“Are you kidding me?” I whisper.
Silence.
Then Levi’s voice, low and steady. “Don’t move.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to walk into a mop bucket.”
I freeze. There’s shuffling. The faint scrape of his boots on linoleum. Then his hand finds my waist. Heat detonates under my skin. I hate that he has this effect on me.
“I said don’t move,” he murmurs.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
His palm tightens slightly, guiding me away from whatever obstacle I was about to trip over. The closet is pitch-black now,only a sliver of light cutting under the door. It’s small. Too small. Too warm.
And Levi’s hand is still on my waist. Neither of us lets go.
“We’re locked in,” I say softly.
“Yeah.”
“You think Mrs. Dottie did that on purpose?”
“Probably.”
I let out a quiet laugh. His thumb shifts slightly against the curve of my hip. It’s barely a movement. It feels like everything.
“Levi,” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“You’re still holding me.”
“I know.”
The air thickens. His body is inches from mine now. I can feel the heat radiating off him. His breath brushes my temple.
“Comforting,” he says evenly.
“Feels possessive.”
His fingers tighten. “Maybe.”
My heart thunders.
“You still jealous?” I tease, trying to steady my voice. “About earlier?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Earlier, one of the younger firefighters—Tyler, I think—had handed me a stack of flyers and said, “Didn’t realize the chief’s daughter got even prettier at college.”
I’d laughed.
Levi had gone very still.
