His jaw tightens. The hose slips and sprays in a wide arc, catching Mrs. Dottie square in the shoulder. She gasps dramatically and clutches her pearls.
“I have been baptized!” She announces.
The crowd laughs.
Levi finally releases my wrist and reaches for the hose, shutting it off with practiced efficiency.
Silence falls in our little bubble. Water drips between us.
“You’re reckless,” he mutters.
“You’re shirtless at a church fundraiser.”
He leans in slightly. “You’re staring again.”
“Hard not to.”
“You enjoying the show?”
I tilt my head. “I’ve seen better.”
His eyes flash. “Oh?”
“You’re distracted,” I say lightly. “Your form’s off.”
He steps into my space again.
“Fix it,” he challenges.
My pulse stumbles. “You want me to what?”
“Correct my form.” His voice drops. “Since you’re supervising.”
I swallow.
“Bend slightly at the knees,” I say, forcing professionalism into my tone.
He obeys immediately.
“Widen your stance.”
He does.
I step closer before I can stop myself.
“Engage your core.”
He exhales slowly, abs tightening under the sunlight. My brain short-circuits. The crowd noise fades into a distant hum. He watches me like I’m the one being evaluated.
“You’re flushed,” he says quietly.
“It’s hot.”
“It’s always hot around you.”
That does something reckless to my spine.
The hose lies coiled at our feet. The fire engine gleams behind him, water still dripping from the chrome.
