We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
The firehouse was busy when we walked in. Half a dozen firefighters milled around the common area, some still in their navy uniforms, others in workout gear that showed off arms and shoulders. I tried not to stare yet just failed miserably.
“Hey, it’s Solomon!” One of the guys called out. “And... wait...”
He squinted at me. I stood there holding my casserole dish, suddenly aware of how different I looked. Dark hair tucked behind my ears. Brown contacts dulling my mismatched eyes. Plain clothes that helped me blend into any background.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“The bookshop girl,” someone else supplied. “The one whose place burned down.”
“Oh!” The first guy snapped his fingers. “Right, right. I forgot.”
Of course, in this look, I am forgettable. The exact opposite of how they’d looked at me when I last visited.
Back then, they’d noticed me. Now I was just... background noise.
This was how I wanted it anyway. It was for the best.
Before I could respond, a laugh cut through the room. High and musical. The kind of laugh designed to make men’s heads turn.
And turn they did.
A woman stood near the kitchen area, surrounded by a cluster of firefighters. Blonde hair in perfect waves, a dress that hugged every curve, and a smile that promised trouble.
She was holding a tray of cookies.
“Percy’s going to love these,” she was saying. “His favorite. I remembered from last time.”
One of the firefighters nudged another. “Cateline’s really going all out, huh?”
Laughter. Cateline joined in, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
Then the back door swung open, and Percy walked in from the garage bay, wiping his hands on a rag. His uniform shirt was untucked, sleeves shoved up past his elbows, and there was a smear of grease across his jaw that had no right looking that good.
His eyes swept the room, landed on me, and his entire face transformed.
“Mira!” He crossed the space between us, grin spreading wide. “You came! Is that the pasta bake? Please tell me that’s the pasta bake.”
He didn’t hesitate. Just pulled me into a half-hug, his chin brushing the top of my head. He smelled of motor oil and soap and a warmth underneath that made me want to burrow closer.
“You remembered,” I managed, trying to ignore the way my heart was hammering.
“Are you kidding? You mentioned it last night and I’ve been thinking about it all morning.” He released me but stayed close, hand lingering on my lower back. “Sol, why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
Solomon shrugged. “You were busy.”
“I was changing a tire. That’s-” Percy cut himself off, looking back at me with focused attention that made my skin flush. “Never mind. I’m starving.”
“I’ll plate it up.” I lifted the dish. “Where’s the kitchen?”
Percy pointed me down the hallway, already turning as a firefighter called him over. Solomon settled into a chair.
The firehouse kitchen was all steel countertops and duty rosters. I set my dish down and pulled open cabinets for plates.
“So you’re the bookshop girl.”
Cateline stood in the doorway, cookie tray in hand, eyes running me head to toe. She took her time with it. My dark hair, the plain clothes. The lack of anything worth pausing on.
