This time I heard movement—soft footsteps—and straightened as the door slowly opened.
And promptly forgot how to breathe.
Palmer stood in the doorway, her long, golden hair loose and tumbling around her face, spilling down past her shoulders. She was wrapped in a thin, pale-pink satin robe. It was long-sleeved and falling to the floor, but it did nothing to hide the shape of her body. The fabric clung to every dip and curve of her.
Heat flared through me, sharp and unwelcome, curling low.
I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze to her eyes. They were sleepy and curious, completely unaware of the fire she’d lit in me.
I hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. Not since I’d lost Hailey’s mother.
The urge to turn and run was sudden and fierce.
“Roman?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
I tensed, the reason I’d come here snapping back into focus.
The fire at the coffee shop.
I looked away, jaw tight, trying to ground myself. “I need to leave for a little while,” I said. “There’s a fire downtown.”
She sucked in a breath. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I want to be there to make sure it stays contained. I wanted you to know I was leaving.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “I’ll take care of Hailey.”
I tried to ignore the surge of fondness that rushed over me at those words. I nodded once. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I didn’t wait for her reply.
I turned and hurried down the hall, forcing myself not to turn back—even though I could sense her standing there, soft and warm and entirely too close to my thoughts.
13
Roman
Thesmokewasvisibleblocks before I hit downtown.
It rose in a thick plume above Center Street, illuminated in flashes of red and blue. Engines crowded the narrow road. Sirens wailed, echoing off the old brick buildings surrounding the area. Cursing under my breath, I pulled over and turned off my vehicle, adrenaline humming beneath my skin.
I got out of my truck and jogged toward the scene, boots crunching over slush and snow. The air smelled sharp and acrid—like burning wood, scorched plastic, and something else underneath it all. Something that made the back of my throat prickle.
Kerosene.
My pace slowed as I took it all in. Flames licked at the back corner of the coffee shop, but they were low, beaten down by steady streams of water. Steam rose in ghostly clouds where heat met cold night air. The building next door—an old boutique with apartments above it—appeared untouched. Windows were intact and there was no visible charring.
Latte Pages itself was in rough shape. Windows were blackened and soot streaked up the brick facade. But the structure was still standing. The roof hadn’t collapsed.
“Chief.”
I turned as Shawn approached, helmet tucked under his arm, turnout coat unzipped and streaked with soot. His face was flushed from heat and exertion, dark hair damp with sweat despite the freezing temperature.
“Is it contained?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” he said immediately. “The main fire is out. Just a few hot spots left in the rear storage area. Crews are finishing up now.”
I nodded, eyes still moving, cataloging everything. Hose lines. Engine placement. My people moved with tired efficiency, faces smeared with ash but focused. They’d done good work tonight.
