“I still have soot on my hands, babe.”
Not like I cared.
He was already turning his back on me.
I hesitated, then rushed ahead before I could talk myself out of it. “So, tomorrow? We’re still going to Plymouth with my friends?’
He shifted his weight.
I felt it immediately. That tiny pause. That almost-invisible hesitation.
“Yeah ” he finally replied.
“We sail at dawn,” I continued, forcing brightness into my voice. “I’ll pick you up right from the fire station. You can sleep on the boat on the way down, we go out that night, then you crash again on the sail back. It’s basically designed for night shift.”
That earned a faint smile.
“You really thought this through,” he said.
“I did,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You only miss one shift. It’s just a weekend. A mini vacation.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. For a second, I thought he was going to back out on me.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Relief flooded me so fast it almost made me dizzy.
“Sounds… perfect.”
I smiled. “I’ll pick you up from the firehouse when you get off and I’ll bring breakfast.”
“Actually—” He hesitated again, softer this time. “Maybe you should sleep at your place tonight? That way you can pack your stuff, grab your things, and just come straight to get me.”
It stung more than it should have. Or maybe exactly as much as it should have.
“Sure,” I said, too quickly. “That makes sense.”
He kissed me—quick, distracted—and headed toward the bedroom.
“I’ll call you later,” he said over his shoulder.
“I’ll be at work,” I reminded him.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll leave a message.”
I watched him disappear down the hall, already halfway asleep, and then I left—him just getting into bed, me already running late for my day.
The next morning I was so excited. Finally, Sean and I would be able to hang out, make out in the waves and reconnect as a couple.
I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way, like I always did when I was excited. Sean’s order rolled off my tongue withoutthinking. The coffee was hot, the bag warm, grease already soaking through the paper.
I was smiling when I pulled into the firehouse lot.
The bay doors were open. Red trucks gleamed in the early light, chrome polished to a mirror shine. Inside, the smell of coffee was thick and comforting, the low burble of voices bouncing off concrete walls. A radio crackled. Someone laughed.
I grabbed the bag and walked in, already scanning for him.
“Hi,” I said to the guy at the desk. “I’m here to pick up Sean. We’re heading out.”
