Later that night, after Lacee’s asleep and the dishes are done, Tessa steps onto the porch with two mugs of tea. She hands me one without asking.
We sit side by side, the mountain air cool against our skin, the stars sharp overhead.
“Paperwork all day is killing me.” I rub a hand over my sore neck.
“No heroic fires to fight today?”
I shrug. “Captain benches me more these last few years, I still fight fires when they need me, but mostly I’m stuck at a desk pushing paper.”
“Do you ever miss it?” she asks softly.
I know what she means.
“Every day,” I answer. “Makes me feel useless. Like Captain thinks I’m too broken to depend on now, like I might fuck up, make the wrong decision in the heat of the moment. Like I need to be fixed.”
She doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush. Just sits with me in it.
“You don’t have to be fixed,” she says. “Just… here.”
Something in my chest gives.
I turn to her. She’s closer than I realized. Her breath warm. Her eyes steady.
I want her.
The realization lands hard. Clean. Terrifying.
I don’t touch her.
Instead, I say, “You should get some sleep.”
She nods. Stands. Hesitates.
“Goodnight, Sawyer.”
“Goodnight, Tessa.”
I watch her go, the house holding its breath around me.
The flame has caught.
And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to put it out.
Chapter 4
Tessa
By the second week, the cabin has a rhythm.
It wakes with the sun. Coffee before words. Lacee padding into the kitchen in mismatched socks, hair wild, already talking. Sawyer leaning against the counter like he owns gravity, broad shoulders filling the space, eyes sharp even before caffeine.
Breakfasts become a thing.
He makes eggs. I make pancakes. Lacee decides which wins based on vibes alone.
“I like yours better,” she tells me one morning, syrup dripping down her wrist. “Dad burns things when he’s distracted.”
Sawyer shoots her a look. “You’re on thin ice, kid.”
