“I’m gonna need subtitles for that,” he interjects.
I continue, refusing to acknowledge his joke. “You could end up with a systemic infection that lands you back in the ER.”
Josh’s smile widens, which only fuels my irritation. “I’m not swimming, just dipping my toes. See?” He lifts one foot out of the water, wiggling his toes like a five-year-old showing off.
Except he’s waist-high in water, not just the toes. “Come out before you slip and wet your arm.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll get out if it makes you happy.”
And he does. He wades to the steps and climbs out, water slithering down his legs in rivulets that sort of hypnotize me until he comes to stand right in front of me, towering over me in all his bronzed, muscled glory. He is so close I can smell his sunscreen and I could count the freckles on his collarbones if I wanted to. His hair is damp at the temples with sweat, curling slightly, and those blue eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my knees go weak.
“Hey,” he rasps in a low, intimate voice.
That single syllable shouldn’t affect me. It’s just a word, not even a complete sentence. But the husky tone he uses, like we’re sharing a secret, makes something catch at the base of my throat that I can’t swallow.
“Hey,” I reply, annoyed at myself for the breathiness in my voice.
“So.” He either doesn’t notice my out-of-breathness or mercifully ignores it. “What are you planning for your weekend off with no kid?”
The question snaps me out of my trance. Right. Normal conversation. I can do that.
“Does catching up on laundry and collapsing on the couch to do nothing all day count as a plan?”
Josh glances up at the cloudless blue sky, then back at me, his expression incredulous. “On such a beautiful day?”
“It’s California,” I remind him. “All days are sunny.”
“Still seems a waste.” He shakes his head. “Have you been for a hike recently?”
Not in forever; my muscles could use the stretch.
It’s as if he reads the answer on my face. “You could show me one of your favorite trails. I’ve been wanting to explore?—”
“I can’t.” The words burst out of me, too sudden, too sharp.
Josh tilts his head. “Can’t hike?”
“No.” I take a step back. “This.” I flip a finger between us, feeling ridiculous but saying what I need, anyway. “You’re flirting with me, and I’m… I’m not ready.”
His jaw locks, playfulness fading into a frown.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to see another man like that,” I continue, unable to stop now that I’ve started. “And if I were, I would never,everget involved with you.”
Josh raises his eyebrows. “I’m trying really hard not to take that personally.”
I groan inwardly. Even when being rejected, he’s all easy charm. “It’s not you,” I clarify, even though it sounds like a line. “It’s your job.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Ah.”
“I will never, ever, ever date another firefighter.” The words come out with a finality that surprises even me. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime. I can’t do it again. Can’t spend my days wondering when your last one will be.” I take a breath, feeling calmer for having said it out loud.
Josh stares at me, a storm passing behind his eyes. He could play this a million different ways, deny he was even trying anything. But he doesn’t.
“So, it’s what? Good morning and good evening when we pass each other by the mailbox?”
We’ve only shared a meal together. But the thought of us reduced to nodding over junk mail leaves me unexpectedly miserable. It shouldn’t matter—our paths only crossed twice, not enough to explain this irrational reluctance. But the idea of him becoming just another neighbor I politely ignore feels strangely unbearable.
“We can be friends. If you want.”
