Page 80 of Smoke Signals

My mind keeps drifting back to Hartley.

The memory of last night sits in the front of my mind and won’t go away. The way his shoulders finally loosened when I pulled him close. The quiet sounds he made when he forgot to hold them back. The way he curled into my side afterward like that space belonged to him.

I take another drink of coffee and stare into the mug.

People do long distance relationships all the time.

Rockford isn’t even two hours away.

The thought sits there for a second before the next one pushes it aside.

Seeing him every day is different. Walking into his apartment and hearing Alaska running to the door, sitting at the small kitchen table with them like a little family, and feeling him around me every night has become something I didn’t expect to need.

The memory makes my shoulders relax, but then the other thought creeps in.

He thinks I’m leaving.

I rub a hand across the back of my neck.

Across the room Hayes watches me over the rim of his coffee cup. “You look like you’re solving a math problem in your head.”

Jake glances up from the counter. “Or like someone got laid.”

Thorne laughs from the fridge.

I shake my head and stand up to rinse my mug.

“You guys have the emotional range of middle schoolers.”

Jake grins. “That isn’t a denial.”

Rhys walks through the kitchen and pauses just long enough to take in the scene.

“Whatever you idiots are talking about, better not follow you onto my rig,” he says.

Jake points toward me. “He’s smiling at the wall.”

Rhys looks at me once, then nods toward the apparatus bay. “Take it outside before I make you run drills.”

I grab a towel and head for the bay.

The trucks sit lined up exactly where they always do, red paint catching the sun pouring through the open doors. Ladder 99 stretches nearly the length of the bay with Dark already leaning against the side rail drinking coffee.

Phoenix stands near the rear compartment checking tools. AJ and Hank are pulling gear out of the storage bin while Wes climbs into the tiller seat to run through his controls.

Routine of a normal shift.

My brain still drifts back to Hartley anyway. The way his expression changed when I mentioned houses. The careful tone he used when he tried to pretend it didn’t bother him.

Phoenix shuts a compartment door and glances over. “You planning to stand there thinking all morning,” he asks, “or are you going to help check the saws?”

“Working on it.”

“You good?”

“Yeah.” I grab the saw and start running through the inspection. Gas level, chain tension, safety trigger.

Feeling Hartley around me last night was addictive.