“That's new. Usually your guys come in here to complain about Station 9, not call them.”
“It's not station business.” That was true, but I wasn’t about to tell him why I wanted it. Harold didn't push. I gave him the name. He scrolled through his phone and scribbled a number on a napkin.
“Here it is. Percy Madden.”
Did my expression give too much away because Harold smirked as he slid the napkin toward me.
“He's good people. Don't be an ass.”
“Never.”
He gave me a look but didn’t respond. He’s probably witnessed more odd encounters than a firefighter asking for another firefighter’s phone number.
I drove home with the napkin in my pocket pressing against my thigh. It sat on my kitchen counter while I cooked pasta, one of the things I could make without burning. It stared at me while I ate and washed up and wiped down the counter.
My dragon waited and didn’t push. He was patient in a way I envied.
At eight, I picked up my phone and typed the number in. My thumb hovered over the text box. What was I supposed to say?Hey, I know we've never had a real conversation, but the universe says you're mine and I can't stop smelling you even though you're miles away?
I bounced the phone on my palm and wrote something more direct.We should talk about what happened at the barbecue.
I hit send before I could delete it and backed away from the phone. I couldn’t bear to read his message or wait and never receive one.
Nothing happened for ten minutes, then twenty, and an hour. I told myself he was on shift, in the shower, or was in an area with lousy service. Convincing myself it didn't matter if he responded tonight or tomorrow, I sat in front of the TV, flicking through channels and settling on nothing. My dragon was pacing inside me as I checked the phone multiple times.
At nine fifteen, the phone buzzed.
I don't know what you're talking about.
What the heck? I stared at the message. My dragon wished he could text his dragon counterpart and asked me to teach him how to do it.
If I spoke to your dragon, I’m sure he would disagree.
I didn’t have to wait long for a response this time. But there was a pause and those ridiculous three dots that I cursed.
Fine. Where?
I exhaled, and my dragon stopped complaining and pacing, and now instead of a vibration, there was a knot of anticipation in my belly. I sent Percy the location of a trailhead between our two towns. It was far enough from both stations that no one would see us and suggested a time tomorrow afternoon.
Okay.
My heart was hammering as if I'd just run a ladder climb in full gear, and I counted the hours between now and our meeting, hoping I’d be able to sleep tonight. But that was unlikely.
FOUR
PERCY
Studying myself in the mirror, I decided I looked too buttoned up and changed my shirt. But my shoes didn’t match, and the jacket I wanted to wear was in the wash. Ahhhh!
I was going to see a stranger who happened to be my fated mate, and I couldn’t meet him with a stain on my collar. I’d never put so much thought into my clothes.
My dragon watched my wardrobe meltdown and wondered why I cared about clothes.They’rehorrible things that restrict your movement.
I pulled on a white long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans and told myself I didn't care what Larkin thought of my outfit. But I rolled the sleeves once, studied myself in the mirror, and unrolled them before rolling them again.
“Get a grip,” I muttered and stared in the mirror at my flushed cheeks and unhinged expression.
I'd spent the past twenty-four hours arguing with myself about whether to show up. The sensible part of my brain, the part that remembered I was Station 9's secret weapon for the cup and had no business fraternizing with the competition, kepttelling me to cancel. It was a logical argument, full of practical points about loyalty and timing and not being a fool.
