He kisses my forehead and goes to the fridge, moves smoothly to the stove, and returns with a mug of peppermint hot chocolate—it’s warm and sweet and comforting. Cooling and refreshing.
It’s Patton in beverage form.
We sit together in silence, his arm around my shoulders, and for once I let myself be held.
When my breath finally returns, I peer up at him, appreciating the strong cut of his jaw, dotted with stubble, the set of his chin. His masculine features. The depth in his hazel eyes. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
His arm tightens. “Yeah?”
I nod as the moment stretches between us. He shifts, turning to face me, and his gaze makes my heart stutter.
He leans in slightly.
I do too.
Our noses brush and I feel warm and melty like sunshine on snow.
“Maverick!” Austin’s voice shatters the moment like glass.
Of course, it’s Austin.
“We’ve got a call! Structure fire on Pinewood!”
Patton jumps up, already moving toward the door. “I have to go.”
“Be safe.” Three more words beg to follow those, but I don’t say them. Not yet. But when the time comes, will I be able to admit how I feel? It comes with a risk and that makes me want to flee.
Having visited Grandma and spent summer weekends in Huckleberry Hill as a kid, I traveled light and left most of my belongings in my parents’ garage because the cottage is at capacity. However, there, in the back of the closet, my suitcase sits empty. I could pack it. Be ready to take flight. The plan was always to return to Reno. My parents definitely need my help.
My thoughts descend in a slow spiral of doubt as I drive home.
32
PATTON
The Pinewood structurefire took three hours to contain and left me smelling like acrid smoke and failure.
I’m back at the station now, filing paperwork with hands that won’t quite stop shaking. Not from the fire—I’ve fought worse. From what we couldn’t save.
The house is gone. Everything inside it—photos, heirlooms, the entire life someone built—reduced to ash and twisted metal. Only the shed and a child’s swing set in the backyard survived.
The report I’m filing is like a memorial to what was lost. But even it could go up in smoke. It’s a peculiar feeling when you lose a battle against an enemy that didn’t mean to cause harm. After all, fire is used to cook, provides heat and light, sustains life, and yet it also destroys.
“You okay?” Scotty appears beside my desk.
“Fine.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
I don’t look up from the incident report. “My face says I need to finish this paperwork.”
“Your face says you’re taking this one personally.” He leans on my desk. “We did everything we could, Mav.”
“Wasn’t enough.”
“Never is.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But we saved the family. Four people walked away with their lives because of us. That counts.”
I know he’s right. Doesn’t make everything else easier to swallow.
