Page 16 of Melting for the Firefighter

“My house has room. It’s quiet. No one will bother you.”

“You would let me stay at your house?”

I would tear it apart and rebuild it around her if that was what it took to make her feel safe.

“You’ll be safe with me. You’ll have your own space. And if you want to leave, I’ll bring you back here myself.”

Her gaze drops to our joined hands.

I loosen my grip.

“Chief said there’s room at the station if you’d feel better there. You have a choice.”

She hesitates. “I don’t think I could sleep at the station. Not with everyone coming and going.”

“Then you’re staying with me.”

She watches my face. “If you’re sure.”

“I don’t say things I’m unsure about.”

“I don’t want to be trouble.”

“You’re not trouble.”

She searches my face like she is waiting for the lie.

There isn’t one.

“Your house then,” she whispers.

Decision made.

At four in the morning, I take her home with me.

She wears my firehouse sweatshirt, and it swallows her. The department crest stretches across her chest. I like seeing it there more than I should.

She falls asleep before we leave the hospital lot.

My house sits at the edge of town, where the last residential road gives way to pine forest. I bought it because it was quiet. Two bedrooms. A wide porch. Enough distance that no one expects me to wave every time I step outside.

I carry Cora from the truck.

She wakes when I open the front door.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

I keep carrying her.

Her cheek rests against my chest. “You are bossy.”

“You inhaled smoke.”

“That does not make you the boss of me.”

“Tonight it does.”