Page 23 of Love Again

“We’ll talk later,” he says and puts an actual hand on my shoulder. Despite myself, I’m touched. It’s becoming harder and harder to hold the getting-kicked-off-the-team moment against him.

“I’m taking her back,” I start to say, but Luke’s already behind me in a jump seat, legs stretched out, his face smeared with soot, two dark circles under his eyes where he wiped them.

“Right,” he says. That’s all he says for the twenty-minute ride back to the station.

΅

After an intense fire like that, my hair and skin will smell for days. Cory used to call me Aunt BBQ because I smelled of smoke most days. I’d love a long hot shower at home, but I’ve got nine hours left on my shift.

As soon as the truck is backed in, Luke’s out and doing a rig check. I don’t even get a good look at him.

When Keller pulls in a few minutes later, he’s all business until he comes out of his office, nabs me in the hall, and dismisses me to go home.

“What?”

“You’ll still be on call. Don’t get weird. You did this all last year.”

It’s true, we’ve done this before. I live a minute from the station and can get here quickly if my gear is at home. When I was doing daycare for Cory, I was often on call at home. Keller kept me at full pay, though—a gift I found out about later.

“That was a bad one,” he tries to explain. “You go home. And do me a favor?” I hold my helmet. Here it comes—paperwork. Keller hates it. “Your shower’s still on the fritz, right?”

“It is. The lever diverter broke.” Taking a bath after a fire sucks.

“Go to my place. Shower there and keep an eye on Luke for the next couple of hours until I’m done.”

“What? No.”

“For me.”

“Why?”

“He can’t,” then he trails off. “Just do it,” he says, and his eyes harden.

Jesus, the guy can be an ass.

“Okay, but I’m showering here,” I say.

΅

“You’ve never been here?” says Luke, standing in Keller’s kitchen. We’d driven to Weaver’s, where I had picked up a carton of tomato soup and made us sandwiches. Lindy, the owner, always has an open kitchen for people in uniform—just as long as you clean up. Her closed deli has saved me more times than I can count.

Now, Luke is heating up soup in a pan on the stove—the really nice, expensive stove with a built-in grill. I know how much these cost because I helped Chloe price one last summer when Finn hired her to be his chef at The Inn.

I set the sandwiches—turkey BLTs with avocado on sourdough—on plates and almost smile.

“Are you kidding? Your brother and I only get along at the station. That’s it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t you want to clean up?”

“I’ll do it after,” he says.

I’m in a better mood now that I’ve cleaned up and dressed in a tank top, sweatshirt, and jeans. No bra. I never wear one after a shift. “I won’t burn the soup. Go. Take a shower.”

Pipes whine in the little house as soon as he turns the spigot. For a few moments, I imagine his body—the curves, muscle, tendons, his ass, how his skin tastes.

I shouldn’t have come here. This is stupid.