Page 73 of Smoke Signals

We collapse together, me still inside him for a moment before pulling out carefully and disposing of the condom in the small trashcan by the bed. He turns in my arms, pulling me close, our bodies sticky and warm, breaths syncing in the quiet.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along my back, the kind of touch that makes my eyes grow heavy.

“It’s never been so good,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

I huff out a soft laugh and tuck my face into the curve of his neck.

27

STELLAN

A month slips by before I realize how fast it’s moving.

Work stays the same. Calls come in, trucks roll out, gear dries on the rack after another long shift. The firehouse runs the way it always has; steady noise, boots on concrete, radios crackling somewhere down the hall.

The rest of my time is spent at Hartley’s place.

Some nights I stop by after shift and stay later than I planned. Some weekends start there and never really end until Monday morning.

Alaska starts expecting me. The second she hears me knock, she runs for the door with fox dragging behind her. She signs my name the moment I step inside like it’s the best part of her day.

We fall into a routine without talking about it.

Dinner at the small kitchen table while Alaska swings her legs under the chair. Hartley washes dishes while I dry them because it’s faster that way. Cartoons play in the background while Alaska curls into the couch cushions and slowly drifts off.

Later, the apartment gets quiet.

Hartley and I end up in his bedroom with the low hum of city traffic outside the window. Sometimes we talk about stupid things like whether pineapple belongs on pizza, sometimes we talk about heavier things that sit between us for a while before either of us answers.

Most nights we just fall asleep tangled together.

And the sex.

Jesus.

For someone who had never been with a man before, Hartley figured things out fast.

Which is exactly why the secret I’m keeping keeps getting heavier.

I check my phone again before I call him, turning it over in my hand while I lean against the counter in the station kitchen. The television murmurs in the corner and a weather alert crawls slowly across the bottom of the screen. The room moves in quiet conversation, chairs shifting, a cabinet door closing somewhere down the hall, but none of it sticks in my head. My attention stays locked on the phone in my hand, thumb hovering over Hartley’s name while I debate whether I should just call him already or give myself another minute to think.

Hartley answers on the third ring.

“Hey,” he says.

Just hearing his voice makes my shoulders drop a little.

“Hey,” I reply. “You busy?”

“Finishing up a client,” he says. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could steal you for the rest of the afternoon? We’ll be back in time to get Alaska.”

“Give me ten minutes and I can close early. Is everything okay?”

I hesitate a second.

“Yeah. I wanna talk to you about something, and thought we could go for a little walk.”