."
"Mm." She doesn't look convinced. "Do fire captains ever take breaks? Or is brooding vigilance a 24/7 commitment?"
A surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Brooding vigilance?"
"That's what I said." She's grinning now, clearly pleased with herself for making me laugh. "You look like youcarry the weight of the world on your shoulders.Kinda heroic, actually."
"I'm not a hero."
"Exactly what a hero would say."
I shake my head, but I can feel the corner of my mouth tugging up despite my best efforts. She's quick, this one. Smart, funny, and entirely too perceptive to boot.
And way too young for you, my brain reminds me.Don't forget that part.
But it's hard to remember why that matters when she's looking at me like this—like she actually wants to know what's going on inside my head.
When's the last time anyone looked at me like that?
Or that I wanted them to?
"How was practice?" I ask, steering toward safer ground.
"Good. Riley's really improving—her footwork is getting sharper every week." Sloane crosses her arms over her chest and shivers slightly as a gust of wind cuts across the field. "She's got good instincts. Natural athlete."
I nod, but I'm not really listening anymore. I'm watching her try to suppress another shiver, her shoulders hunching against the cold. She's been out here for at least two hours in Februaryweather, and now she's cooling down, and that thin jacket isn't doing shit against the evening chill.
Before I can think better of it, I shrug off my own jacket and hold it out to her. "You’re cold. Take this."
For a moment, she just stares at me as I stand there in my fitted station T-shirt.
Her gaze drops. Trails over me slowly, in a way that makes heat crawl up the back of my neck.
When her eyes finally meet mine again, there's something warm and knowing in them. Something that makes my pulse kick up a notch.
"Thank you," she says softly. "But I'm okay. My jacket's in my bag. I’ll grab it in a second."
I should laugh it off and change the subject. But I'm frozen here, jacket still extended, caught in the gravity of her gaze. "You sure?" My voice comes out rough.
"I'm sure." She smiles, and it's different from her teasing grins—softer, more vulnerable. "But that was very..."
She trails off, and I have to know.
"Very what?"
"Chivalrous." The word rolls off her tongue like honey. "Old-fashioned. I like that."
My heart thumps hard.
"Uncle Ike!"
Riley's voice shatters the moment. I pull my jacket on as she comes bounding over.
"I'm starving," she announces. "Can we get burgers tonight? Please? I’ve been craving oneallday. I'll literally die if I don’t have one."
"You won’t die," I say.
