I stop her gently and pull her into a kiss, “FMR called. We've another rescue. Otherwise, I would latch onto your delicious pussy right here, right now until you scream my name.”
“Alex!” she gently slaps me but the smile she gives me tells me that my words have driven off any dark thoughts from the past.
“I’ve got to get you home and then grab my gear,” I explain.
She exhales, accepting it with more grace than I deserve. “Okay. Just give me a moment.”
We dress quickly, both reluctant to break whatever magic held us through the night. She helps me fold the makeshift bedding, smoothing the duvet without meeting my eyes, as if she isn’t entirely ready for morning either. When I hold the passenger door open, she pauses and looks up at the sky one more time.
“Best date ever,” she says, grinning, and kisses me before climbing in.
That one line carries me all the way back to Fellside.
I reach the meeting point with seconds to spare. The team is already gathered, backpacks laid out by the off-roaders, the usual tired determination settling over everyone. Phil spots me first.
“How come you’re last? You live closer than all of us.”
I keep my voice low. “I wasn’t home last night.”
Phil’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wasn’t this supposed to be just a date?” he mutters, putting air quotes around the last word.
“I’ll tell you later. Focus now.”
He grins, because he’s already reading between the lines and storing ammunition for later teasing.
Nick appears at my shoulder with a smirk that’s a fraction too smug. “Alright, mate?” he says. It’s the tone that sets me on alert. Nick has two settings around me: overfriendly and antagonistic. Neither is ever sincere.
Before I can answer, Tommy calls us in. Work first. Always.
The search takes nearly two hours. The helicopter spots them tucked beneath a rock overhang. We hike in, stabilise the tourists and walk them down to the waiting ambulance. Mild hypothermia, bruised egos, nothing worse.
Back at the rescue centre, debrief is mercifully short. Everyone is hollow-eyed and starving. I head for the kitchen, grateful for whatever cakes supporters have donated this week. My stomach growls loudly enough to startle Phil.
I’m hunting for something edible in the rescue centre fridge when Nick drifts over, wearing that smirk he reserves for when he thinks he’s about to be clever.
“So,” he says, far too casually, “didn’t expect to see you in full snog mode at the florist the other day.”
I shut the fridge with enough force to make the magnets jump. “And?”
“And,” he continues, pleased with himself, “she’s cute. Real curves. Proper woman. Not the usual polished catalogue type you go for.”
Phil stiffens beside me. “Nick,” he warns quietly.
Nick ignores him. “Just saying, mate, she’s the sort who actually looks like she’d stick around. Not really something you are good at.”
My jaw clamps so tightly it aches. “Watch what you’re implying.”
He waves a hand like he’s being reasonable. “No need to get defensive. I mean, good for you. Surprised, but good. I just hope you don’t do what you always do.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, voice dangerously calm.
He grins. “Get bored. Move on. Leave someone else to pick up the pieces.”
Phil exhales sharply. “Nick, wind it in.”
But Nick’s enjoying himself too much to stop. “Look, when you’re done—because you will be—give me a shout. A woman like her deserves someone who’ll appreciate her properly. Not waste her time while you scratch an itch.”
The room tilts.
