I get ready for bed, changing into a department T-shirt and athletic shorts. I lay on my twin mattress for a while, thinking about the email from FEMA and about Hallieshowing up in Waterford. She’s right here—in the building. Every night, I’m more aware we’re only separated by a few walls. I’m sure we all consider the fact at least once every shift. Having a woman in the mix is an adjustment. But for me, it’s always been more because it’s her.
I don’t settle in the way Patrick and Dustin do. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about her and our night in Germany. And it’s only been worse since I found out she’s Mia’s mom. Times ten after I had dinner at her place. When she leaned in for a hug that night, I braced myself, but nothing could have prepared me for the way it would feel to have her in my arms again after all these years.
I’m unable to sleep, so I keep company with my thoughts until Dustin comes in, his bed creaking under his weight. He rolls over, staring in my direction.
“Grey?”
“Yeah?”
“Nighty night.”
I chuckle. “Goodnight moon. Goodnight, you big buffoon.”
Dustin cracks up. “See. That right there. Did you get your wisdom teeth pulled or something?”
“What?”
“You’re telling jokes, Grey.”
“I told a joke. One.”
“Okay. Fine. Don’t tell me. Goodnight hay. Goodnight, cheery version of Grey.”
The lights are out, so he thankfully doesn’t see me smile into the darkness.
I toss and turn, dozing occasionally. Hours after Dustin came in, I’m still restless. The whole station’s asleep but me. I quietly slip out of bed, pushing my feet into my slides and carefully making my way through the bay to the kitchen.
When I open the door, the light over the stove is on.
“Oh!” Hallie jumps in surprise. “Greyson.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine. Did I wake you?”
“No. I was awake. Can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
“Mind if I join you?” I ask.
When I set out for the kitchen, the firehouse felt lived-in, familiar, a home away from home. Now, seeing her here, it feels alive and different than it ever has before.
The refrigerator hums low—the only noise in the quiet around us. Hallie’s features glow from the soft yellow light over the stove. I stand in the doorway, my hand on the jamb.
“I’d love that,” she answers with a warm smile that carries me back nine years in an instant.
“What are you cooking?”
“What do you think?” Hallie’s tone is flirty, but safely so. Her eyes crinkle around the edges.
“Cocoa?”
“Yes. Cocoa. Some things never change.”
“So many do.”
“Yes. So many do.” She smiles again—this time, softer. “Want a cup?”
